“Jonas is primal,” Patrick revealed. “Few realize this, and he definitely wouldn’t want the public to know. But he was created to breed. To be a stud for a new army.” He chuckled at that. “He was primal from birth.”
“You know Jonas?” She turned back to him, searching his expression.
Patrick shrugged. “I know of Jonas. I knew the rumors that circulated of his genetics, and I knew what the scientists were working on before I escaped myself. It wasn’t hard to figure out who and what he was once I began checking into it.”
“You investigated Jonas before starting this. As well as Cabal,” she guessed.
“I did.” He nodded. “As well as Rule Breaker and Lawe Justice.” He grinned at the names. “Even they aren’t quite what you would expect. Mordecai, that Coyote Jonas keeps on a leash, is more dangerous than he knows. Coyotes aren’t always forthcoming, you know, even to those they give their loyalty to.”
She shook her head. “And you’re going to defeat them all?”
“I don’t have to defeat them all,” he sighed. “I just have to get Watts. He’s probably in town by now. I wonder if he’ll ask about you. Do you think he’s forgotten about his lovely wife in the years Jonas has kept him imprisoned?”
“No doubt,” she said, mocking him. “Especially considering the fact we weren’t really married.”
“There was that.” He nodded. “At least you know where you stand with Cabal. No divorce. And the words ‘till death do us part’ take on a whole new meaning, wouldn’t you say? When your mate dies, a part of you dies with them.” There was an edge of bitterness there, one that didn’t belong with a man’s feelings toward his wife. Or his mate. There was almost a hatred, a cold, hard core of pure resentment.
“Does innocent blood appeal to you, Patrick?” she asked him. “Is that why you don’t mind using an innocent in your games?”
“There are no innocents,” he grunted as he turned back to the window, obviously assessing the breeze and the scents that flowed from the mountain. “And there’s no innocence. We just pretend there is.”
Cassa parted her lips to argue that statement, but as she began to speak the sat phone at Patrick’s belt beeped imperatively.
Pulling the phone free, he checked it, quirked his lips mockingly, then flipped it open. “Good evening, Douglas. How nice to hear from you.” He turned to Cassa, his brows lifting in surprise. “Actually, I do have her.” He paused. Listened. His expression darkened. “A trade? Very well. The information I want for your wife. Where would you like to meet?”
For one horrifying moment she felt fear cascade inside her and felt any hope she had of surviving this diminish. He was going to trade her for information on his son. He was going to trade her to a man that they both knew would kill her. There was no way Douglas would allow her to survive.
God, where was Cabal?
Douglas Watts stared at the sat phone in his hand, then at the commander of the Coyote team that had broken him from the prison Jonas Wyatt and Cabal St. Laurents had kept him in for more than eleven years.
He hated Breeds. It didn’t matter what kind they were or whether or not they were loyal to the Genetics Council. He just flat-out hated them.
H. R. Alonzo had phrased it perfectly. They were an abomination against mankind. Whatever had possessed scientists to think they could control these creatures, he didn’t know.
Now they were mixing in the general population, mating human, God-created women and infecting them with the DNA that had created the Breeds and making inhuman little monsters.
“Were you able to track the call?” he asked the commander, as the Breed stared at the display on the tracking device he used.
The Breed shook his head slowly. “The signal’s bouncing. It wasn’t a direct line.” He folded the device and slipped it into a pocket of his olive green mission pants.
Douglas inhaled slowly. Deeply. Patience, he warned himself. The Council contact that had arranged the breakout had warned him that these Coyotes didn’t understand subservience the way Coyotes used to understand it.
Kill them all, he thought. That was what they should have done.
Clenching his teeth, he looked down at his legs and moved them again. At least there was some satisfaction there. The metal supports on his legs gave them strength, and the neural disc that had been implanted just after his escape gave him movement, sensation.
Damn, he was a man again. He was even fucking horny. He hadn’t had a hard-on since that son of a bitch St. Laurents staked him in the spine the night Douglas had tried to ensure his death.
If it just hadn’t been for that stupid bitch, Cassa. God, he was glad he hadn’t actually married her. The woman was dumb as a fucking brick. She wasn’t even a nice fuck. Not that she couldn’t have been if she had just put a little effort into it. The little prude.
He snorted at the thought. He bet she would move that little ass the next time he got his dick inside her. Being mated to that Bengal. He almost chuckled at the thought. He’d heard about mating and what it did to a woman, how they couldn’t tolerate another man’s touch. Hell, he’d even seen it for himself. Twenty-two years ago, in the mountains of this little town. He’d had the pleasure of raping one. She’d screamed. Screamed in agony. Begged and fought him like a lioness. And finally, she’d died. He’d fucked her until she lost the little animal she was carrying and died right there in his arms.
He was going to fuck Cassa like that too. Fuck her until she screamed and cried, fought and begged. And if she was carrying St. Laurents’s kittens, then he’d make sure she wasn’t carrying them when he finished with her.
Moving slowly, he rose to his feet, almost moaning with the welcome pain he felt in his legs. It would take a while to regain the muscle he’d lost in the past eleven years, the surgeon had warned him. But it would happen. He had his legs back, he had his manhood back.
And he had to piss.
Even that feeling was almost ecstasy. Soon, he’d be back to his old self, and once he was, he’d tell the world, show them the brutality of the Breeds.
They had reported Douglas Watts dead. Wouldn’t the world be surprised when he showed up, not just alive, but with proof of what they did to their enemies and the horrors they subjected those against them to.
“We’re meeting them in the valley then?” the commander asked, his voice chillingly polite.
“Isn’t that what you heard me arrange?” Douglas grunted, wishing he could slap the bastard down as he should have been able to do.
“There have been Bureau patrols around them,” the Coyote reminded him. “Just because the meet was stated for there doesn’t mean we can’t change it.”
No, the valley was perfect. He almost rubbed his hands together in glee. There was a reason he and his friends had chosen that valley to ambush the Breeds in. There were plenty of places to hide and not as many to break through. The bastard that had dared to try to kill off the Deadly Dozen, and Douglas himself, would learn that he wasn’t dealing with some country bumpkin.
Good Lord, why hadn’t Phillip Brandenmore taken care of this mess in Glen Ferris? He practically owned this town, but still, Breeds lived and were probably breeding here. Like rats. Or cockroaches.
“I gotta take a piss,” he told the Breed commander. Damn if he could remember his name. “Get your men together. Have they moved to the valley yet?”
“My men are in place.” The answer wasn’t rude, but it was just shy of it.
Douglas glared back at him. “Remember who’s paying you,” he bit out angrily. “If you don’t succeed, you won’t get a penny.”
The Coyote’s grin was rueful. “And I’m all about the money, man. It’s the only reason your white-trash ass is still alive.”