Like Quince, Miles had also lost his dad at an early age. But by that point he’d been heavily involved in helping to raise his teenage sisters and attending school while Quince had worked under Michael.
So to hear that Quince had killed Michael so Michael’s bastard sons could take over the pride had been a shock. But Quince hadn’t denied his involvement with the dick back then. They’d been tight. And Miles had seen with his own eyes the damage Quince had done to several members and organizations within the pride. All that, on top of what Alissa had told him and finding Belinda torn up… He’d believed the worst.
He scowled down at the note Quince had left him while fingering the soft bracelet in his other hand. Joy’s bracelet.
“You want your sister back in one piece, fight for her. If you even remember how to. Be at the House at nine. Come alone. I win, you leave the pride for good. Joy is mine. You win when I’m dead and gone.”
Miles rubbed his jaw, wondering how Joy could be so blinded to the kind of man Quince really was. He kept seeing Belinda in his mind’s eye, and then he imagined Joy reaching out to him, so hurt, so lost.
Dead and gone? So be it. He pocketed the bracelet and left the office. He had a fight to get ready for and a corrupt dictator to end. Once and for good.
Chapter Nine
Quince couldn’t believe Ayers had the nerve to invite not just two supposedly impartial elders—judges who by their very natures observed with neutrality—and three witnesses, but his entire band of loyal shitheads as well. In the fighting ring behind the House, a cleared area in the middle of the pine forest the size of half a football field, Quince and Ayers stood barefoot and bare-chested over matted grass. On either side of the ring stood members of the pride, while a small raised platform with six mounted chairs oversaw the activities.
Normally they held contests and sporting matches in the ring, while those who supervised or judged watched from the platform. Where the new pride leader might stand the next time they held the pride games. God willing it wouldn’t be Ayers or Quince.
Behind him, Jace, Ellis and Rain—his witnesses—stood waiting and watching. He’d forced Dana, Willow and Joy to stand by in secret. Females could be deadly, but by not having them present, he would appear as if trying to protect them. Actually, he had them watching from the woods, masked by Hunter’s mist so they wouldn’t be scented, waiting in their feline forms, armed with claws and teeth and muscular grace. And guns, if need be.
Quince was no fool. When Ayers made his play—and he would—Quince needed to be one step ahead of him. He had no doubt that if left to Greg Ayers, Quince and his guys wouldn’t be leaving this fight alive. He wondered if the judges would support Quince’s side, or if they’d been bought. He glanced at the three older men.
Alan Danville, the oldest member of the pride and their current European Liaison, would and had remained loyal to the pride. During Lex’s chaos, Danville had been in France dealing with obnoxious lions. But when he’d learned of Michael’s passing, he’d sent Quince condolences by way of secret correspondence. That the sly older man had known not to trust Lex showed him to be a keen ally.
Yet Quince also knew that Danville would turn on him in a heartbeat if he tried to hurt the good of the pride. Danville was the pride’s conscience, and a good one they couldn’t afford to lose. Despite wanting him in attendance, Quince had had second thoughts about inviting him tonight. But when he’d warned Danville of the possible danger, the elder had ignored good sense and insisted on being present. As one of the only judges old enough to have witnessed an actual Pride Fight, he at least knew how to run the thing.
Rumblings behind Ayers from two dozen pride members, to include Alissa and Darren Watson, Ayers’s right hand man, alerted Quince to pay better attention. What was supposed to have been a private fight had apparently turned into the evening’s entertainment.
“So much for this being between you and me,” Quince mocked and raised his hands while Judge Nettles looked him over and patted him down.
“He’s clean.”
Judge Everton did the same to Ayers. “Him too.”
Nettles and Everton walked back to the raised platform at the head of the clearing, where Danville stood waiting.
“Danville?” Nettles blinked in surprise, not having seen the old man take his place as head of the proceedings. “Hadn’t heard you were back in town.”
Danville, a cranky old bastard by anyone’s standards, scowled. “Didn’t know I needed your permission to come back to my own pride.”
“No, sir.” Nettles flushed. “Welcome back.”
“Gee, thanks.” Danville jumped onto the platform with the spry grace of a man several decades younger than the ninety-two he was purported to be. “Well, get on with it. I have things to do before I die, you know.” Then he and the other two judges took their seats.
Ayers gave Quince a crafty look. “Danville doesn’t matter. Neither do the others. You’re going down, one way or the other.”
“Dream on.” Quince wondered when Ayers would make his move. Physically, Quince outweighed and outmuscled him. Sure, Ayers could use his guys to try to attack Quince’s group, but none of them were armed. Quince had personally looked them over while Ayers had done the same to Jace, Ellis and Rain.
Would Ayers try to kill Quince and his men in front of impartial witnesses? Unless Nettles and Everton weren’t legit. Yet of all the judges that could have been present, Nettles and Everton seemed the cleanest and most sincere. Quince’s decision to involve Danville in pride politics had been made some time ago, back when he’d finally started to make progress cleaning up Lex’s mess. Just his luck the old cat had decided to return to the states when Quince needed him most.
Danville spoke. “Shake hands, then prepare to fight.”
Ayers held out his hand. Quince eyed it warily, but he didn’t scent or see any sign of foul play. With the judges waiting for him to take Ayers’s hand, then step back and prepare to fight, he reached out.
Ayers clasped his hand tightly, and a burning sensation struck Quince’s palm. He wanted to pull back, but Ayers refused to let him go.
“You fucker.” Quince snorted in derision. “I’m not surprised you cheated.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ayers grinned, yanked his hand back, and then crouched, prepared to fight. “Quit whining and fight me, Quince.”
“Stop all the chit chat.” Danville ordered. “You fight first as human, then as feline.” The judge sat between Nettles and Everton, watching. “Winner rules the pride. We three judges will decide the outcome in the event no one dies. Somehow, I don’t see that being an issue with you two.”
“You got that right,” Quince growled.
“Hell, yeah,” Ayers agreed.
“Unfortunate, but there you have it. Now get it on, boys.” Danville nodded.
Quince wanted to see Joy again before he fought, but he didn’t have the time. Already he could feel himself changing, his animal spirit hissing at the wrongness invading his system. What the fuck had Ayers done to him?
No matter. He had to draw this out. If he’d gauged his timing right, he had a good twenty minutes before Miles showed up. He had to clean up Ayers now.
Launching himself at Ayers, he knocked the pussy down. Ayers’s wide eyes made it seem as if he’d expected the toxin he’d infected Quince with to knock him out or weaken him, so Quince worked fast. Tired of dealing with the shitty cats day after day, of knowing he might lose Joy if he didn’t end Ayers’s threat, he used every ounce of his waning strength to knock Ayers off his feet.