It happened fast. That linebacker-sized human body slamming into Gwen’s, the weight and force of it pinning her to the stair railing. Then Ronnie forced her left forearm against Gwen’s neck and slapped her left hand over Gwen’s mouth at the same time, stifling Gwen’s screams as Ronnie’s right hand reached down and gripped the back of Gwen’s wounded and still-healing leg.
Gwen struggled to fight her off, but the She-wolf had pinned her in such a way she couldn’t move her arms and she had no leverage.
“Stop squirming,” Ronnie Lee warned, “or I’ll—” the hand tightened on her calf again and Gwen screamed behind the hand covering her mouth. She also stopped moving.
“Much better,” Ronnie said, cheery as ever. “Darlin’, I know from personal experience that changing your life is never easy. Especially when your family cares so much it smothers you. Trust me, I understand. But you need to understand that I want to keep Brendon Shaw happy. Because when he’s happy, I’m happy. And—” her smile never wavered, never lessened “—if you think for a New York second that I’m going to let some little half-breed, gutter cat get between me and my happiness, you are sadly mistaken. So when my Brendon comes back out here and offers you the room, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take it, you’re gonna say thank you—like a lady—and you’re gonna be damn happy about it. And if you don’t…I will sneak in to your room, hack your leg off in the middle of the night, and use it as a putter for when I go drunk-golfing with Sissy. Now do we understand each other?”
Gwen’s answer was to scream again because the hillbilly bitch tightened her grip on Gwen’s leg.
“I didn’t hear you, darlin’. What was that?”
Ronnie squeezed again, but this time Gwen screamed out “Yes!”
“Good.” Ronnie released her and stood, quickly and easily moving out of the way as Bren came back outside.
“They’re unbelievable,” he grumbled, trotting back down the stairs. “‘What fire?’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she says. Canines.” He blinked when he saw Gwen bent over at the waist, holding her leg and crying.
“Gwenie? Sweetie? What’s the matter?”
“Her leg flared up,” Ronnie offered, sounding all sorts of concerned. “But the doctor warned that would happen throughout the day. Didn’t she, Gwenie?”
Gwen nodded, gritting her teeth against the brutal pain.
“I’ll get the pain pills.”
“I’ll get ’em,” Ronnie offered before Brendon could step away. “You two talk.” She winked at Gwen and sauntered back into the house.
Brendon crouched in front of Gwen, his big hand reaching up and gently brushing the tears from her face. “You poor thing. Maybe I should take you back to the medical center?”
Christ! That was almost worse than the hillbilly! Almost. Gwen shook her head.
“All right, all right. Don’t panic. We’ll get you your pills and let you rest on the couch. You’ll even have control of the TV remote.” He winked. “And then we’ll talk about you staying at the hotel when you move to New York. I promise it’ll be temporary but I know I’ll feel better if—”
“I’ll take it,” Gwen said quickly, too quickly.
“You will?”
“Yeah. I’ll take it.” She nodded, desperately. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.”
Surprised, Brendon grinned. “Wow. Okay.” He carefully reached under her legs and behind her back, easily lifting her off the porch stairs so he could carry her inside. “I have to say, though, Gwen,” he teased, “I definitely thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
The male wolfdog fell to his back, the jaws clamped tight around his neck, the heavier animal holding him down against the blood-encrusted dirt floor. He slammed his claws into the throat of his opponent, tearing at the flesh, hoping to hit the arteries, but it didn’t seem to do any good. His opponent only squeezed harder until, with his windpipe crushed, he could no longer breathe. As he struggled, his body was swung back and forth, and from side to side until it was tossed across the floor and into the low wall surrounding the pit.
As his life drained out onto the floor beneath him, he heard the roar of the crowd…
CHAPTER 7
Gwen stumbled out of bed and headed straight into the living room. She poured herself a cup of coffee and walked over to the window. She pressed a button and the drapes silently drew back. She smiled at the sight of the Manhattan skyline.
After nearly six weeks, she’d thought she’d be bored by the same view every morning, but she wasn’t. It kind of felt like the entire world was at her feet, waiting for her. Stupid, but she enjoyed the delusion anyway.
The sun was barely rising and she had a busy morning ahead in Jersey. She didn’t look forward to the traffic, but a job was a job. She and Blayne were doing better than anyone but Blayne’s dad expected. Plus leaving Philly had not been an easy task. Her Uncle Cally gave her a hard time for leaving the family and her mother acted like Gwen was moving out of the country and joining a cult.
“I blame Blayne!” her mother had shouted dramatically, Gwen’s aunts shaking their heads in disgust and tsk-tsking all over the place.
“You love Blayne,” Gwen had to remind her. “Any new friends I’ve brought home, you were quick to compare them to Blayne and they were always not good enough.”
“She tricked me. Goddamn wolfdog!”
“Ma.”
Shoving that long and torturous argument out of her mind and lured by the delicious scent of food, Gwen wandered over to the small dining table and sat down. She pulled off the silver cover to one of the plates and smiled. Crispy French toast, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. Then it hit her—she hadn’t ordered room service. She’d planned on grabbing a couple of donuts from the bakery next door to the office before she headed out.
Where did this come from?
The hotel room door slammed open, and suitcases were tossed inside, followed by her brother.
“Don’t blame this on me!” he yelled at the empty doorway. “If you’d kept your trap shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”
“Me?” a female voice yelled from the hallway. “Are you actually blaming me for this, Mitchell Shaw?”
“Yes! I’m actually blaming you for this!”
Mitchell O’Neill in Philly, Mitchell Shaw in New York, kicked the bags he’d just tossed down out of his way. He was uncharacteristically pissed as he tore off his leather bomber jacket and threw it on the couch.
“Is it really that hard for you to listen to me—for once?”
“I did listen to you!”
Mitch came across the room toward Gwen. She watched him closely, ready to flee if she deemed it necessary. But instead of demanding to know what the hell she was doing in his hotel suite, he snatched a piece of French toast off her plate and dunked it into the serving bowl of maple syrup. “Only when it looked like we were about to go to prison!” He leaned down and kissed Gwen on the forehead. “Yo, little sis.”
Gwen brushed her forehead against his chin in a proper Pride greeting, while forcing herself to remain calm. “Yo, Mitchie.” Christ, why was he here? He wasn’t supposed to be back in the states for another month, maybe two. “Closer to Christmas,” was what she’d last heard.
It was not Christmas! Why was he here and it was not Christmas?
Sissy Mae Smith, her big brother’s mate and Alpha Female of the New York Smith Pack, stumbled into the room loaded down with even more bags. “You pack like a woman,” she snarled when she finally dropped the luggage to the floor. “How can one man have so much conditioner?”