Filthy Vandal Page 2

  “Yeah fine, whatever,” Mathers said.

  Grant bent down to peer at Carter’s face.

  “Why’d you fucking interfere?” Carter growled.

  “Because you’re a fucking idiot with a death wish, that’s why.”

  Carter started to say something else, but coughed instead, spraying blood over Grant’s t-shirt.

  “Nice,” Grant said. “Let’s get you up.”

  He carefully lifted Carter to a standing position so he could walk him back to the weird little cabin Carter had made for himself. It was pretty much smack in the middle of the Junkyard, but that meant it was easy to reach from any part of the territory.

  Then he heard it—the fast footfalls of a running human.

  A running human woman.

  Mathers stood up straight and smirked. “I smell pussy.”

  The same woman had been running past the Junkyard every day for the last two months. When she came by, everyone was careful to either look like they belonged, or to hide. Grant still hadn’t laid eyes on her, but her vanilla and rose scent lingered in the air. Some days, it seemed like that scent was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind entirely and succumbing to Mathers’s darkness.

  Glancing over at Alleman, who had shifted back into his human form and was yanking on a pair of jeans, Mathers said, “You know what to do.”

  “Wait, what?” Grant said as Alleman took off toward the creek that ran through the territory.

  The creek was the closest point to the jogging trail.

  “None of your business, asshole,” Mathers growled.

  Jase shrugged when Grant sent him a questioning look. No answers there.

  “It’s not good,” Carter said, head lolling to the side. “Go.”

  Grant didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped Carter and ran after Alleman. Vaguely, he heard Mathers’s running footsteps behind him, but he didn’t pay any heed because he had to stop whatever was about to happen.

  He arrived at the edge of the creek in time to see Alleman sit down and jab a long piece of metal into his thigh. The wound didn’t bleed much, so Alleman yanked the metal out and jabbed again. Blood poured out of the wound, soaking Alleman’s jeans.

  “The fuck?” Grant said.

  The woman was coming up the path. He caught a glimpse of a blond ponytail swishing back and forth. She wore tight, shiny leggings and a loose black tank top layered over a fluorescent green sports bra. Her captivating scent reached his nose. He couldn’t believe he was finally looking at the beautiful creature whose scent of roses and vanilla had kept him sane the past few weeks.

  “Help!” Alleman called. “Help me!”

  The running footsteps faltered as the woman slowed.

  “Don’t—” Grant started to say, before Mathers’s sour odor filled his nostrils and an arm choked off his air.

  Grant fell to the ground. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the bottom of Mathers’s boot, coming straight for his face.

  2

  Caitlyn rounded the bend in the trail she took every day on her afternoon run. Her breathing was even, her legs pleasantly tired. After two months of the same route, she was surprised she even worked up a sweat by the end. She should really challenge herself more, but she wouldn’t be in northern California much longer. Now that her aunt had passed, there was nothing holding her here.

  This curve would take her past the big scrap yard. Sometimes she saw dudes working in it. Hot dudes. They never called out to her, nor she to them. She felt a strange pull to the scrap yard, but also a push, something holding her back.

  A sense of danger, she realized.

  “Help! Help me!” a voice called.

  Caitlyn slowed. Someone was in danger, and of course she hadn’t brought her phone today, thinking that it would be nice, for once, to not worry about getting a call about an emergency back at her aunt’s house.

  She felt immediately terrible for thinking that way. Her aunt was dead. She should feel more remorse, or at least a sense of loss. She’d lost a lot. Not only her aunt, but her nursing job at the hospital. She didn’t miss the job, exactly. It was more that she missed the busyness of it. Because when being busy, she could forget that she had no purpose. No goal. Her estranged aunt’s illness had called Caitlyn away from that busy job, and then she’d been left with one job only: caring for her aunt until she died.

  There was a lot of quiet when caring for a single sick person. A lot of time to think and ponder life.

  Caitlyn hadn’t liked all the pondering. Because what her brain had come up with was distressing. Her aunt had never found meaning or real, true love in her life. Caitlyn didn’t want to end up that way. Solitude, she could handle. But a life without purpose? Without family? That had been her current trajectory given her schedule at the hospital. No time for friends, family, or fun. She hadn’t even come up with a good pun in weeks, and she lived for puns.

  As she came toward the bridge that would take her over Cherry Creek, she heard something else, a cut-off, “Don’t.”

  But by now, she could see the man next to the creek. A long, metal pole stuck out of his thigh, and blood spilled from the wound, coating the man’s jeans.

  “Oh my gosh!” She had to get to him. She leaped over a wide path of gravel, a secondary trail tracing along the edge of the scrap yard. Then she was on her knees next to the man. He smelled foul, like stale beer and sweat.

  But a foul odor couldn’t keep her from her job. This was a man in need of help—this was an emergency, and Caitlyn was more than able to provide that help. It was her calling. As a nurse, this was what she did.

  No time to ask him how it happened. She yanked off her tank top and pressed it around the wound, hoping to stanch the bleeding.

  “How deep does it go?” she asked.

  The man turned a surprisingly clear pair of eyes to her face, then flicked them down to her breasts, which were encased in her modest sports bra. Licking his lips, he leered at her.

  The hell? She’d dealt with a lot of creeps, but generally if a guy had an injury as bad as a giant metal rod stuck in his leg and was bleeding all over the place, he didn’t take the time to check her out.

  Someone grabbed her arms and yanked them behind her. A rough voice said, “Hello, pretty one.”

  Caitlyn screamed. The guy in front of her pulled the pole out of his leg and tossed it aside. Then he stood up.

  He stood the fuck up.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. He was bleeding. The blood had been real. She’d heard the sick squelch as he removed the metal from his thigh.

  “Ruined a damn fine pair of jeans for this, Mathers,” the man said.

  “Oh, just shift already so you can heal faster,” the man holding her said.

  Caitlyn had forgotten to struggle at the sight of the guy pulling the pole from his leg and standing up, but she tried stomping on the instep of her assailant now. He easily dodged her.

  “I get a fair chance of mating her, yeah?” the injured guy said as he yanked off his jeans.

  “What the hell is going on?” Caitlyn asked. “Let go of me. Immediately.”

  They both laughed. A couple of other guys came up, openly staring at her. She’d pulled off her tank without a second thought, hoping to staunch the bleeding of the fallen man, and now she felt exposed. Naked. Powerless.

  This was bullshit.

  “Everyone gets a chance,” the guy behind her, Mathers, said. “We’ll fight for her. Ultimate prize.”

  “I don’t fucking think so—” Caitlyn started to say.

  One of the other guys, a giant with an unkempt beard, jammed a dirty piece of cloth into her mouth.

  Rough rope came around her wrists, and then more around her legs. She kicked hard. She was strong. She didn’t have to put up with this. She’d hop back onto the trail and go for help, report what these assholes were doing.

  But that was imaginary. Because the reality was that she was totally in their power and she had no way of
escaping. And she was not only scared, but pissed. Angry tears filled her eyes. How could she have gotten into this situation? The man had been impaled by a giant fucking piece of metal. She hadn’t imagined that.

  He was naked now, she saw as someone swung her around. Not only naked, but crouching on the ground. A strange light was surrounding him. Had she hit her head at some point? Maybe the cloth in her mouth was coated in some kind of hallucinogen.

  When the light faded, a mountain lion stood in his place. A gash on its hind leg was closing up before her eyes.

  This wasn’t real. She struggled to bring in air, something to help her see better, to allow her mind to work, because obviously she wasn’t getting enough oxygen through the rag in her mouth. It tasted like dirt and sweat.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Someone lifted her into the air. The world went dark.

  Consciousness returned to her when someone set her down on cool linoleum. She blinked her eyes open, her heart already picking up its pace again. It looked like she was in a narrow building, maybe a camp trailer. Grimy windows let in a tiny bit of light and illuminated the filthy floor she sat on, and a lump of cushions or trash bags rested in the corner.

  The cloth was still jammed in her mouth. She focused on breathing through her nose, slowly and evenly. Panic wasn’t going to help her in this situation. Thinking clearly just might help.

  Some kind of hallucinogen was in the rag, apparently. She had to get rid of it.

  A man stood in front of her in dirty jeans and a camo tank. He bent down so his face was closer to hers. He smelled like the guy who’d been holding her from behind. Mathers, was his name. He had a cleft chin that was mostly covered in whiskers. His brown hair was greasy and in desperate need of a trim, and his dark brown eyes gave her the chills.

  He grinned, but not a reassuring kind of grin. It was more the kind of grin you’d see on Hannibal Lecter before he cut into a very rare steak.

  He said, “You can run, pretty, but there’s less than a hundred acres in this junkyard, and we’ll catch you again quick. I suggest you don’t piss us off, but honestly, lots of guys here like a little chase.”

  If her mouth wasn’t so dry because of the rag, she would have gulped in fear. She forced herself to keep still.

  Humming to himself, Mathers stood up straight and walked out of the trailer.

  Tears leaked from Caitlyn’s eyes. Nobody would miss her, nobody would come looking for her. Aunt Galinda had passed. The estate was all in Caitlyn’s name and she hadn’t decided what to do with it. Electricity was paid for the next month. Her friends down south knew that she was busy up here, and she wasn’t that close to them to begin with. She hadn’t talked to a soul other than the attorney after her aunt’s passing.

  A noise reached her ears from across the little trailer. She looked up in alarm. The pile of trash bags was breathing. Was that a man? She squinted, trying to see better, but all she could make out was a big, lumpy mass. It was definitely big enough to be human.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “Hey, wake up.”

  The mass continued breathing.

  What if that man—or woman—was worse than Mathers? Maybe it would be best to let the person sleep.

  She moved her wrists back and forth behind her, hoping to stretch the rope. If nobody was coming to look for her, she’d best rescue herself. Someway, somehow, she’d get out of here.

  3

  It was dark when Grant woke up. He was on his side, on the floor. He could see a wall right in front of him.

  His arms hurt. When he tried to move them, they pulled against rope. He’d been tied up. He could try shifting, but first he wanted to know where he was and what was going on.

  The sounds outside were of more fighting in the ring. A few people shouted and booed, and Mathers announced, “Jase lost. Noah’s the next contender for taking the bitch.”

  The bitch? Had they convinced the runner to come over the boundary line? Shit. They must have. And now they were fighting over her—she was the prize. A dull ache spread through Grant at the thought.

  He guessed he was in Mathers’s trailer. It smelled sour, like rotting citrus, so Grant was pretty sure about his guess. Still, he rolled over, as carefully as possible, so he could see the room behind him.

  Whoa. There she was. The woman who’d traipsed over the boundary to “help” Alleman. She was sleeping, her head lolling to one side, her eyes closed. Her arms were behind her back, probably tied there, and a rag was stuffed in her mouth. Why they would bother gagging her, Grant had no idea—it wasn’t like anyone would hear her if she started screaming. The trail she ran on every day—she’d been the only person to use it since before Grant had come to work at the Junkyard.

  Dried tear tracks ran down her face.

  Grant’s heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest. This wasn’t right.

  “Hey, lady,” he said. “Hey.”

  Her eyes shot open. She looked wildly around the trailer until her gaze landed on him. Immediately, she began scooting away, putting more distance between them.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Grant said. “My name is Grant. I’d like to help.”

  He wanted to know her name, but she wouldn’t be able to tell him until he helped her with the gag.

  He’d have to shift in front of her to get free of his rope. She was human, though, and he doubted she’d react well to seeing a full-grown mountain lion standing in front of her. Still, there was no other choice.

  “When are you gonna fight, huh, Mathers?” one of the guys said. “Pussying out on us?”

  “Bidin’ my time,” Mathers said.

  “Waiting for us all to get tired so you can claim her, more like,” the guy said.

  Thwack. The sound of a solid hit. Then the thud of a person falling.

  Mathers said, “Anyone else want to fuckin’ argue with me?”

  Silence.

  “Then let’s go. Ephraimson and Alleman. Begin.”

  Cheers rose up once more.

  Grant looked at the woman again. Her brown eyes were dark with misery and hopelessness. He guessed he’d been unconscious most of the afternoon, and she’d likely been struggling, wondering what was going to happen to her.

  “I’m gonna try to get us out of here,” Grant told her. He wasn’t sure how to prepare her for the sight of him shifting. “This might be scary—”

  The trailer door opened and a shadow filled the frame. Grant looked up, saw Carter. Great, just what he needed—someone to cause more mischief.

  A knife caught the faint light shining through one of the windows, and Carter strode on silent feet toward Grant. The woman made sounds of panic and dismay, but Carter simply cut the ropes that held Grant’s arms in place.

  “Thanks, man,” Grant said.

  “Not doing it for you,” Carter said.

  “You know I’m just going to free the woman,” Grant said, eyeing Carter suspiciously.

  Carter shrugged. “Go for it, I don’t care. I like my women willing, not tied up and won in a fight.”

  Grant agreed.

  “Why are you doing this, anyway?” Grant asked as he rolled up to his feet.

  “The others are gonna lose their shit when you take off with her,” Carter said. “I find it fucking amusing. Whoever leaves with her tonight, keeps her. Mathers said. So if you leave, you keep her, and they don’t get her. Everyone’s gonna be pissed. Blood will fly.”

  “Is that why you didn’t join the fights? You wanted to save her instead?”

  “Could be. But I love a good tussle. I’m going out there now.” With a smirk, Carter ducked back out of the trailer and disappeared into the shadows of metal scraps.

  The woman stared up at Grant with her brown eyes wide and questioning.

  “Let’s get you out of here. Try to keep quiet, though,” Grant said, and yanked the rag from her mouth.

  She swallowed several times and took some deep breaths. He wanted to hear her voice, but he didn’t want the o
thers to hear a feminine voice and know she was free.

  He helped her stand. Her legs shook, so he did his best to support her while not touching her too much. He didn’t want to spook her.

  Carter had left the knife on the counter, so Grant used it to cut the woman’s ropes and then kept hold of it. If he needed to fight for her, he would, and he had zero interest in fighting clean at this point. Informal referee or not, he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  He didn’t know why he felt so responsible for her, but he could cogitate on that later.

  “Come on,” he whispered, and went to the door of the trailer. He paused there, listening for anyone who might be waiting, but all was silent on the other side of the door. Everyone was busy with the fighting.

  He kept to the shadows and prayed the woman had enough sense to do the same. They skirted around large sheets of corrugated metal, old cars piled against each other, and giant, rust-coated cans.

  While he skulked around an old pick-up, he kept his attention on the woman. She was obviously uncomfortable and looked ready to bolt at any moment. Still, she kept her focus and followed him away from the scrap yard and into the cover of the trees along the boundary of the Junkyard. When she opened her mouth to say something, probably believing they were out of earshot of the others, he shook his head and held a finger to his lips. Nodding, she didn’t speak.

  They were nearly to his trailer when she stopped suddenly. Grant stopped, too, and looked at her in question.

  Can we talk now? she mouthed.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, “but we should really keep moving—”

  “A question, first.” Hands on her hips, she asked, “What did they put in that gag?”

  He stared at her, perplexed. “It was just a dirty rag.”

  “No, there was something in it.”