Her Perilous Wolf by Julie Steimle (best e book reader TXT) 📕

complex which at a distance almost seemed like a prison or a military training ground. Part of the complex contained a fenced yard with what looked like an obstacle course for intense paintball. It did not have a real parking lot, but gravel. Yet various automobiles were neatly parked there.

The taxi driver dropped Vincent off, refusing to stay. He had heard rumors about the complex, that it was a black ops military facility, and the people who worked there were mercenaries. Vincent lingered at the gate, watching the taxi go as the sun dipped down the horizon.

The gravel lot remained lit by towering light posts which gave the lot an almost ominous character. It was the kind of place for clandestine rendezvous, the ones he saw in movies. After fifteen minutes of standing and waiting in the spotlight of one post, Vincent noticed five men exit the facility, heading toward their cars. He knew what Michael would look like. He was six-two with dark brown hair, nearly black. He had a fair complexion and for the most part could have been a model for Abercrombie & Fitch. He had that prep-school boy look about him, even as a man. But none of these men walking out looked like him. These men were brutes. It was shocking to see their muscles and their attire together, as indeed they had the visage of black-ops soldiers—the kind you see in movies working as mercenaries for big cash. Two of them eyed him. One went directly to his car while the other marched up to Vincent.

“What are you doing here?”

Vincent quickly straightened up, glancing toward any lump in that man’s suit which could possibly be a weapon. “I’m looking for Michael Toms. I’m here to discuss some business with him.”

The man laughed. It came deep and mocking. “The kid?”

Kid? Vincent did not think that bode well.

“What kind of business?” the brutish man asked with an up-jerk of his chiseled chin.

Shrugging, Vincent replied, “Business business. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him all day. Everyone says he’s busy. But I finally got hold of his father, and he gave me this address.” It was a tiny lie wrapped in truth. There was no way he’d let on to this monster-hunting fanatic his real purpose. He didn’t even dare mention Rick Deacon. He remember the list of people marked as ‘conspirators with werewolves.’ Rick’s warning was becoming more and more credible the more he pursued this investigation. He had to deflect.

The brute snorted, turning to go back to his vehicle, which in this case was an SUV. “Go home. If the kid has been dodging your calls, he probably does not want to do business with you.”

Vincent frowned. “He doesn’t even know what business I need to discuss.”

Those other men shot him mocking glances climbing into their vehicles to leave.

Another set came out, this time three—including a woman and a Native American man. The woman was tall, dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and cowboy boots. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a fluffy braid. She looked like she had just run a triathlon, sweat on her forehead and a grin of satisfaction on her face. She was talking animatedly with the Native American man who was also tall with long straight hair. But he wore a south-western style cloth bandana-like headband with one eagle feather in his hair. He was in jeans and tee shirt, both dark and difficult to decipher if there were any emblems on them in the dark. The third person in their party was a shorter man built like a brick—who was not Michael.

“… going to the meeting. Look. You didn’t step up when we asked you to in June. And you’ve been seen with that wolf too many times. Now I’m not saying it, but others are saying it. Tommy, you are burning bridges with the Association.” The woman propped her hands onto her hips, not even noticing Vincent as she was too engrossed in her argument.

Tommy—the tall Native man—said with a resonant voice that was nearly iconic, “I do what I do regardless of the Association. Being a spirit warrior is in my blood. It is you people you have to slap a license on everything.”

The man opened his mouth, but Tommy stopped him, spotting Vincent. “You there! What are you doing here? This area is off limits!”

Shrugging, Vincent called back, “I’m waiting for Michael Toms. His father said I could find him here.”

All three stared at him, though Tommy left the two and marched in long strides toward Vincent. “What do you want with Michael Toms?”

Up close, the man was like bear. He certainly gave off the presence of someone with that kind of energy. Tommy probably could swat him down with one hand.

But Vincent did not back down, straightening his suit. “It’s business. I came to speak with him personally.”

Tommy snorted, eyeing Vincent up and down to get a read on him. But Vincent had already stood face to face with a werewolf and Bobo who could not be killed. He was on a mission besides. Straightening his tie, he resolved to find Michael, no matter what.

And the far door opened again. This time two men emerged, both in the midst of a loud argument.

“No. I don’t think so! You have to consider each individual case!”

“Individual case? We are talking about demons here! Do you not understand how unethical it is to work with let alone associate with demons?”

“That is downright prejudiced. You don’t even know her!”

“I know what she is! Vimps are the worst of all demons. And that one is AWOL—”

“She’s not a soldier, dude.”

“She is AWOL!”

“AWOL means absent without leave,” the other retorted with an almost insufferable amount of condescension. As they came closer Vincent could see that one was Michael. He appeared taller than six-two. He also had a bearing of a man who was much older, much more experienced than those around him—which was impossible. “She is not in the military. And if you are going to accuse her of something, you could at least use the term correctly. She is a destroying angel now—confirmed by several witnesses which include—”

“You could at least cut ties with that family,” the other man snarled. “Supplying them with information on her whereabouts is—”

“Her family is concerned—”

“You have been giving them updates on rumors. Let that family recover from being possessed by—”

“They were not possessed! For the last time, they willingly raised her.” Michael then looked to where Tommy was standing with Vincent. Vincent could see the man internally groan. So, he was quick minded too. Mr. Toms was right. Michael was not an ordinary man.

“Where is she now, by the way? We know she left the Middle East. Someone said they saw her in the Congo.”

The Congo was in Africa. A dangerous demon was in Africa near his cousin? But Africa was a big continent. Audry was in Tanzania or Kenya. Was that near it or far from the Congo? He didn’t know.

 “I don’t know anything about that,” Michael murmured. “Destroying angels are out of our jurisdiction entirely, and you know it. I mean, come on, what can you possibly do against one?” He sighed, meeting gazes with Tommy—almost telepathically saying to wait a minute. Tommy nodded back, stepping in Vincent’s path, clearly to block his progress toward Michael.

“Yeah? Well, what about that other meddlesome jerk from the Seven whom we found out had helped smuggle a European elf into the US? Huh? We don’t need that kind of trouble brought into our county!”

“Swift?” Michael looked to the man. “Look, whatever Swift does is none of my business. He’s his own man. It’s not like I’m the boss of the other Seven. And as for elves, whatever they do, you’d better hope not to upset them—whether they are on the right side or not. Maybe the Elf had business here. Leave them both alone.”

Elves? Vincent shuddered. He really had no clue what things were real and what weren’t. Was this argument even real? Or a show to pull his leg?

“Oh, we’re tracking him—not the damn elf. We can’t find her now. He just set her loose once he got to damn nature. But you’d better talk to your pals in the Seven. Maybe you’re not the boss of them, but they can’t keep breaking international agreements over sneaking supernatural beings into our territory.”

“They can’t or they shouldn’t, because they are quite able,” Michael muttered. He then looked over to Vincent, calling out. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you,” Vincent shouted back across the gravel lot. There was still a significant distance between them. “Look, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Your father said he’d contact you and give you a heads up.”

“You’re Vincent Williams?” Michael pushed past the other guy who fumed at being brushed aside. However that man also peered toward Vincent with disgusted curiosity.

Vincent nodded. “I need to have a private word with you.”

Michael shook his head, marching nearer. He definitely was taller than Vincent had imagined. He had rather broad shoulders. But he still looked like he could pull off a 3 piece suit rather well. Michael definitely had that ‘It’ quality about him. But there was something else, something extra which Vincent could not quite put his finger on. It was the same ‘something’ that Daniel Smith had—one that said this man was scary dangerous and not what he seemed.

“Hey,” the other guy snapped at Michael. “This isn’t over. You have to choose sides.”

Sighing, Michael shot him a side glance. “I’ve long chosen sides. I protect the innocent. But you people don’t seem to comprehend what that means.”

“Monsters aren’t innocent,” the man hissed at him—before tromping away to his own car.

The woman and Tommy lingered, along with their shorter, stockier friend.

“Look, Mr. Williams,” Michael said, approaching Vincent at a longer stride now (especially as he seemed to have rather long legs), “Like I explained to Mr. Gregory Bruchenhaus and John Bruchenhaus, your employers, I will not support my father going into business with anyone bent on destroying the business of Deacon Enterprises.”

The woman drew in a breath, staring more at Vincent. He could not tell due to the lighting and shadows if she was disgusted, impressed, or shocked. The other two men’s faces were fully in the light. Tommy appeared smug, the other man full of curiosity.

Nevertheless, Vincent extended his hand and said, “I think we started this off wrong. Hello. My name is Vincent Williams and I—”

“Not interested.” Michael walked past, not even giving Vincent another look.

But Vincent followed. He peeked once to those around him who were watching—mostly for their amusement. “Look. My cousin is Audry Bruchenhaus and—”

Michael halted as if someone had yanked his leash. He quickly peeked to the others, eyes wide. He raked over Vincent’s visage, this time taking him in. But his eyes flickered the most to the lady. Then he gazed in earnest at Tommy. Tommy seemed taken aback.

“That’s the same Bruchenhaus family?” Michael was almost speechless. “But she’s like—”

“Do you have any idea where you are?” Tommy interjected, hissing to them both.

Michael nodded, quickly taking out his keys. He waved for Vincent to follow him.

Vincent nodded to Tommy, going after Michael. “Yeah. Uh. A place where you are training for something connected to the SRA.”

“How do you know about the SRA?” Michael snapped, face sweating a little. He rounded the font of his sleek hybrid—a fitting car for a California businessman.

“Well, you have a website—” Vincent looked around the darkening lot.  The establishment started to empty with others coming out. Michael and Tommy both noticed this but with growing alarm. Vincent did not know why.

“What do you want with me?” Michael demanded in a low hiss.

Vincent stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged, trying to act calm as he was getting serious creeps. He was the lone rabbit amidst a pack of ravenous foxes—if that even happened (he’d have to ask Audry).