Page 4 of Ruthlessly Mated (Shared Mates #2)

I grab Cyril back, which surprises him because he was pretty damn sure he was grabbing me, but I push him hard, right against the far wall, slamming him against the stone.

In the same motion, I yank a stake from the holster on my thigh and stab it into his chest. I don’t do it quite hard enough to reach his heart.

Not right away, anyway, but I feel his ribs crack and I know that has to hurt like hell.

I grit my teeth in a vicious animal smile.

This isn’t mercy. I am always ready to kill anybody, living or dead. He should know that.

“Easy,” Cyril giggles, high-pitched, enjoying this.

He’s a masochistic little fucker, covered in scars from a human life that hurt a lot, but never really hurt enough.

He loves being a vampire, loves being able to take damage over and over and always heal from it.

I keep forgetting that, because I desperately don’t want the information in my mind.

I press the stake more firmly against his chest. I can hear his insides squishing. I push much harder and he’ll be staked.

“You’re a fucking scumbag,” I tell him. “You’re a scummy piece of shit.”

“And you’re a female wolf with no mate, just asking to be brought into heat. Can’t you smell them coming? Better run. Not that there’s any way off this beach besides the main gate, and you won’t be taking that truck through without their say-so.”

He’s right. I can smell male wolf on the breeze. It smells like getting caught and getting in serious fucking trouble.

I let Cyril go and run.

“She’s over here!” I can hear him immediately giving me up. How the hell did he find me so quickly? Did he find me before I even got here? I could have sworn I didn’t see any bats following the boat, but they’re little things and it’s possible I missed one.

I don’t have time to work it out. It’s all too late. I have to just hide somewhere. Anywhere. Where the hell am I going to hide?

My eye alights on an option.

No. I can’t.

I can’t.

I have to.

I dive head-first into a barrel of fish.

I am instantly surrounded by soft and squishy creatures covering me in oil.

I’m hoping it will conceal my odor, at the very least. They won’t be able to track me here.

I can’t really breathe terribly well, so I have to stick my nose out the top of the fish, which aren’t really that fresh. This is genius, and very stupid.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. Even if I don’t get caught here, I still have to get out of the port with my cargo. Goddammit. Why didn’t I pay for the seal?

I didn’t have enough money, that’s why. There’s only so much money in the world, and I only have so much of it, and it wasn’t enough.

This has got to be the worst thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. No matter if I get away or not, I’ve made an idiot of myself in front of Cyril, I’ve caused a scene in the tavern, and people will find out that it was me because smugglers and criminals gossip more than teenage girls do.

Bam!

A loud sound tells me that I made a mistake in choosing my hiding place as something impacts the side of the barrel hard, splitting it open.

I spill out everywhere with the rest of the fish.

The same wolf who grabbed me in the tavern snatches me up immediately.

This time I am much oilier, and so much wetter.

My hair is clinging to my face and my makeup is smeared.

I stare at him in fear, because he is so handsome right now. So masterful. So fucking masculine. So…

“Messy little pup,” he growls at me, giving me a shake. A bit of fish falls out of my coat. “What are we going to do with you?”

They’re all here.

I look around at the three of them, well, the ones who aren’t holding me. There’s the one who has me; the tall, elegant man, who is probably going to be most off-put by my fish scent; and the dark, quiet one whose expression is entirely unreadable.

“I told you not to run,” he says. “Do you know who you’ve crossed?”

The question prompts me to respond with sass. I’m kind of glad for his tone, for the rough way he’s pissing me off, because it lets me respond in the way I usually would, when I’m not so fucking turned on I can barely stand it.

“Three big assholes who like picking on single women?”

“Wrong. On so many counts. One, you’re not a single woman. You’re not a woman. You’re a female wolf, and by the scent of you, you’re overdue for a good breeding. Two, you’re not single anymore. You belong to us. We are your mates.”

I let outrage run through me, even though I know he’s right.

Every word he says is completely true. I’m theirs.

I belong to all three of them. Goddamn. I’ve never been with one man before, let alone a wolf like me, let alone three, let alone three fucking alphas.

They’ve all got that scent, that bearing.

I wonder how they manage to stand being around one another when they’re all like that.

How do they decide who is in charge? And why is it this massive beast who is holding me now?

“Belong to you? I don’t even know you!”

He leans in and runs his tongue up the side of my neck, cleaning off the fish and the water, and leaving one small part of me clean.

“That’s not how this works, and you know it. Your body is producing mating pheromones so intensely you’re lucky you don’t have all three of our cocks inside you right now.”

“Let’s get her back and contained. If she runs again, God knows what she’ll do. She’s clearly impulsive and unpredictable,” the blond interjects.

The dark-haired one still hasn’t said a word, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. It’s unsettling. And exciting. I feel a tremor in my nether regions as I meet his gaze, then look away in an effort to stop myself from responding physically.

The man holding me shakes his head. “No. That’s letting her off far too easily. We should take her back to the tavern. Show her oily little ass off to everybody, whip her until she’s crying and promising to behave herself.”

I pull a knife out of my coat and do my best to stab the man holding me. I would be successful too, if not for the dark one darting forward and staying my hand. He gives me a slight smirk and shakes his head at me. I don’t think the big one even noticed I almost removed an organ or two.

The dark-haired man hasn’t said anything to me. He hasn’t said anything at all. The other two are all talk, but he is perfectly silent.

“What’s your name?” The blond one crouches down. “My name is Tailor. This is Conroy,” he gestures at the tall one with the curly hair and the dark plan for me. “And this is Damon.” He flickers a glance at the dark-haired one. “Worry about him more than the rest of us.”

“My name’s Kita,” I say, reluctantly introducing myself.

“I know. Your reputation precedes you.”

“You mean Cyril snitched on me and told you my name.”

We are all first names only, apparently. That’s not uncommon in the criminal underworld.

“Don’t you want to get out of those fishy clothes?” Tailor says. “I’m sure you want to get comfortable, don’t you?”

“I’m not going with you.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, because it means Conroy hefts me up and over his shoulder.

“I’m taking her in,” he says. “This is not the time for polite introductions. We have a filthy little smuggler to discipline.”

He walks back into the tavern, kicking the doors open to hold me aloft by the scruff of my clothing like a stray pup.

“This is what happens to anybody who decides they don’t need to pay the toll to the masters of the port,” he declares, yanking my pants down in one rough motion that sends my Zip, coins, and other trinkets and treasures spilling all over the floor.

“Asshole!” I curse, kicking him right in the stomach as hard as I possibly can. My heel meets what feels like a rippling iron wall, and makes about as much impression on his body as it would against such an obstacle.

“I did pay the toll!”

“You stole a seal,” he snaps back. I wonder how he knew. Security cameras? Was there some other way of tracking the chip to the person who has it?

While I am contemplating the mystery, he clears the table in front of him with one big arm, sending drinks and things spilling onto the floor on top of my accoutrements, and tosses me on top of the rough wood surface.

I can’t see what he’s doing very well, but I know what the sound of a belt being pulled out of loops sounds like, and that’s what I hear about thirty seconds before it lands against my ass.

He grips the back of my head, his hand fisting my hair, and he brings that belt down so harshly I squeal even before it lands. Everyone laughs at that, but not as much as they laugh when it does land, and the leather bites against my ass cheeks.

I can hear my name being spread around. Someone is making sure that this story will circulate and be attributed to the right girl.

“Apologize,” he says.

“No!”

He grabs at my ass, his fingers curling in the wet fabric of my underwear.

He rips it off me. I didn’t know it was possible for fabric to just be yanked free like that.

It’s not like I’m wearing lacy panties. I’m wearing sensible black underwear and somehow it still comes off my body like it’s made of edible material.

My bare ass is now exposed to every criminal in the port, and Conroy is lashing my ass hard and fast, over and over, thrashing me so hard I can’t do anything but react.

“This little wretch thought she didn’t need to pay her dues,” he says, viciously lashing that leather across my ass hard enough to make me yelp.

I try not to cry out, but I’ve never been very stoic.

My plans usually involve avoiding punishment, not taking it.

“This is what happens to girls who don’t pay the toll, and worse will happen to men who don’t.

Take this as a warning, the lot of you. Port Denhome does not tolerate toll dodgers. ”