Page 1 of Tossed into the Mob (The Wolves of La Luna Noir #4)

ONE

TREYTON

“Night, Treyton.”

My colleague Clement waved as he strode toward the automatic doors holding a thermos of coffee. He was about to start his shift, and hospital coffee was crap. He was so full of energy I could almost see the sparks flying off him, while I could barely manage a grunt because I was so exhausted.

“Night.”

I trudged over the cold concrete and pulled my jacket tighter around me as I headed toward the parking garage.

Behind me were the fluorescent lights of the hospital and ahead was more muted lighting along with shadowy spaces.

If I were human and didn’t have a wolf security guard inside me, I’d have slung an alarm around my neck and gripped it in case someone jumped me.

My shift had run longer because I’d been attending the birth of twins. The alpha dad had panicked seeing his husband in so much pain, and that affected his laboring partner. They’d begged me to stay and not have another midwife attend them until their little ones were born.

I was that guy. The one who worked extra shifts and brought homemade cookies and pastries courtesy of my grandfather. The name Durand meant nothing to my co-workers, as the majority were humans and the few shifters who worked here weren’t associated with crime families.

But the long hours were taking their toll.

I used to be full of life with a bounce in my step, and now I’d glance at the clock, counting the hours till my shift ended.

I’d been contemplating starting a small business catering to pregnant omegas who couldn’t afford or couldn’t get to hospital checkups. For now it was just an idea.

I had the next couple of days off, so I’d sleep for twenty-four hours before joining the family at dinner Sunday night.

Grandpa would cook as usual, while my cousins’ kids would be caterwauling and climbing the walls.

My grandfather longed to have great-grandkids of his own, but I was concentrating on my career, and my brother Madden hadn’t been working for our cousin Flint, the pack Alpha, for long and had no intention to mate.

Being head of La Luna Noir was a burden Flint bore with the help of his brothers, Ranger and Hunter, the Betas. Grandpa was their great-uncle, and while he had been an integral part of the organization for decades, he now had his own food truck.

I needed to get home, shower, and sleep.

I’d probably collapse on the couch while eating the food Grandpa had delivered yesterday.

He was the best cook in the family and was now sharing a home with Flint’s dad, Rudy.

He hinted he’d like me to live at his house which was sitting empty, but it was too far out of town.

My wolf didn’t ask to shift, though he was tired of what he called the hospital odor. He longed to be in his fur, but I’d been doing this job long enough for him to understand I needed rest.

Grandpa had put two meals in my fridge and the rest in the freezer and tut-tutted at my cramped apartment. But I needed to be close to work, and while I could have found a roommate and rented a bigger place, because of my family’s reputation and business activities, I preferred to live alone.

I straddled the space between the human, non-criminal universe and a shifter crime family, preferring to bring new life into the world rather than handle a gun and deal with the messy mafia environment.

My footsteps echoed on the parking garage floor as I strolled to my small car.

While my extended family mostly traveled in expensive vehicles with bulletproof glass, I was paying off my secondhand one that had a dent in the front bumper.

There were few vehicles on this level late at night, and I fished the keys from my pocket as I approached the bay where I always parked.

I was a creature of habit and got annoyed if someone else put their car in my space.

My beast’s hearing was more acute than mine, and he warned me of a shuffling to the right of us, behind another car.

They’re human, maybe a patient because their breathing is ragged.

I picked up the movement and glanced to the side, not worried about a human staff member or even someone up to no good.

That was Grandpa’s old-fashioned expression.

“They’re up to no good,” he’d say about some kid lurking around the food truck, while ignoring the irony of the family business and their bodycount.

I shivered, not wanting to think of the people they’d killed, but as Grandpa said, those who the family had buried had been “up to no good.”

A shadow fell over the floor, and I tightened my grip on the keys.

It was instinct, the human kind, though my wolf told me not to worry.

If he took his fur and sprouted a tail, any human hellbent on stealing from me would freeze, scream, and run.

Or they’d faint and I’d have to raise their legs and pretend the partial shift never happened.

A man wearing a dark hoodie stepped out behind a column.

No big deal except he had sunken eyes and his hand was in his pocket.

While I wasn’t involved with the family business, I knew enough to understand he was clutching a gun.

Oh gods no. I’d done everything to keep away from La Luna Noir, and now I was about to die from a bullet to my chest. Was there an adjective for an overwhelming amount of irony?

The human’s body was shaking, and the hand gripping the weapon trembled.

“D-Don't m-move." His wavering voice signaled my beast could easily overpower him. “We need to go somewhere and talk.”

Let me at him. I’ll have him on the floor begging for his life in two seconds.

But I told my wolf to wait because this guy’s face, even in the weak overhead lighting, was pale, and sweat beaded his browline. And he hadn’t demanded money or that I steal drugs from the hospital pharmacy.

My beast and I caught the scent of blood as it dribbled over his right wrist and dripped onto the floor. The keys clinked as they dangled from my fingers, while I studied the dark stain under his arm.

I was no longer Treyton, the guy some foolish human was trying to waylay, but the medical professional who abided by the oath “do no harm.” This human needed medical attention, and it didn't matter if he was part of a street gang or he’d double-crossed someone and his aim was to steal my vehicle, it was my duty to help him.

“It’s okay.” I didn’t raise my voice because his hand was still wrapped round the gun. I was used to calming first-time fathers in the delivery room and hoped to reduce the tension here by using the same tone. "Whatever you need, we can talk about it."

“Quiet.”

My beast alerted me he scented fear.

No surprise there.

“You're Treyton Durand, right?"

Damn. No matter what I did, I’d be forever linked to my family, and now maybe the past was catching up, not with them but with me.

Grandpa’s brother and nephew had been assassinated by rival gangs, but that had been years and decades ago, and now I’d be the first of a new generation to be gunned down.

Let me take him.

Not yet.

He was human, so he didn’t know shifters existed, wasn’t aware my beast was aiming for his jugular and that threatening us might be his last mistake.

“Yes, I’m Treyton.” I held my arms out to the side so he knew I couldn’t reach for a weapon or a phone, not that I was in the habit of carrying a gun. “You’re hurt, and I can help you.”

“You can but not in the way you think. I’m staking my life on your family helping me.”

He said family.

This was about La Luna Noir, but I had little knowledge of the pack’s business dealings other than what was said at our weekly family dinners and other gatherings.

"Okay.” My mind was rifling through past conversations, trying to ferret out details that might be relevant. But nothing came to mind. Flint and his brothers tended not to talk business over dinner.

But if we stood here any longer, the guy would collapse, because blood was pooling at his feet and he was swaying even more. I doubted he’d be able to pull the trigger.

"You're coming with me." If he didn’t faint from loss of blood, he’d go into shock. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

If Ranger had been here, he would have let out a huge belly laugh, just prior to unleashing his beast.

This human is different.

I doubted my wolf would need to take his fur. A toddler could disarm this guy with one hand. But the fear in his voice and his constant blinking as though he was fighting to stay conscious was making my wolf uneasy.

It’s not that.

The smell of fear, sweat, and blood mingled with the gasoline and oil and stale odors from mold and mildew. But there was something else. Another scent that crept through his pores but withdrew when I tried to identify it.

"Where are you taking me?” That was a silly question because it wasn’t as though he was going to give me a map.

He jerked his head toward the exit and winced. "Move. And don't try anything stupid." He gulped. “I have a gun.”

He whipped it out in his left hand as if he wasn’t sure how to send a message to his trigger finger, suggesting he might be right-handed. He was shaking so badly, I doubted he’d hit me if he fired, though the bullet could ricochet and pierce either one of us.

“I didn’t want to do this.” His pained expression made me think he was telling the truth.

“Okay.” I had two days off, and the family wasn’t expecting to see me for forty-eight hours, but Grandpa would sound the alarm before that because he texted or called multiple times a day.

I took a step toward him, and he waved the gun at me as if to say, “Don’t try any funny stuff.”

"You're bleeding pretty badly, and I can help you. I’m a midwife.”

He snorted. “I’m not about to give birth.” He’d topple over if he lost any more blood, and I cursed my desire to park in the least-used floor of the parking lot.

The guy was gritting his teeth, and his chest heaved with the exertion of getting air in and out of his lungs. But now that I was closer, his scent was more powerful, and that sneaky hint of something was harder to hide.

He limped toward me, the distinctive thud of every second step echoing around the parking garage.

He was in bad shape, and I could have taken him to the ER on the first floor but there’d be questions, not only for him but for me too.

Police would get involved, and even though Flint played poker with the police chief, I preferred to avoid my cousin getting me out of a legal pickle.

If my family could see me being held hostage by a bleeding human, they’d wonder what was wrong with me.

But this guy needed medical intervention, and when they discovered what had happened, they’d pepper me with questions, wanting to know which mafia group he belonged to, because for sure he was part of a crime organization.

How do you know that?

Because he knows about me and the family.

But maybe like me, he was on the periphery, because for a mafia guy, wielding a gun should be as instinctive as breathing, and he acted as if he wasn’t sure which end of the gun would fire.

You don’t have great aim either.

Trust my wolf to bring up my lack of gun expertise.

A door slammed, and terror masked his face.

He waved the weapon, and I begged the universe to make sure the bullets stayed in the chamber.

I squatted beside my car, and he groaned, making it halfway to the floor before awkwardly balancing on the door.

We were in shadow, and the person walking from his vehicle toward the elevator didn’t look in our direction.

“Change of plan. You drive,” he hissed.

The guy leaned on the passenger side of the car, his labored breathing harsh and rattly.

He slid onto the concrete, leaving bloody handprints on the car.

I hauled him up before getting him into the passenger seat.

I had to ask myself why I was putting myself in this position.

He could shoot me and no one would know why.

I had a first-aid kit in the trunk, but I doubted he’d let me get it.

"When's the last time you ate anything?"

"Why do you care?"

“Because you’re losing a lot of blood, and you’re scared and in pain.

” But he was right. Why did I care? My wolf was tearing at my insides, telling me not to let this guy out of our sight.

And when I got behind the wheel and closed the door, I understood.

I white-knuckled the steering wheel and inhaled my kidnapper’s scent.

It stung my eyes as it delivered a message.

My cousins had kidnapped people and those incidents had worked out well. But now I’d been kidnapped by a gun-wielding human who’d been shot, and I was letting him. Me, a shifter, allowing myself to be overpowered by this injured man.

And now I understood why I hadn’t unleashed my beast on him.

He was my mate.