The Wolf's Secret Vegas Bride Read online

  She realized she’d been staring blankly at the machines. Wasting time. Stupid. Stay on track.

  Dani studied her choices. Despite the fact the ATV was new and big—a shiny red beast with a rack to strap her satchel—she opted for the bike. ATVs, while fast, were more cumbersome, and she felt a need for speed. I can’t get away from here fast enough.

  She tightened the satchel across her chest before grabbing the handlebars of the bike. She’d have to be careful yanking it off.

  A slight tug and it barely rocked on the stand. She’d need to give it more muscle. She took in a breath and heaved. The bike lurched toward her, the weight of the front tipping harder than expected. Her arms dropped, and she heard a screech of metal.

  The front and back tire hit the ground with a solid thud along with the muffler. She stared at the cylinder on the floor. Uh-oh. So much for a quiet exit. It wouldn’t matter, though. He was gone. There was no one to hear. Even if his crew did, what would they do? There was nothing on the property they could use to chase her. He didn’t want to risk her escaping.

  The key went into the ignition easily, but she didn’t turn it yet. She straddled the bike and walked it out of the shed Flintstone style. Once she started it, she’d better be ready to move. At least this time she could follow the road. A road wreathed in a thick mist.

  She took in a deep breath. The silence pressed on her. The bugs, birds, everything so quiet this morning. She wanted to think she would succeed. Look how far she’d made it this time. Just a little farther to go.

  A shiver walked down her spine, shattering that fragile hope. He’ll find me. He always finds me.

  Two months of being a prisoner. Two months of attempts. None in the last two weeks. He truly thought by burying her in the wilderness he’d foil her.

  He’d miscalculated her determination.

  The first kick of the starter pedal produced nothing but a click. Turn it on, idiot. Sometimes the basics could elude. She set the key into the right position, pulled the choke, and gave it some gas as she drove her foot down again on the lever. A stutter. Nuh-nuh-nuh. Sputter.

  She kicked it again; it barely coughed.

  Check the tank, dummy. Sure enough, the bike only had fumes left. She headed back into the garage and found a red can. There wasn’t much left to pour in the tank, but that didn’t matter. She only needed to go far enough to find civilization.

  This time when she kicked the clutch, the bike shuddered as it coughed to life, the sound ridiculously loud. Pop, pop, pop. Like mini gunshots firing off.

  The noise couldn’t be helped. She held on tight and tucked up her foot as she cranked the throttle. The bike tore off, and she held in a shriek. It had been a few years since she’d ridden, but like a pedal bike, you never forgot. She straightened the wobble, and soon the wind streamed through her hair and face. She’d not thought to grab a helmet.

  She almost turned around. Daddy always said safety first. In this case, safety wasn’t what she put on her head but in the freedom that beckoned. Going back was giving him a chance to get his hands on her again. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Bent low over the bars, she sped, knowing she only had to make it to the main road. The main road where there was a blessed gas station, traffic, and a way out of here.

  The end of the driveway opened onto the country road that meandered a few kilometers before it turned onto the main one. She spun onto it a bit fast and slid. Her heart jumped into her throat and almost gagged her.

  She regained her balance and kept speeding. The crossroads neared. Freedom teased.

  Almost there. She started to smile.

  A truck threw itself across the T-intersection, a big, black king cab that she knew all too well. She screamed and turned rather than hit him head-on. He found me. He’d not been fooled at all by her preparations. But all was not lost. The main road was still close by. If she could just reach it.

  Her turn brought her onto lumpy terrain back into the woods, a bumpier prospect, and yes, she could actually make a more direct beeline to her destination. If she made it to other people, he couldn’t touch her.

  Even over the kapowing of the muffler, she heard a roar behind her. Something pissed off.

  Almost there. Almost there.

  She chanted it over and over until she emerged from the woods, the shallow ditch sending her soaring to land on the road with a thump. She spun the bike, her heart clenching for a second when its weight seemed determined to keep spinning. She controlled it and gunned the gas. The tire spat stone before gripping and tearing off. The fog was thinner now, meaning she saw the stop sign for the intersection. But she could also see the lights of the vehicle behind her.

  Too close.

  She didn’t slow down for the turn. She threw herself in the road, again counting on momentum to swing the bike. Only the road already had traffic!

  The oncoming car, a huge sedan with a square hood, screeched as it applied the brakes, the klaxon of its horn loud and indignant. She would have waved her thanks for it not hitting her, but she needed both hands to hold on tight as she sped off, freedom so close she could almost taste it.

  First thing I’m doing is I’m finding myself a vanilla banana sundae with caramel on top.

  She wasn’t free yet. A glance over her shoulder showed the black pickup penned behind the sedan that had narrowly missed her. Traffic on the other side prevented him from passing.

  She didn’t have much time.

  The big sign appeared first, looming overhead, the flashing neon announcing it was open. Next, she saw the parking lot and the gas pumps. She whipped into the lot and braked. She jumped off the bike and let it hit the ground. She wouldn’t need it now. She’d made it. Into the store she dashed, wild-eyed, wild-haired, and breathing as if she’d run a marathon.

  The young guy behind the counter who sported the latest in retro mullets and sideburns looked up from his cellphone.

  “Help me,” she exclaimed.

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you call the police?”

  “What for?”

  “I need help. Quick. We don’t have much time. He’ll be here any minute.”

  “You look familiar. You live around here?”

  “Yes and no. I was being held prisoner. I escaped. You have to help me.”

  He wagged a finger at her. “I know who you are. You’re the broad living in that big place on Lost Trail Road.”

  “Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?” Because from the moment of her arrival, no one was allowed to see her.

  “Why don’t you grab a drink while I make a call.”

  “I don’t need a drink.”

  “Suit yourself.” He turned around and put his phone to his ear. “Yeah. She’s here.”

  Her blood ran cold.

  She took a step back. Then another.

  The mullet kid whirled back, and for a second, she hoped she was wrong, but then it happened. The same thing that happened to him. Kelso. The face elongated into a muzzle. The skin turned hairy. The eyes still human in the face of the monster.

  He’s one of them. I made a mistake coming here.

  A huge, freaking mistake.

  She whirled and ran for the door, stepping outside, only to freeze at the low growl. A large cat stepped into view from behind the fueling station, green-eyed and vicious-looking, his tawny fur stood up in a ridge along his back. He let out a low rumble of warning.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it because Kelso, her captor, could change into a giant mountain cat!

  She held out her hands. “No. I won’t go back.”

  Kelso advanced, a slow slinking predator who would never let her go.

  From behind, another feline pressed her and, stuck between the two, there appeared to be no way out for Dani.

  I failed to escape. Again.

  Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Don’t move, darling. I got this,” a voice shouted. A moment later, a sharp c
rack sounded then another. Over five shots fired in total, resulting in two cats racing away, both bleeding heavily.

  Someone saved me.

  Could anyone hear the angels singing hallelujah? Danita beamed at the man with the smoking gun. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. You have no idea what you’ve just saved me from.”

  The older gent tipped his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. “My pleasure to help, ma’am. Even if you almost took out my grill.”

  She noticed the large Cadillac behind the elderly cowboy. “Sorry about that. I was trying to escape.”

  The cowboy hat tipped back, and she could more clearly see his creased and concerned features. “Mountain lions attacking folks. Never seen that before. It’s not too safe in these parts.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

  “I don’t suppose you need a ride elsewhere?”

  As a matter of fact, she did. But could she endanger someone else? “I probably shouldn’t.” She eyed the dirt bike on the ground and held in a sigh.

  “I know a way over the border that doesn’t require a passport, if that helps in any way.”

  Startled, she gaped at him.

  His lips quirked into a smile. “Sometimes a man doesn’t want the government knowing what he’s doing. So, what do you say?”

  It seemed stupid to refuse the best offer she’d probably get.

  Which was why she got into that Cadillac and hoped she only imagined the enraged scream of a giant cat as the cowboy drove away.

  Chapter 2

  The guitar solo screamed, pouring from his speakers as Rory drove down the single-lane highway as if the cops were already after him. I’m a wanted man. Which was why Rory fled town before anyone could arrest him. To be fair, the cops had good reason for issuing a warrant. He’d committed arson and almost killed someone. Two someones, actually.

  But his crime spree didn’t end there. Rory had burnt a factory to the ground, put hundreds of people out of work—which he felt bad about. Innocent folk didn’t deserve to pay for the sins of his family. His very fucked-up family.

  Just how fucked up you might ask? Only recently had he met his real dad, as in the one who seduced his mother and left his son to be raised by another man. The reunion didn’t go well—reference the above aforementioned fire. His stepdad was pissed he’d even gone in the first place. His mother was heartbroken he wouldn’t leave well enough alone—neglecting the fact he was traumatized to know his mom had sex with another man. Never mind the fact his mother should never, ever have sex.

  Ever.

  He was an immaculate conception. He was sticking to that.

  Could you see his shitty week thus far? And that wasn’t even the entirety of it. To top it all off, he’d ditched a fake fiancée—a woman who annoyed with her false airs and grating voice. She, however, didn’t appreciate being dumped and expressed her discontent vocally. He could see why she remained single.

  He gave them all the finger as he sped out of town.

  Given his actions, more than a few people were pissed at him. Was it any wonder he wanted to get as far as he could from the place? Bumfuck, Canada. Nice people, okay place. Lots of fucking trees. He missed the soothing crash of waves slapping against the shore, the sound he woke up to every morning in his beach house on the coast. Not the Californian coast like so many paid too much for, but the Texan one. He liked that everything was bigger there: houses, steaks, and egos.

  He also missed the real Rory, the guy who didn’t commit crimes. Who wasn’t a complete and utter asshole. Something had happened to him when he finally met his bio dad. Something inside him snapped and made him into a jerk he didn’t recognize. Not entirely true. I turned into my dad. The one who raised him.

  Despite worrying about the warrant out for his arrest, Rory drove his rebuilt, red Maserati—a fucking rocket on four wheels—across the border, and when asked what he had to declare, he said, “Nothing.” Which was true. He’d left everything, including his self-respect, behind.

  He was, however, followed by his bumbling idiot posse. Morons—that he couldn’t kill because they were cousins—who’d caused more trouble than they were worth. When they’d said they wanted to accompany Rory so he wouldn’t be alone when facing his real father for the first time, he thought they would help keep him grounded and remind him why he’d come out here—to face the man who’d defiled his mother.

  His cousins had helped all right. Helped Rory appear as a thug. It was their idea to attack some of the inhabitants in the woods and then light some fires—which were quite pretty—and when the flames licked the vat of syrup, bubbling it, he got damned hungry.

  Because of their actions—and constant goading to do something—Rory was running from the law. Which was totally cool in action movies. In real life? A lot more nerve-wracking than a man wanted to deal with.

  Which was why, while dealing with the lovely uniformed security woman with the steely gaze at the border, he said, “I don’t mean to tattle, but I’m pretty sure the car behind me has contraband.” Rory leaned closer and whispered, “I overheard them while having lunch at a diner saying they had the goods and that they would fetch a good price.”

  “What goods?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but they each spent a goodly amount of time in the men’s room.”

  “Thanks for the tip, sir.” She smiled at him, and he winked.

  “My pleasure.”

  Leaving under the speed limit, and grinning like a loon, Rory hoped this would put an end to his tail. The strip search and anal cavity probe would keep his bumbling posse busy for a while, long enough for him to put some distance between them and indulge in some alone time. Also known as wallowing. He was perfectly fine with wallowing since he had plenty to wallow about.

  In a most spectacular fashion, Rory had royally fucked everything up. His life. His self-respect. His possible freedom. And for what? To confront a man who had never even known he’d existed.

  The look in Elanroux’s eyes when he discovered Rory was his son was too genuine to fake. He’d honestly not known about Rory. Which, in some respects, made his anger worse. Since he couldn’t hate his mother—he’d kill the person who did her wrong—he had to hate the two people he held to blame. Elanroux for not keeping it in his pants, and his dad—make that stepdad—who’d lied to him his entire life.

  How different would his life have been had he known his bio dad? At thirty years of age, it was too late to find out now. Not to forget he’d ruined any chance of a relationship after what he’d done. I’m good at burning bridges. Just look at all the people angry with me.

  As if mere thought were a beacon, his phone buzzed yet again. An angry buzz that chided him to answer. Probably his father. Or should he call him stepdad now that he knew the truth? It burned to realize the man who’d raised him—the man I feared and hero worshipped in equal measure—wasn’t his real father. Rory never even suspected the secret. However, blood didn’t lie.

  Neither did his parents when confronted. “We thought it best you never knew.” From his mother. As for his father, he simmered as the truth of his infertility was revealed. He lashed out. “That’s why you’re a no-good wastrel.”

  At least now he had an explanation for his father’s seesawing behavior.

  The ignobility of his parentage also gave Rory an excuse for his actions, given his whole world, his entire existence, had gone on a loopy loop.

  I don’t know who I am anymore. Whose values should he embrace? Who should he look up to and emulate, Daddy one or two? How to apologize to the mother he’d insulted without insulting her again?

  There was only one thing to do when a man drowned in a mire of lost identity. Only one place to go where people didn’t judge a man who screwed up royally. It took three days of driving with stops only to eat and sleep to reach Nevada.

  The moment he turned onto the strip he felt his troubles ease. Las Vegas was the kind of place to make him forget his woes. Everything here was a distraction. Th
e bright flashing lights. The throngs of people constantly in motion. Las Vegas knew how to treat a man like a king—if you had money to burn, which was why Rory chose a lavish hotel with an attached casino.

  A valet took care of parking, and once Rory gave his name at the registration desk, they couldn’t do enough to please him. The Lupin name opened doors because it meant money. Money to spend. Money to burn. And he could technically tap it on dual sides since both his daddies were loaded rich. Rory already knew his bio dad would give him money. He’d offered. A ton of it to assuage his guilt. However, Rory hadn’t gone to meet bio dad for more wealth. He’d wanted a measure of the man who thought it okay to mess around with someone’s wife.

  Cheating was never okay. If a man found himself unhappy at home, then he needed to move on, and vice versa for a woman. Not that Rory ever intended to settle with a single woman.

  The very idea of being with only one person forever was kind of horrifying, actually. One pussy for life? Just one more reason to never tie the knot and get hitched. He’d much rather play the field and move on when he got bored.

  What about kids?

  As his stepdad’s only son—even if by marriage—and his bio dad’s only living heir, if you ignored his annoying nephew, then Rory was under some pressure to produce someone to carry on the name.

  But he could worry about that problem another day. Right now, he was more than content to sit in the VIP lounge, sipping on a cocktail. Then two. Then three. A nice buzz was just what he needed.

  On his trip back from the men’s room—where he made room for the next round of cocktails—he saw her. More like sensed her. A magnetic pull and then a moment of “hot damn.” If he’d been wearing a tail, he would have thumped it.

  As to what caught his eye? A hot thing in slim-fitting jeans, a shirt tucked loosely into them, and brunette hair halfway down her back.

  Smells yummy. His inner dog—a real canine, as in a wolf and not the douche canoe version—perked up at the smell of her.

  Rory perked up, too. Nothing like the sweet embrace of a woman to forget all his woes. He raked his fingers through his hair, smoothed his beard, making sure nothing was caught, and then sauntered in her direction. He casually leaned against the machine she was playing.