Fergus - An Irish Mafia Shifter (Boston Bear Brothers 1)

He picked up the gun and took it down to the furnace, tossing it in with its previous owner’s corpse. Glancing down, he could see the dark patch oozing from his wound and soaking the dark blue material of the coveralls. He was losing too much blood. He had to get out of there and get back into bear form.

“Niall, how long until the other guys from our clan arrive?”

“Should be any minute,” Niall told him.

“All right. Olcan, come with me. I need you to drive me to the clubhouse to get some things. I’m going to shift while you drive and grab a kip in the back with the princess so this wound will heal. It looks like it went clean through my side, but I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“Okay. Where are we going after that?”

“You’re not going anywhere. Talk to the auld fella and see what he wants to do. He’s the Alpha, and he’ll have all our hides if we don’t check in with him after this, but I’m going to take her somewhere Doyle can’t get to her until he gives us what we asked him for,” Fergus grimaced.

“Aye. Get shifted, and let’s get you home.”

Fergus opened the back doors. The woman was sitting to one side, her body pressed against the metal frame with her arms locked around her knees. Defensive posture. He recognized it from the countless other people his clan had abducted for assorted reasons over the years. A part of him felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t let that get in the way of what had to be done.

He shifted and crawled into the back of the cargo van, his size almost filling the space and leaving little room for her in her corner. Olcan closed the back doors, and he laid down to rest as they bumped along the back streets of Dorchester back toward the Back Bay, where his clan maintained a large industrial building that served as a clubhouse and front for a number of illegal activities. While some might be beyond the pale, most were committed in plain sight of the police who were paid to look the other way.

He closed his eyes and tried to drift off into a quick nap while he could, but he found himself thinking about the Irish beauty by his side. He could hear her sobbing quietly beneath the bag, and he found himself wanting to hold her and soothe her. It wasn’t like him to show kindness when it was brutality that was required. He shut it out of his head and let the momentary weakness from his injury take over, sending him into a restless sleep.CHAPTER EIGHTEimear

What was that smell? It smelled like blood, gunpowder, and a sweaty dog. It was strong, so overpowering that she thought she might gag. What had they put in the van with her? There had been gunshots and voices, but she hadn’t heard or seen a dog earlier. Perhaps it had been elsewhere or with the men who had arrived in the car she’d heard pull up, because it was only after it had arrived that she’d heard the sounds of animals. They didn’t sound like dogs, but what else could it be?

The van hit a pothole, and a distinct but low growl came from nearby. So, it was an animal. A sharp turn sent her sliding sideways. Her bare ankle brushed against its fur. It was short and thick, but whatever kind of dog it was attached to seemed rather large based on the movement of her ankle as she tried to move it downward and away. She jerked her legs back, not knowing if it might attack. Her heart thudded heavier as she considered it was put there to keep a watch over her. Was it vicious? If she moved too much, would it lunge at her? Bite her? Worse?

She sat as still as she could. Everything hurt. Where they had manhandled her into the van and kept her tied up left aches and pains behind. She could feel bruising and chafing from the ropes, and the tape over her mouth was beginning to itch. It had been a long time since she’d felt this miserable. Her mind wandered back to when she was a girl, growing up on the south side of Dorchester. There had been misery then, but of a different kind.

All she’d ever wanted was to put that life behind her. Her father had left before she was born. Her brother, Callum, used to tell her that she was better off for it. That his alcohol-fueled rages had been what had left their mother in a state from which she’d never quite recovered. She’d turned to drugs and men, trying desperately to escape the memories that haunted her. She’d dragged her only son down with her. He’d overdosed just after his twenty-first birthday, and it had been devastating for them all.