The Bear King's Captive: Curvy Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance Read online

  “No, you don’t understand. My friend was hurt and one of your guys--”

  His hand snapped out and pushed her face to the wall. Air gushed from her lungs as her chest compressed between fleshy rock and cold metal. His hand stroked her hair. The rest of the monster’s body pressed against her. “This way is my favorite way. It’s deeper, if you know what I mean.” His pelvis rubbed against her back. His chuckle sent shivers through her body.

  Everything and nothing filled her head. What had she done—sentence herself and the boy as toys for men at sea months at a time? This was all her fault.

  Voices from the other side of the wall filtered into the room. The door swung open wider and Ivan walked in, ankle iron-free. The beast stepped back. Leah reached for the boy, but the handcuffs yanked her back. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  Seeing the man, the boy stumbled backward against the wall. The behemoth thundered out, slamming the door shut. The lever arm on the door’s outer side scraped against the metal as it rotated into its locking position.

  “I’m fine. They cut the thing off my foot and brought me here.” He looked at her with unabashed fear in his eyes. “Are they going to kill us?”

  Leah sat on the damp floor and tilted her head against the bulkhead. She needed to be strong for the boy, couldn’t let him know she was scared. “That’s a dumb question. They have no reason. Blondie’s probably talking to the captain right now and calling the Coast Guard to come get us. Just chill and don’t do anything stupid.”

  Ivan visibly relaxed, sat beside her, and stretched his legs. His scrawny body was half her weight, but his feet were the size of skis; long shoelaces lay on the ground from the untied sneakers. He said, “I bet you don’t have many friends.”

  Leah was taken aback. “Where did that come from?”

  “I bet you never had snowball fights or ever TP’ed trees or gone cow tipping--”

  “Cow what?” She crinkled her brows. “Why do you think that?”

  Ivan hopped up on his uninjured foot. “Because you’re kinda rude when you talk.”

  “Rude? Where do you get off saying I’m rude?” She stared him down as he sauntered to the far corner.

  He shrugged. “Just saying…” The boy kicked one of two decrepit crates sitting on the floor. The rotting wood box disintegrated into a pile of debris. Kneeling, he snapped a rusty nail from its long-time home. “You should be nicer to people.”

  Anger bubbled in her chest, then she remembered her encounter with Bobaloo. Caught up in her own misery, she never thought about how she came across to others. The kid was right; she wasn’t very friendly. But who cared? She wasn’t trying for Miss Congeniality.

  In the other corner, he picked up a bag and twisted off the short wire clasping the top. Traipsing toward Leah, Ivan slid off his bloody, grass-stained sweatshirt revealing a graffiti-covered T-shirt. Sitting in front of Leah’s cuffed wrist, he jiggled the nail and wire in the metal keyhole. With a clang, the cuff dropped to the floor. Leah’s face brightened at his trick. “That’s amazing. Where did you learn that?”

  After unlocking the other cuff, he tossed the now useless tools into the corner. “This isn’t my first time picking bracelets.”

  Leah scowled. “Did your new friends teach you?” She wondered if friends who caused trouble were better than no friends at all.

  He looked away from her then snapped his head around to face her, fear in his eyes. “You can’t tell my mom. I’ll be grounded forever.” His jerky movement slid up his short sleeve. A red and black design showed on his upper arm.

  “Is that a tattoo?” She reached to lift the material. He slapped his hand over it.

  “No.”

  She raised her brow. “Why are you hiding it?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then let me see it.”

  He sighed and slowly lifted the sleeve. Underneath, a silver sword ran vertically through a red skull, all outlined in black. “You could’ve picked something more original.” She scratched her fingernail over it, leaving a line of lighter color.

  He yanked his arm away. “Hey, don’t touch it!”

  “It’s not real, is it?”

  “Maybe.” He shied away. Leaning her head against the wall, she remembered her own teen years. No friends. Hiding and bouncing from school to school, only to be tolerated like a white elephant gift--given away at the first opportunity. She forced down rising memories and the pain they carried.

  “Listen to me, Ivan. You can’t let others pressure you into doing something you don’t want. One of the few things life taught me is don’t let anyone have control over you. When you start running, you can never stop.”

  “What about my mom and grandparents? I’m only fourteen.” He raised his brows, apparently not believing what she told him. “My grandmummi always says God intends for us to help one another. Depend on faith and family.”

  Leah sat dumbfounded. She didn’t expect something so profound to come from him. Then again, he was just repeating words. Emotions roiled in her. “Family? If that’s not the biggest load of…hooey. All that family does is make you dependent, so when they abandon you to face the world alone, you’re weak and vulnerable. And faith? I’ll tell you right now, there is no benevolent God.”

  “You don’t believe in God?” His voice was shocked.

  Her eyes slatted, voice lowered. “I won’t believe in a god who abandons a child and makes life such a living hell that dying would bring relief.”

  The boy’s eyes grew big and he scurried away, stumbling to his feet. Dammit, she didn’t mean to scare him. Be nice. He was young, not hardened by reality yet.

  Ivan pocketed his hands and shuffled toward the shadowed corner. “I’m hungry. What do you think is behind that door?”

  Leah hadn’t noticed the narrow metal panel hiding in the dark corner. White hand-painted letters across the top read El Baño--the bathroom. She grinned. “If you find something resembling a Snickers bar, I suggest you don’t bite into it.”

  “Why not?” He opened the door and switched on the light. The washroom was just big enough for a sink, set of shelves and toilet. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Very funny—Snickers bar. You’re a real comedian.” Tittering to himself, he stepped in and closed the door.

  Leah inhaled deeply. What was she going to do? His mom had to be scared to death right now. A twinge of guilt ate into her. She needed to focus on getting the kid off the boat, alive. The longer she waited, their chances dwindled.

  Ivan opened the door, wiping his hands on his black graffiti-covered T-shirt. When he sat next to her his stomach growled; he rubbed his belly. “Do you think they’re going to feed us or let us starve to death?”

  Leah ignored his question, the answer wasn’t nice. “Tie your shoes before you trip.”

  He hiked a knee and tied his red sneaker strings. “Maybe we’ll have to scrounge for bugs and worms like on that TV survival show.” With a grin from earring to earring, he leaned toward Leah. “You know, it may get bad enough where one of us will have to eat--”

  The door’s lever arm scraped across the metal panel, reminding Leah of fingernails down a chalkboard. Chills racked her body. Both stared at the swinging door.

  A shaggy headed man walked in and squinted, searching the dark corners. His hand was in a plastic bag filled with ice. Leah recognized his dark blue jacket—her assassin. A gasp escaped her throat before her hand blocked her mouth. The man spun around, revealing his thick moustache. A smile spread across his face. Leah jumped to her feet and slid along the wall away from the boy.

  Terror squashed logical thoughts. “H-how did you get on—how did you know we were here?”

  The bounty hunter’s grin barely showed underneath the upper lip hair. “My boat.” He pointed to the floor.

  “You’re supposed to be on this ship?” Leah didn’t believe in coincidences. “This was a set up?” But that didn’t make sense. How did he know she would go to that train station, climb over
that section of fencing? Were the people onboard working with him—Blondie?

  The visitor held open one side of his jacket, flashing the sidearm in a holster on his belt. Leah met his eyes. Show no fear and pray he wasn’t on a power trip.

  He kept his distance, staring from her to the boy and back. “When boat trip end, you and me go to Colombia, see Roclas.”

  So, this was the end. She would finally meet the man she dreamed about killing for twenty years. Strangely, a place inside her felt almost relieved her life in hell would be over. No, that couldn’t happen. Another life depended on her survival. “Let the kid go. He’ll get you no money.”

  The man stared at the boy and stroked his mustache. “Lo mataré más tarde.” He turned and slammed the door behind him. Leah wasn’t sure what he said, but matar meant to murder.

  SIX

  Commander Hannes Otila, a.k.a. Otso, looked at the Omega 300 on his wrist. The wind gusts at the front of the ship cut through his thin jacket. He made a mental note to get his coat he left in the medical facility earlier. He could just sprout fur, but that would freak-out the crew.

  The boat had sailed from port and was making good time. His team’s current mission was completed, except for delivery of the package, but he stayed topside, pacing, prepared for emergency maneuvers if the Coast Guard or Canadian Mounties tried to intercept them.

  The commander didn’t expect trouble. This escape plan was ingenious. The CIA would never think of a cargo vessel cruise as an extraction route. He booked the freight voyage months ago, so his group was expected and welcomed. He didn’t worry about anyone identifying his men on the street, no border crossing searches, no high-speed chases.

  His men were instructed to “act like they were on a cruise” -- no saluting in public, only use rank when out of earshot of the crewmembers, and most importantly, keep weapons stashed under clothes and easily accessible at all times.

  So far, everything had executed perfectly, except for two unexpected guests. The little lady was a spitfire. An unexpected distraction he wouldn’t let go, now that he found her. She meant more than he dared admit to himself. He’d have to keep an eye on her.

  Hannes weaved around wooden crates and tarps and perused the thirty-foot column of stacked metal containers. Hundreds filled the ship’s mid-section, leaving a small open area in front of the deckhouse and narrow catwalks running aft to bow along both sides of the ship.

  Footsteps behind him echoed off the plated decking. Resting a hand on the night vision binoculars around his neck, he stepped back against the inner railing. He glanced to his right at a man with a lumberjack’s body and light hair, similar to his.

  Axel stopped at the commander’s side, stiff-backed, but no salute. “Sir, on my way to the stern, sir.” He nodded and Axel continued down the aisle.

  He was proud of his team -- “global asset re-appropriators” he liked to call them. For the right price, they’d steal or re-appropriate almost anything from anywhere on the globe. As long as the job fit within his mission criteria, he’d provide the service.

  Snapping him from his thoughts, rapid gunshots from onshore reverberated through the narrow channel. Hannes dropped to one knee, positioning the binoculars over the ship’s solid rail. He scanned the tree-lined coast. Who would be attacking from the Canadian shore?

  Two of his men crouched below the railing and hurried toward his central position. Their civilian khaki pants and button down shirts pulled across their hips and shoulders.

  After settling into position, hidden objects materialized in their hands. In seconds, each held a fully operational FM90 machine gun ready for deployment.

  “Ready, Commander.” Both men raised their guns inches above the rail. Peering through binoculars, Hannes paused on a small break in the trees. Exploding sparks blasted light through the lenses. He pulled away and blinked several times. Black circles floated in his vision as if a crowd of paparazzi surrounded him.

  “Set, Commander.” From his kneeling position, Hannes looked up to his left. His gunner lay on top of a twenty-foot high container stack, prepared to unload on command. Hannes smiled; less than fifteen seconds ago, the first shot rang and already his men were ready to retaliate. Damn, they were good--the best.

  “On my mark.” His naked eyes looked over the rail and witnessed tiny whirling sparks slowly bouncing up and down along the rocky shore. He yanked the binoculars back to his eyes. After adjusting the settings, the land focused in. Children with hand held sparklers ran back and forth in front of picnic tables loaded with empty dishes and half-eaten food. A boy standing by the water lit a string of firecrackers. Another series of rapid pops floated across the water.

  Hannes jumped up, furious with himself. The civilians were celebrating Canada’s Thanksgiving in a park. The two men crouching along the rail fell over laughing.

  “Don’t you have stations to man?”

  Both men shot to their feet. “Sir, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” They trotted their separate ways, still snickering.

  Hannes glanced up at his gunner, but he disappeared. He leaned his forty-one-year-old body against a rusty container. While he waited for his pulse and adrenaline to return to normal, he ran his fingers through his hair. Damn children and their families.

  Although he cursed them, he remembered yearning for the love and warmth of a family. The thought of coming home to the arms of a beautiful and adoring wife with children running around their feet set a twinge of longing inside him.

  But his sanity learned to bury the hurt from something he could never have. He took comfort in knowing his sister, with his nephew and niece, were safe. He lost track of her after his father’s funeral fifteen years ago.

  After hearing news about Otilas living in the states, he set out to find her. So much time and pain had passed since their last words to each other. He was relieved when she agreed to meet, but even after seeing him for the first time in years, she wouldn’t forgive him. He was no longer the brother she knew. How true that was.

  The stinging wind chilled his face and cleared his mind. He needed to get his men inside to eat and stop wasting time on memories. Those reminiscences belonged at rest with the honorable soldier who deserved them--a soldier officially declared dead ten years ago.

  When Hannes stepped onto the bridge, the captain and his crew had already settled in for the voyage. The squat man dressed in white with emblems on the shoulders of his jacket turned toward him. The captain’s lower eyelids tightened. Fists settled at his sides.

  With a stone poker face, Hannes stopped within a foot of the man.

  The captain growled, “How dare you wait this long to see me, amigo.”

  Hannes’ eyes narrowed. “Yes, my friend, I agree with you for once.” Both men broke into smiles and quickly hugged with a slap on the back. “It has been much too long.”

  “Sí, I am glad you come on my ship.” The captain motioned to a sliding door on the other side of the bridge’s long aisle. Hannes slid open the entry and stepped into the chart room. He skirted the round table consuming most of the small space and pulled out a chair at the computer desk in the corner.

  The captain leaned against the table. “Tell me, what bring you to my floating home, amigo?”

  Hannes smiled. “Just a visit to the American Defense Department to re-appropriate information across the continents.”

  The short round man burst into laughter. “Señor, you loco as ever.”

  “When I discovered you’d be in Cleveland, I couldn’t hire anyone else to take us home.”

  The captain winked. “Especially since we have special cargo, no?”

  Hannes’ smile faded and he dropped his sight from the man in front of him. “This special cargo wasn’t what I had in mind. But I had no choice since we were leaving. Have you seen them?”

  “Them? I thought bounty hunter want one person.”

  “So did I.” Hannes ran fingers through his hair. “We have a female and a boy as guests for the next few weeks.”
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  Straightening to his feet, the captain crossed his arms and frowned. “Woman and child?”

  “That’s who Roclas wants.” Both men shifted uncomfortably at the drug lord’s name.

  “What she do to get him mad? And the boy?”

  “I don’t know, but I will find out.” He lifted a brow toward the ship’s commander. “What about your crew?”

  “No worry, amigo. I tell mí men she belong to Roclas. They no touch her or boy with ten feet stick.”

  Hannes nodded. “Everything looking good for the trip home?” He stood from the corner desk. They clasped hands.

  “Perfecto. Calm seas and no sign of trouble.”

  Inside the ship’s warm galley one floor below the guest cabins, Hannes sat at the head of a long metal table. Shiny stainless steel walls and floors surrounded the combined eating area and kitchen. The aroma of fried sausage, eggs, and potatoes hung in the air.

  He glanced to his right at his two muscle clad men. Their polo shirts stretched across tense shoulders. Both gave a curt nod. On his left, the strongest, toughest soldier he ever trained glared down the ten-chair table at the group of Spaniards talking amongst themselves.

  Hannes pondered why the bounty hunting man, who he allowed onboard with the other Spanish men he hired for this mission, would want to kill a young boy. And how could the feisty little lady be a target.

  Was he missing something? He replayed the event in his mind, focusing on details that might be important.

  The evening air on the ship had been wet and cold. Hannes had stood on deck in to the lounge area—umbrellas folded and chairs scattered along the deckhouse exterior. He thought he had heard gunshots, but couldn’t be sure with the crane and forklift noise.

  He was anxious to get to his country and safety. Hands in his bulky coat pockets, he watched Lieutenant Korhonen bark directions to the boarding forklift and smiled. He needed to remind his second-in-command they were disguised as normal cruising passengers, not mercenaries in the midst of returning home. Plus, the ship’s captain wouldn’t take kindly to a stranger ordering the crew around.