Prey (Shifters #4)(29)

I closed my door again and twisted to face Dan directly, a spike of anger quickening my pulse. “No, I couldn’t tell.” I’d only fought a few of the strays we faced that night, and there were too many personal scents floating around for me to concentrate on any one of them. “That settles it, then. If Mr. Yarnell doesn’t start talking pretty damn quickly, this is gonna move beyond chitchat. Everybody ready?”
Dan nodded and stepped out of the car, and the rest of us followed.
On the way across Yarnell’s tidy, winter-brown yard, a fluffy miniature pooch of some kind barked at us with his head sticking out of an igloo-shaped doghouse in the neighbor’s side yard. I snarled, and the dog turned a tight circle and cowered at the back of his house, whimpering like a scared…well, puppy.
Damn right.
From Yarnell’s front porch, I heard television violence and the soft hum of a central heating unit. I made a motion to the guys, and they stepped back against the front wall of the house, where Yarnell wouldn’t be able to see them from the door. Hands stuffed into their pockets for warmth, they tried to look casual, in case we were being observed by any of the neighbors. I thought they looked guilty as hell, but then, I knew what we were up to.I took a deep, calming breath, then knocked on the door and struck my clueless-motorist pose. When no one answered, I knocked again, and that time the TV went silent, then the door swung open to reveal a tall, bullnecked man, separated from me by nothing more than a decorative storm door.
“Can I help you?” Yarnell’s voice was deep, as was his scowl, until his gaze landed on my face, then quickly traveled south.
“Hey!” My breath puffed from my mouth in a cold white cloud, and I arched my brows in fake excitement and relief. “I’m lost and my cell’s dead. Could I maybe come in and borrow your phone? Please?” I cocked my head to look harmless and vaguely stupid, mentally crossing my fingers in hopes that he wouldn’t think to check my scent.
He didn’t. He never got past the view of my cleavage, easily visible through my unzipped black leather jacket. I honestly hated playing the boob card, but I’d have done almost anything for a few private moments of Pete Yarnell’s time.
“No problem. Come on in.” Yarnell pulled open the screen door and stepped back, one thick, extended arm welcoming me into his home.
“Thanks!” I stepped into the large, warm living room, past a gas fireplace and a huge television, and when Yarnell tried to close the door behind me, Parker’s broad palm was there, holding it open.
“What the hell?” Yarnell’s initial reaction was to push back, and I couldn’t help but admire his instinct—answering with aggression in the face of a threat. If he weren’t a bad guy—and easily distracted by cleavage—he might have made a good enforcer.
Clued in now, Yarnell sniffed the air, and his eyes darkened in outrage as the line of his jaw tightened.
Ethan followed Parker into the room and waved one hand at the couch. “Have a seat, Pete.” He grinned amiably at his own rhyme—dork—then nodded at me in acknowledgment. “Good work, sis.”
“Thanks.” But I barely glanced at him. My attention was focused on Yarnell, who’d backed toward the couch to put some space between himself and the sudden crowd in his living room, but had yet to sit.
Yarnell scowled, staring over my shoulder at Dan, the last arrival. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Apparently he remembered Dan.
“These are Marc Ramos’s friends.” Dan spoke softly, his voice heavy with quiet anger, and I glanced over my shoulder to find him watching Yarnell calmly, a formidable, silent threat in his steady gaze. Marc had taught him well. “Just answer their questions, and we’ll go away.”
“Like hell. You can’t just walk in here and start asking—”
“There are four of us, and only one of you.” Ethan pulled the drawstring on the blinds covering the living room windows, and they slid down, darkening the room and shielding us from potential Peeping Toms. “So right now, we can do just about any damn thing we want.” 
I glared at my brother over my shoulder. No wonder most of the free zone thought we were a bunch of elitist tyrants. But Marc’s safety was more important than our reputation, so I turned back to our host, now flanked by both Dan and Parker.
“Mr. Yarnell, I’m a big fan of civil rights, so normally I’d agree with you. But today we’re here under the authority of the south-central Pride, in search of information we have reason to believe you can give us. And honestly, until I know that Marc Ramos’s well-being is secure, I don’t give a flying fuck about yours. Consider that your one and only warning.”
Ethan grinned at me, radiating pride. Fortunately, he was professional enough to do it where Yarnell couldn’t see.
With everyone in place—Dan and Parker flanking our host, ready to restrain him if the need arose, and Ethan on the edge of the room, my visible backup—I saw no reason to circle the proverbial bush. “Where’s Marc?” I met the potential informant’s gaze, hopefully showing fortitude in the strength of mine.
Yarnell pressed his lips together and smiled at me. The arrogant bastard!
I growled deep in my throat, and stepped within his immediate reach to show I wasn’t scared of him, in spite of the six inches and at least sixty pounds he had over me. “We know Kevin sent you to clean up Eckard’s mess. So just tell me where they took Marc, and we’ll get out of your fur.”
“I’m not telling you shit, bitch.” Yarnell’s pale brown eyes sparkled; he enjoyed pissing me off.
“Last chance.” My hands curled into fists at my sides, and the motion drew his gaze downward. “Tell me where they took him, or we’re going to find out which breaks first—your face or my fist.”
In the past, the thought of beating information out of a witness—even a hostile one—had made me sick to my stomach. Though I’d often seen Marc do that very thing, my most frequent offensive weapon was my mouth, rather than my fists, so I was mildly surprised by my own steady stance. Rather than nausea or nerves, I felt only desperate fear and rage, both growing by the second. They swallowed my weaker emotions, diverting all energy to the task at hand.
Thank goodness.
But Yarnell could not be shaken. He watched me steadily, silently daring me to act.
I crouched, and my foot flew, hard and fast. The motion was a blur of denim and black leather. The steel toe of my boot slammed into his left side. He staggered to his right, absorbing the force of my blow, and I actually heard his rib crack.
Yarnell dropped to the floor in front of the couch, one hand pressed to his side, but his lips were stubbornly sealed against a cry of pain, as if to show that he was stronger than me.
“Pick him up.” I was surprised by the cold, commanding quality of my voice, and so was Parker. He eyed me with lifted eyebrows while he hauled Yarnell to his feet, then let him go. “Where’s Marc?”
“Bitch, you think you scare me?” The stray sucked in a breath and flinched at the pain, but dropped his hands, as if by denying the injury he could deny the pain. “You can kick me all night long, but I’m only going to say this one thing—Marc Ramos is a murderer, and a fucking traitor, and he got what he damn well deserved.”
“I don’t have time to convince you otherwise.” I pivoted on one foot this time, throwing all my rage into a sloppy-but-strong roundhouse. My boot caught him near the same spot, and dimly I heard another snap.
Yarnell’s face went pale, and he hunched over in pain, but his smile never faltered. Dan stepped forward to catch him in case he fell, but Yarnell slapped his hand away. “You want to know where Marc is?” he spit, glaring at me, fists clenched at his sides.I nodded, not daring to hope he’d actually answer.
“He’s in a hole, four feet deep in the frozen ground. Your boyfriend’s dead. And like I said, he got exactly what he deserved.”
Stunned, I staggered back a step, choking on a cry of anguish until my throat burned. But the pain went much deeper than that. It hurt all the way through my heart and into my soul.
No! He was lying. Trying to throw me off. He had to be.
For a moment, I could do nothing but breathe through the shock and pain ripping into me like a full-body cramp, ending in a bolt of agony in my throat, and behind my eyes. Ethan reached for me. I sucked in a deep breath and forced my head upright, knocking his hand away. I was fine. And so was Marc.
Yarnell came into focus before me, the browns and blues of his clothes oddly muted. But I only had eyes for his face, that leering grin, those smug eyes fueling my rush of rage.
A feline growl tore free from my throat and I rushed him, fists flying. His hands shot up in defense, but mine landed first. My right fist hit his chin, followed by a left to the ribs. Then another right, and another left.
He swung at me, but he was hurt and I was too fast, and it took most of his energy to block my fists. Only one of his blows landed, on my left side.
I roared in fury and slammed my knee into his groin. Yarnell hit the carpet, one hand clutching his crotch, the other protecting his head, and still I swung at him.
Hands grabbed my upper arms from behind, lifting me off him. So I kicked instead. My right foot hit his left side, then my left slammed into his thigh, and his whole leg spasmed.