Stray (Shifters #1)(46)

“No.” She frowned, watching me feel my face. “Are you?”
“So far, so good, actually.” I grinned. “That was kind of fun.”
Abby gave me a hesitant smile, the corners of her mouth curving up toward freckled cheeks. “I bet it was.”
“He really did taste like fear. Yummy.” I licked my lips in jest.
She laughed, but then her face sobered quickly. “I’m sorry they caught you, but I’m so glad you’re here.” She rubbed her arms as if to warm them, but it was far from cold in the basement. There was no air-conditioning, and I was already sticky with sweat. 
“Thanks,” I said, for lack of a better response.
“I don’t suppose you have a plan?”
“Yeah, don’t let them touch me.”
Abby snorted. “Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Ahhh. Wisdom comes with age, my child.” I gave a small head bow, my hands templed beneath my chin. But the moment of levity faded as I thought of Sara and wondered whether either of us would live long enough to accrue any true wisdom.
“How many of them are there?” I asked, glancing away to keep her from reading my expression.
“Just four that I know of.”
Four. I counted them in my head. Miguel, Sean, and Eric, and… “Was that Ryan?”
She nodded solemnly.
“He hasn’t…?” Unable to finish the question, I stared at the concrete, studying a long crack a couple of feet from my cage door. I couldn’t ask her if my brother—her own cousin—had raped her.
“No,” she said, and I exhaled in relief. Abby stared at her shoe, scraping dirt from the sole with one jagged pink fingernail. “Just Miguel and Eric. Ryan only brings the food.”
Thank goodness. It wasn’t exactly good news, yet still better than the alternative. I was certain Ryan hadn’t touched Sara either, because if he’d made physical contact, Vic would have smelled his scent on her. Or maybe Vic had, and Michael had lied to me. No, I thought. Michael wouldn’t lie. And Ryan wouldn’t rape. So what the hell was he doing here?
With Ryan, there was no telling. He’d always been different from most other toms. He had the strength and speed of a cat but never developed the instinct to properly use them. And until his eighteenth birthday, he never seemed to mind his own mediocrity.
A couple of months after Ryan came of age, Michael quit his job as an enforcer to attend law school full-time. Ryan wanted his job. Unfortunately, with the best interests of the Pride in mind, my father couldn’t give it to him; Ryan just didn’t have what it took. Daddy hired Marc instead, though he wouldn’t turn eighteen for another month. Ryan left the Pride that night, in spite of the only screaming, crying fit I’d ever seen my mother throw.
I pushed damp, stringy hair back from my face, trying to push back my memories at the same time. Thinking about my family would only make me homesick, a cruel irony, considering I’d nearly fled the ranch on my own only hours earlier.
“What about the other jungle cat? The second stray?”
My cousin’s brow crinkled in confusion. “I’ve only seen one stray. Miguel.”
Hmm. Was it possible that the two crime sprees, both committed by foreign strays, were unconnected? Surely not.
“How did they catch you?” Abby asked, smashing tiny clumps of dirt into powder with her thumb.
“I got stupid,” I admitted, my face warm with embarrassment.
She looked up expectantly, but a faint creak overhead saved me from having to elaborate. We both turned toward the sound, just as the door opened. This time, along with light, I caught the aroma of beef and onions. I tensed, expecting to see Miguel’s black work boots on the steps, but saw a worn-out pair of tennis shoes instead. That, combined with the scent of food, told me who was coming.
Time for a little family reunion  .
My pulse raced in anticipation as Ryan slunk down the stairs. A hundred questions chased each other in my head, and I bit my lip to keep from shouting them all at once. I wanted answers, and he was going to give them to me. One way or another. Starting with what the hell had happened to him.
My brother’s formerly bright brown eyes were dull, his sandy hair lank and lifeless. He looked taller than I remembered, and it took me a moment to understand the optical illusion at work. He wasn’t taller; he was thinner, as if he hadn’t been getting enough to eat. But for a cat, hunger should never be a problem. Even if he was too broke to buy food, he could always hunt. So why did he look like he belonged in a commercial alongside Sally Struthers?Ryan carried two fast-food bags in one hand and two plastic bottles of springwater in the other. My stomach growled, fighting with my anger for top priority as I realized I hadn’t had any breakfast. I wanted answers, but I needed food.
He dropped one bag and bottle on the floor next to my cage and marched right past me, without a word of acknowledgment. But I watched him closely, and his gait was anything but relaxed. He knew he’d have to face me eventually.
At Abby’s cage, he slipped the bag between two bars, holding it out to her, but she backed away from him, all the way into the far corner. Ryan’s narrow shoulders slumped. “Come on, Abby, be reasonable,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Take the burger.”
Burgers. How original.
Abby shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. “I told you, I’m on a hunger strike.”
He sighed, lowering his arm. “You’ll only feel worse when you’re too weak to move.”
“What do you care?”
“He’s right, Abby,” I said. “Take the food. You need energy to fight.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ryan turned to glare at me, brows furrowed. “It’ll only be worse if she fights them.” His gaze flicked to the empty cage next to mine, then back to me quickly.
“How much worse could it get?” I gripped the door of my cage, my hands white with tension. “She’s already been kidnapped, caged and raped.”
Ryan winced at my last word, dropping his eyes to the concrete. American tabbies were protected and often spoiled by the men in their lives. Hitting a woman was grounds for expulsion from the Pride. Even if she deserved it. Even if she threw the first punch. Even if she begged for it. And though I’d never heard of a tabby being raped before, I was pretty sure such a crime would justify a death sentence.
Ryan must have thought so too. He was clearly troubled by what had happened to Abby. But not enough to stop it. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”
“No thanks to you,” I spat, pleased to see him wince again. He was suffering major guilt. Good. I could work with guilt.
“I haven’t touched her.”
“You haven’t let her go, either.”
He wagged his finger at me, as I’d seen our mother do a thousand times, and the familiar gesture made me ache with homesickness. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted to go home, but I would have willingly locked myself in my father’s cage at that moment. I’d have even let my mother nag me. Or knit me a sweater.
“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Ryan said, jerking me out of my private pity party. “After I convince her to eat.” 
I exhaled in a huff. “Abby, take the bag so Ryan can ‘deal’ with me.”
Abby glanced up sharply, surprised by my harsh tone. But then she took several steps forward and snatched the bag and water bottle from him. Pouting, she carried them back to her corner, where she dropped them on the mattress, unopened. It was better than nothing. And frankly, I was kind of tickled to have someone take orders from me without argument.
“Thank you, Abby,” Ryan said, sounding genuinely relieved.
She flipped him off, and that time I did laugh. I couldn’t help it.
Grumbling something unintelligible, Ryan nudged my paper sack with his foot, shoving it between two of my bars without meeting my eyes. He left the bottle where it sat, within reach, should I want it.
“Do I have to threaten a hunger strike to get you to talk to me?” I asked. “Or don’t you care if I starve myself.”
“He cares,” Abby said, arms crossed over a nearly flat chest. “Miguel will kill him if anything happens to either of us.”
I raised my eyebrows, thrilled with that little tidbit of information. “So, you’re our keeper? How does one find a job like that? Answer an ad in the classifieds? ‘Wanted—werecat with a small brain and even smaller heart.’ Do you get benefits? Dental, maybe? ’Cause you’re going to need it when I break off every tooth in your mouth.”
Ryan frowned, looking more ashamed than frightened. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s it.”
“A victim of circumstance, huh? And since misery loves company, you decided to hand your sister and cousin over to be murdered by a group of feline serial killers?”
“He’s not going to kill you, Faythe,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes at my melodrama as he shoved his hands into the pockets of a tattered pair of jeans. “You’re too valuable.”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking whether he’d promised Sara the same thing.
Ryan glanced away again, too chicken to meet my eyes as he continued, “He won’t even hurt you if you’ll just shut your mouth and cooperate.”
Furious, I gripped the bars, squeezing until my hands throbbed. “Cooperate?” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You must be fucking joking, Ryan. You do know what he wants, don’t you?”