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  Heart of Ice

  FIRECATS

  Book Two

  By P. Jameson

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  Heart of Ice

  Copyright © 2018 by P. Jameson

  First electronic publication: June 2018

  United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database, without prior written permission from the author, with the exception of brief quotations contained in critical reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this work may be scanned, uploaded, or otherwise distributed via the internet or any other means, including electronic or print without the author’s written permission.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design/Formatting: Agent X

  Cover model: Armando Alvarez

  Cover Photography: Reggie Deanching of R+M Photography

  P. Jameson

  www.pjamesonbooks.com

  Other books by P. Jameson

  Firecats (Alley Cats)

  All is Bright (Prequel)

  Heart of Gold (Book 1)

  Ouachita Mountain Shifters

  Series

  Dirt Track Dogs

  Series

  Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap

  Series

  Ozark Mountain Shifters

  Series

  Sci-fi Fantasy Romance

  Starwalker (Amazon)

  Breaking the Skin (Amazon)

  ***

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  For Nycole. For that day in the future—whether near or far—when good things no longer feel bad. You will find peace again.

  Chapter One

  Vegas stared at the wire grid that rested inches away from her face. It held up a dingy mattress that smelled of mildew. But it was still better than looking anywhere else.

  Most especially at the snarling man who crouched low to glare at her under the bed.

  This was her safe place. Even if she was never really safe.

  The monsters were never hiding under the bed because the true monsters never needed to hide. They were out in the open, tricking every living thing into fearing them.

  The frozen concrete that pressed into her back was hard and unforgiving. Dusty and grimy with years of living that could never be adequately cleaned. And she’d rather kiss it than do what the man ordered her to.

  “Come out from under there, now.” His brutal voice was rough like he’d had a cold for his entire life. The tone had holes in it. Places where it dropped out mid heartbeat and returned again to finish before the next one.

  It gave Vegas chills.

  Not the good kind.

  She never had the good kind people talked about. Only the kind that made her shiver. Made her cold. Always cold.

  “Bastian asked for you,” he ground out, “Don’t keep him waiting.”

  Bastian Marx. The boss of Memphis.

  A powerful man. The one who raised her. Then kept her. Then forced her to serve him. Used her. Taught her how to do wrong things.

  Things that hurt other people.

  Marlee, another one of Bastian’s Dolls, as he liked to call them, had taught her that.

  Before Marlee, Vegas hadn’t known how the drugs she cooked up for Bastian to sell could hurt innocent people. That they tore perfect families apart and turned parent against child, child against parent. That ones so much younger than her were getting lured in by the things she cooked up, never to be the same again.

  Vegas hurt people.

  She hurt people for Bastian.

  But she didn’t want to hurt people anymore.

  So she focused on the mattress above her and stayed put.

  “I said come out, hear me? Right now.”

  They called him Monster, and he’d been here three weeks. Bastian’s new guard dog. But this one was different than the others. He wasn’t hired muscle meant to keep the boss safe. Instead, he was supposed to watch over the Dolls, keep them in line. Make sure none of them escaped the way Marlee did.

  Bastian wouldn’t take another loss like that. His Dolls were possessions. Unique tools for him to use. Secret weapons no one knew about. They made him money, one way or another. Helped him collect debts, made him richer, made perfect bargaining chips.

  Now Bastian intended to make sure he didn’t lose another asset. And Monster was the way.

  Because the new guard was scary as hell. Gruesome scars covered most of his face, some thick and straight, others thin and curved, twisting his lips and marring the skin around his eyes. Ridges that spoke of a brutal life. His dark hair was cut choppy and long in the front and hung in his eyes, giving him a daunting appearance.

  Like a wraith.

  Like a reaper.

  Like a demon.

  He was huge, tall and muscular. She knew he had hurt a lot of people in his days. Could tell because he held the same guilt in his jade gaze that she did. She recognized it, between blinks. Split milliseconds of time where she was confused about who he was supposed to be.

  Which made him even scarier.

  Unbalanced.

  Like teetering on the edge of a cliff.

  The guard growled, low and frustrated.

  “Come out. Before you make him angry,” another Doll, Nyla, hissed. They called her number Seven. Just like they called Marlee Thirteen. Possessions didn’t have names, Bastian said. They were only numbers on a list, items on a shelf that he could inventory at will.

  But Marlee had convinced them it was important to remember their names. Remember that they each had a purpose besides the sick ways they served Bastian.

  It was important to remember that someone in the world cared about them.

  Even if it was only themselves.

  Nyla nudged Vegas from the other side of the bed, urging her closer to the monster. “Go. Please.”

  “No,” Vegas whispered to the grid and mattress above her.

  She was close enough for him to reach. But he didn’t. He wasn’t allowed to touch the Dolls. She knew because he’d avoided it at all costs. And there were cameras in the basement now. Monster was always glancing at them, as if they were a constant reminder of some boundary.

  “You want to be punished? Do you?” Monster asked. “He’ll take away your food until you see him.”

  Vegas’s stomach growled at the mere mention of food. She hadn’t eaten for nearly three days. Nothing.

  She couldn’t understand how Marlee did it. She’d stood her ground, told the boss no, and survived on mostly bread or crackers. Things the other Dolls could sneak her without getting caught.

  And water. The water Bastian dosed to keep the lone rebellious Doll under control.

  The mention of food was almost enough to pull Vegas out from under the bed.

  But not quite.

  If Marlee could choose the hard way, the right way, over and over… then she could too.

  She didn’t want to hurt people anymore. With Marlee gone, it was the only thing left for her to hold on to. The only thing left that made her feel human. And she never wanted to be one of the monsters ever again.

  End of story.

  Monster blew out a hard breath.

  “I don’t want to scare you.” It was the quietest she had ever heard him. As if he actually didn’t want to frighten her. “Come out, Vegas. Please.”

  But sh
e froze the instant his words hit her, unable to move as those unforgiving chills raced over the surface of her skin.

  Vegas.

  Come out, Vegas.

  “H-How…” her voice shook on the first word before snapping out the rest, “…do you know my name?”

  His jaw went stiff as he stared at her.

  “How?”

  “I meant One.” Her number. The only identifier he should know.

  “But you didn’t call me One. You used my name.”

  His face took on a wild transformation, looking for a moment desolate and fearful, making her want to reach out and put a hand on his cheek for comfort, before it turned hard. Mean, like so many times before. “Get out now,” he growled, “or I’ll drag you out by your fucking hair and haul you upstairs myself.”

  The cruelty in his voice made her blood turn to ice. Made her stomach clench with familiar fear. Made it impossible to move.

  “Not telling you again,” he boomed.

  Vegas scrambled out from under the bed catching her hair on the same screw she’d caught it on a million times. But this time she didn’t stop to untangle it. Finding her feet on shaky legs, she kept her head lowered, not wanting to see his ugly snarl.

  Number Four, whose real name was Skye, put a soft hand on Vegas’s shoulder. “It will be okay,” she whispered in support. It meant a lot coming from her.

  No matter how broken Vegas felt, she knew Skye was worse.

  Skye wasn’t broken. She was shattered.

  “Let’s go,” Monster’s rough voice barked from behind.

  It forced Vegas forward to the basement door with all its locks and fancy security measures. She stopped before it and he reached around her to key in the code. It took a fingerprint and a number.

  Nyla knew her way around electronics. She hacked systems and moved illegal money for Bastian. She’d tried to figure a way past the new locks, desperate to follow in Marlee’s footsteps. But she said the number sequence changed randomly throughout the day.

  So it was impossible to open.

  Unless you were the boss or his guard.

  The lock clicked free and Monster twisted the handle to pull the door open. Then the dark space of the lower hallway was before her and she shuffled forward again. She liked the darkness. Preferred it. But the hallway wasn’t comfortable. It was daunting, feeding her into the arms of the brutal beast.

  Bastian waited for her at the end of it.

  Her stomach cramped with dread as the door clicked shut behind her, leaving her alone with the guard in the dim space. She kept moving forward, afraid that if she stopped, she wouldn’t be able to start moving again. All the while, her mind raced with reasons why Monster used her name. How he even knew it.

  Bastian never called her Vegas. She only knew her name wasn’t One because she’d seen it on her birth certificate when she turned eighteen. He’d given it to her ripped to pieces as a reminder that she was nobody. She’d spent hours piecing it together just to get the details he’d withheld her entire life before he stole it back and held it hostage in one of his massive safes.

  She was Vegas Morales.

  Born August 3, 1995 in Las Vegas, Nevada.

  Mother: Cindy Ann Morales

  Father: Unknown

  She’d always wondered if Bastian was her father, if that was how she came to live with him. But he denied it. And in her heart, she couldn’t reconcile a father, even a horrible one, treating their child the way Bastian had treated her.

  So she refused to believe it. Instead, she imagined her true father being someone good and kind, who was kept from her against his will. She imagined maybe he was out there somewhere, even now, wondering about her.

  And she always let her daydreams stop there. Because letting herself believe for even a moment that she might someday meet the man, and feel arms that were warm and loving wrap around her in thanks, a sweet reunion… was just too much.

  The idea that she might have a knight in shining armor, who would keep her safe, protect her… it only made reality feel that much worse.

  Monster pushed around her to climb the short stairway that led to the ground level. She followed him up, but he stopped just before the door, breathing heavy. Vegas watched his back, the heaving of his thick shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” his rough voice clawed its way past her ears.

  The question had her wondering if she was losing her grip on reality. Maybe not eating was making her hear things wrong. Was that even possible?

  Her mouth tried to answer, but nothing came out.

  Monster turned his head just enough for her see his profile in the faint shadow of the hallway. “I need to know,” he ground out, “before I open this door and take you to him.”

  Him was said with so much revulsion it rattled the air between them even though it was hardly more than a rasp.

  Vegas eyed the tense way Monster held his shoulders, the vein that ticked erratically in his neck.

  What was this?

  “Please,” he whispered, like if she didn’t answer, he’d break.

  How absurd.

  Part of her wanted to see if he really would. He deserved to break, didn’t he? For his part in Bastian’s cruel world.

  Vegas cocked her head, taking in as much of him as she could see, trying to understand the things between the words. The things unsaid.

  The monster shook, his muscles trembling like a string pulled too tight. Tension building, building. He was a bomb about to go off. She was the timer, counting down to zero…

  Five.

  His breath sucked in hard.

  Four.

  Sweat trickled over his temple, skating down his rigid jaw.

  Three.

  Vegas felt the uneasy flow of power in her veins. She had this power over him, whatever it was, to not answer. To make him shake in anticipation of her obedience. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t unwelcome either.

  Two.

  Because she’d decided to let him break. Let him feel the loss of control, the way she had minutes ago when he forced her from her safe place. The way she did all the time. The way all the Dolls did.

  He deserved it.

  One.

  “If I turn around… if I see for myself… I won’t be able to keep this up. Understand?”

  No. She didn’t understand at all. But his voice was like nothing she’d ever heard from him before. Desperate and weak. Like she’d broken him a long time ago, and now he was about to crumble into a pile at her feet.

  “Don’t make me turn around, female. Just tell me, and I’ll know. And if you’re not okay, I’ll find a way out of here no matter what it costs us. I made promises for the others. But I’ve broken promises before, and I’ll do it again. Just say it. Yes or no. Before I turn around. Because if I turn around…” his head dropped, his shoulders bunching up in warning “I… Vegas, I… aw, fuck it—”

  “I’m okay.”

  Zero.

  Chapter Two

  Dear Eddy,

  I cried today and Father cut me for it. I know I’m not supposed to. And I tried so hard not to. But I got sad and couldn’t hold it in. I’ll do better next time. I don’t want him to cut my face no more. Fang says he’s making me ugly to toughen me up, but I’m afraid he will mess up my face so bad I won’t remember what I looked like before. That makes me want to cry again, so I’m gonna stop thinking about it.

  Goodnight,

  Monster

  ***

  He was a burning beast. An ugly, unfathomable thing of frustration and rage.

  And as helpless as a small child.

  Just like when he was a small child.

  Useless piece of shit. I’ll turn you into an Alley Cat if I have to carve it into you. Right into your skin. Until you’re hard as the leather you were born from.

  As a boy, he’d felt helpless until he became a man. Then he’d been powerful, but in the worst of ways. And it didn’t last.

  Helpless was a feeling Marcus “Monst
er” Freeman had gotten used to again over the past few years. Ever since the Ouachita witches ruined his inner animal, locking it inside so he couldn’t shift at will. Sorcera, they were called. But he didn’t give a fuck what kind of fancy name they came up with. They were witches. Complete with magic and spells and hooky jukey shit he couldn’t explain. And a fierce commitment to protect their clan and family when the Alley Cats Monster was born into, attacked to kill.

  The witches wielded more power than he and his kind had ever faced before.

  And it cost them.

  Cost them their animals.

  Their powerful, fearsome cats. Their cunning and evil beastly halves.

  Monster had felt that part of him starve away to nothing. Felt it as the beast faded until he couldn’t feel it anymore.

  Couldn’t feel its anger.

  Couldn’t feel its power.

  Couldn’t feel its hot breath breathing down his neck, demanding things from him.

  He’d felt his animal’s death as if one half of him had actually died.

  And it had, hadn’t it.

  Until her.

  Her.

  His.

  Vegas. Number One. The one that hides beneath the bed. With cold, haunted eyes, who smelled of fear and self-loathing.

  She’d brought his animal roaring back in a whole new way. A mysterious way he didn’t understand. Could only feel.

  And it felt like molten lava in the core of his chest, burning him to ash. Making him cinder from the inside out. Like she’d be the thing to ruin the other half of him. The human half. Finish what the witches started.

  And he didn’t care if she did.

  In fact, he felt like she was supposed to.

  But today, he’d had about all he could take.

  His girl was hungry. She hadn’t eaten in days. Bastian the bastard was withholding food from her until she did as he wanted. And she was being stubborn.

  Monster knew she didn’t want to do the fucker’s bidding anymore. He knew why she was putting her foot down. But she needed food. She was slight enough as it was. She’d been locked in Bastian’s fucking basement for who knew how long. Not getting sun and fresh air and proper medical treatment.