Heart of Cinder Read online

  She was a broken girl.

  He tried to put her back together.

  But it would take a tiny miracle to fix them both.

  Her name was Janet, but the psycho who had owned her called her Twenty. She’d do anything to forget about her time as an evil man’s Doll. Even trust another bad man with her darkest secrets. The damaged Alley Cat shifter shows her glimpses of the normal life she desperately longs for. But he might be just as broken as she is. And even if he’s not, girls like her don’t get happy endings.

  Samuel “Smokes” Mendoza was content to live his life incomplete. Until a picture changed everything. One look at the woman known as Twenty, and his entire life purpose changed. Use, take, harm became save, heal, protect in a single heartbeat. Easier said than done when his werecat clan is falling apart before his eyes and his inner beast is clawing its way to the surface.

  With a surprise he never saw coming, his broken girl is in danger once again. This time will be different. Smokes knows he’s not good enough for her, but maybe he’s good enough to keep her safe.

  Heart of Cinder

  FIRECATS

  Book Four

  By P. Jameson

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  Heart of Cinder

  Copyright © 2019 by P. Jameson

  First electronic publication: July 2019

  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 Photography: DepositPhotos

  P. Jameson

  www.pjamesonbooks.com

  Other books by P. Jameson

  Firecats (Alley Cats)

  All is Bright (Prequel)

  Series

  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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  Chapter One

  Doctor Logan Gregory looked over the patient’s chart. This one was going to haunt him. He knew it, the same way he always knew. Sometimes a patient just messed with the gray matter between your ears. Sometimes they dug up shit from your past that you had carefully buried, to be forever forgotten. As if they gave a shit about ruffling your carefully manicured emotions.

  It didn’t happen often. But when it did…

  Lifting his eyes, he stared through the glass window of the intensive care room where a little piece of his past lay. The man in the bed was someone he knew. Someone cruel and terrible, who belonged to a gang of terrible people. Memphis was home to a seedy underworld of sins that was, until recently, led by one powerful man.

  Bastian Marx.

  The patient in the bed had worked for him.

  But that wasn’t how Dr. Gregory knew him. They went back farther than that.

  “Have you reviewed the chart?” The resident he was assigned had stopped beside him, staring through the same glass.

  “I have, Dr. Crest. Let’s discuss.”

  Toya Crest was a nervous nelly type, but she was smart and quick on her toes. The problem was, being nervous made it easier to make mistakes. And mistakes cost patients their lives. It was his job to help her make as few mistakes as possible. Which meant he was hard on her. Too hard probably. But she would be grateful someday. They always were.

  As his own mentor used to say: The job doesn’t get easier, you just get harder.

  Dr. Crest cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders.

  “Male, thirty-six years of age, of Hispanic descent, presenting with various injuries to the entire body, including fractures to the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth ribs. Elevated core temp of 100.3 degrees. Loss of consciousness after he was brought in, though brain activity is registering at normal. A lengthy history of physical abuse. Severe scarring on the skin of the back, spanning the area from shoulders to waist. All of it old. Some suspected to have happened in childhood. Perhaps as young as six. The ER nurse reported that he could not remember his identity.”

  Logan nodded. He didn’t know what sort of trauma the patient had endured, or if he really couldn’t remember who he was. It made sense. Because under normal circumstances, the man wouldn’t be in a hospital. And if he was, he wouldn’t be alone. His brothers would be at his side. They’d take up the whole wing of the hospital and harass the nurses. It was their MO.

  The man on the other side of the glass was Felix Kennedy. Owner of Alley Cat Waste Management. Or that was his legitimate business, at least. He and his crew collected people’s garbage. On the surface, they seemed innocuous, even if they all looked rough and tumble. Ratty denim vests and leather. Tattoos and long hair. Scars that terrified, and matching scowls. But the savage truth was always hiding just below.

  They were dangerous.

  “Push more antibiotics,” he told Dr. Crest. “Let’s see if we can manage that infection and get his fever down.”

  She hesitated, frowning. “That’s just the thing. Maybe you missed it in the report, but there’s no sign of infection other than the fever. His white blood cell count is normal.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Shit, he saw that, didn’t he? He’d just forgotten because he was too preoccupied by the amnesia factor.

  “I… I mean…” Dr. Crest stuttered. “Not that I’m saying you messed up. I-I just… uh…”

  “It’s fine, Dr. Crest. Just testing your attention to detail.” Sort of. He passed the chart to her. “Run some more tests. Come up with new theories and let me know in the morning. Let’s figure out what’s causing this spike. He’s stable right now, but he might not stay that way long.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “And call me if anything changes. Anything, understand?”

  Dr. Crest nodded and moved around him to enter the room. The patient would be fine tonight. In the morning, maybe they’d have some answers.

  Dr. Gregory turned and headed for the elevators, hitting the button that would take him to the lower level parking garage. The short ride down gave him time to think, and he was halfway to his Porsche, still lost in thought, when someone grabbed him from behind.

  He drew in a gasp as a hard hand came over his mouth to shut off his what the fuck. But the good doctor knew a thing or two about self-defense, so he jammed his elbow backward, catching his attacker in the solar plexus.

  Not that it helped.

  The man jabbed him in the ribs, causing his briefcase to tumble to the cement, and pulled him backwards into the shadows.

  “Cut it out, asshole, and listen close,” a raspy voice growled in his ear. “You’re coming with me. If you cooperate, you’ll be back to your croissants and shitty hospital coffee before you know it. On the other fucking hand, if you don’t… well, you can use your
imagination. I know I will.”

  The man’s tone was as threatening as his words, and sent a chill down the doctor’s spine.

  “What do you want,” Dr. Gregory bit out.

  “Your expertise. That’s all you need to know.”

  His attacker… abductor… was taller than him, even if only by inches, and stronger. Probably younger. If he was going to escape the man, he’d have to make his move before they reached a vehicle. Because they were definitely too far away from the guard shack to get anyone’s attention. Shit.

  He was dragged farther backward until they squeezed through a pocket exit he’d never noticed before. Why was it that you missed things until they were crucial to your situation? Made him wonder how many seemingly unimportant things he’d missed in his life that could have changed the outcome.

  As soon as they were out in the open air, he caught a glimpse of a large black dumptruck with yellow writing on the side. Alley Cat Waste Management. And then something dark was pulled over his head, blocking his vision as he was shuffled into a tight space.

  “Boss-man’s gonna be mad,” an amused voice warned.

  “Don’t give a shit. This guy can help us. That’s all that matters.”

  Nothing else was said as the vehicle lurched forward with an ominous rumble.

  Chapter Two

  Samuel “Smokes” Mendoza leaned against the side of the garbage truck, taking a long drag of his cigarette. I would be his last. It had to be.

  The metal at his back was still warm from the Memphis sun and from inside the cab came muffled yelling. The man he and Weaver had captured, kicked at the door as if he would get free that way. The guy must be a few screws short if he thought he could actually kick his way out.

  Crazy ass doctors, man. Always thought they could outsmart the bad things.

  In this case though, Smokes hoped like hell the doctor could fix what he’d been brought here for.

  Another drag as he stared out over the graveled parking lot, eyes locked on the door of the warehouse. The cig was almost gone. As far as vices go it wasn’t the worst. He could fuck his pain away like Fang. Or lose it in a barrel’s worth of whiskey like Charmer. He could hurt himself like Weaver. But smoking and keeping his thoughts to himself was how he dealt with shit.

  Now he’d have to find another way.

  Because his woman was behind that door, and his smoking wasn’t good for her. Not for her and not for the young she carried inside her.

  The young she hadn’t known about, but did now.

  The young he had somehow scented even though his animal instincts had been shut off for years.

  He didn’t want to think too much about what that last part meant. If his beast was waking like the others had… well, he didn’t want that. He liked who he was now a hell of a lot better than who he was when he shared his body with a wicked panther.

  Having a beast meant having power. And he’d be an idiot to not want power.

  But that was the problem. Power made men cruel. Made them hungrier. Made them hurt things for no damn reason.

  He knew it was true because his father had hurt him.

  He knew it was true because he had hurt others.

  And he never wanted to hurt the people behind that door. Especially the female that called to something in the center of his chest. Some deep black gorge that never could be filled. She tiptoed along the edge, teasing that she wanted to dive inside and fill him up.

  He couldn’t let her. Just like he couldn’t let his beast wake.

  But he’d admit, if only to himself, that it felt damn good even just having her at the fringes of his tattered pieces.

  One last puff and he tossed the smoke to the ground, smashing the butt with the toe of his boot.

  “What are we gonna do with the man you stole?” Weaver asked.

  “What kind of question is that? I didn’t steal him. And he’s not a secret. Or… he won’t be once we get him inside.”

  Weaver stared at Smokes, expression blank. “You took him from the hospital. He doesn’t belong to you. Therefore, you stole him. And also, there is no we in this. You get him inside on your own.”

  Weaver stalked off, heading for the warehouse, but Smokes called after him. “You were driving, asshole. That means we both stole him.”

  Weaver’s only answer was to lift his fist and middle finger as he kept walking.

  Smokes blew out a long sigh. Getting the doctor inside wouldn’t be too hard but dealing with the aftermath would be trickier.

  Ratchet was in charge now that Felix was gone.

  Not gone. Dead. Their leader was dead.

  And no one knew exactly how to take it.

  Felix was the worst of them all, but in his final hour, he’d found something worth sacrificing for. Something worth dying for. And he’d given his life to protect their clan against the evil Bastian Marx, the man who had made life a living hell for so many people. Including the females the Alley Cats rescued from the dungeon beneath his estate.

  The Dolls, as he’d called them, had changed the cats so much. Mostly for the better. From the first one who escaped on her own and found protection with the brutal snarly Ratchet, to the three they’d rescued in a midnight attempt to recover them all, to the one they’d left behind to be tortured and went back for later.

  Smokes still couldn’t believe Seven—Nyla—had survived on her own under Bastian as long as she did. Or that any of them could function at a normal level after what they’d been through. Because he and his clan had been through shit too, and they were a crippled mess.

  Or had been.

  Until the Dolls.

  Now some of them were healing, getting better, and new beasts were awakening. Lions that burned and breathed fire instead of their old broken shifter halves. Firecats. And they were noble and did what was right. They put mate and clan first.

  Stealing the doctor away from the hospital was definitely not on a list of things that were right. Good. It meant his beast would sleep a while longer.

  Smokes reached for the handle and jerked the door open, letting the doctor tumble onto the ground. His wrists were bound and he was gagged, but he still made quite a ruckus. Leaning down, Smokes ripped the black hood from where it covered the man’s face and was met with furious eyes. As if the man thought they could be weapons. But nothing could hurt Smokes anymore.

  Well, almost nothing.

  “We’re going inside. And you’re going to walk. Nicely. Your cooperation means you will survive. Anything else and… well, I can’t be so sure. Are we clear?”

  The doctor was angry but eventually, he nodded, and Smokes pulled back the old bandanna he’d used to gag him.

  “What do you want from me?” the doctor snarled. Smokes took stock of him. He was a few inches shorter than Smokes but more muscular, and he held himself as if he knew a thing or two about fighting. He seemed… scrappy. Less refined than Smokes imagined a doctor of his status would be. “Is this about Felix Kennedy?”

  Smokes felt the name of their lost leader like a slap to the cheek. How did the doctor know what had happened to Felix. No one knew except for the clan.

  Right?

  But he watched the doctor’s expression close up tight as his mouth pressed into a hard line.

  “What do you know of Felix?”

  “Nothing.”

  Smokes narrowed his eyes at the man. “You’ll tell me,” he warned.

  “Can’t tell you what I don’t fucking know. Now, what do you want from me?”

  So the doc had secrets. Somehow, the man knew Felix wasn’t inside that warehouse. This was an unsettling turn of events, but ultimately it didn’t matter. The doc was here for one reason only.

  “There’s a female inside. She’s ill, and you’re going to care for her.”

  The man shook his head. “You abducted me because one of you is sick? Haven’t you ever heard of making a fucking appointment?”

  Yeah, Smokes wasn’t sending his female into the public to b
e scrutinized. Not after what she’d been through. And not while she was this damn weak.

  Never show weakness. It was their golden rule, and his mate was the weakest of them all.

  He was going to change that.

  Smokes gave the doc a smirk. “Not my style. Let’s go.”

  He didn’t wait for the man to get going. Instead he dragged him along and forced him to find his footing or fall on his face. He should probably treat the doctor better, but the comment about Felix had him on edge.

  Just fix our female and get the doctor out of here.

  Smokes ignored the barely-there voice that had begun talking to him the moment he set eyes on Janet. Number Twenty. His mate.

  His untouchable mate. The one he was set on protecting. The one he would never get too close to.

  The voice told him to touch her, to do nice things for her, to listen to her and grow a bond. It told him to let her inside so she could fit herself against his broken pieces and make them something new.

  The voice could go fuck itself.

  He had no intention of bonding with Janet. He had no plans to fix himself. Though fixing her… that was his highest priority. He would watch over her and protect her and make sure she was never hurt again. Make sure people like Bastian Marx never got their nasty claws in her.

  That was the way he would love his mate. From a distance and by doing what she couldn’t. By having her back in her weak times. And it was fucking fine that his love wouldn’t look like everyone else’s. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that she was safe and provided for.

  No matter who he had to fuck over to do it.

  Not right, the voice warned.

  But Smokes stared over at the doctor he dragged along beside him.

  Fuck you, beast. And fuck doing what’s right.

  He didn’t want to be right. He wanted her to be.

  Chapter Three