Red Havoc Rebel (Red Havoc Panthers Book 2)

  RED HAVOC REBEL

  (RED HAVOC PANTHERS, BOOK 2)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  Other Books in this Series

  Red Havoc Rogue (Book 1)

  Red Havoc Bad Cat (Book 3, Coming April 2017)

  Red Havoc Rebel

  Copyright © 2017 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2017, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: March 2017

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Image: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Steven Dehler

  Contents

  Other Books in this Series

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Up Next in this Series

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  More Series by T. S. Joyce

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  About the Author

  Chapter One

  This was the worst part of the day.

  Suspiciously, Anson Carter peeked his head out the front door and scanned the weed-riddled front yard of his small cabin. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. It was too quiet. It always was when She-Devil was hunting.

  When the wind shifted and blew leaves across his small front porch, he shut the door in a rush. He stood there glaring at the wooden barrier, coffee in hand, debating like he did every morning whether to call in sick to work to avoid this, or make a run for it to his Bronco. God, he was such a wuss.

  A wuss who was going to be late to pick up gravel for his road construction job, who was gonna get his ass chewed out by Dewey Butler, his dickhole boss. Stupid Dewey was already looking for an excuse to fire him. He wasn’t a shifter-fan.

  Just do it.

  Anson took three quick breaths to pump himself up, opened that mother-trucking door like a boss, and strode outside with a snarl in his throat.

  She-Devil aka Annalise, rare black leopard shifter and the newest member of the Red Havoc Crew, was a mother-freaking psychopath. A psychopath who enjoyed hunting him when he left for work in the mornings. She was so damn wild, nobody could do anything to stop her. She’d turned into one of those lunatic housecats, but was the size of a fuckin’ lion with three-inch claws and a love of biting the crew. She was the worst. And for whatever reason, She-Devil hated him the most.

  Anson lowered his chin to his chest and power-walked as fast as he could without spilling his coffee toward his old silver Ford Bronco parked in the yard. Almost there. Ha, sucka.

  His inner panther was scratching at his skin to Change, just like he did every morning to defend himself, but he had no time to give the cat his body. She-Devil didn’t own this territory. His alpha, Ben, did. She wasn’t the boss. Ben was. Her claws didn’t even hurt that—

  She-Devil had charged from the corner of the house and slammed into him before he could take another step. Pain slashed across his shoulder, hot coffee spilled on his lap as he hit the ground on his back, and everything was stupid. He kicked and flailed, defended his neck from the massive panther. Thankfully she wasn’t in it for a kill. The crazy cat just liked to bleed him a little in the mornings and then prance off like she’d won some kind of trophy for being the biggest asshole in the Red Havoc Crew. As he lay there like a starfish bleeding, his dick on fire from hot coffee, staring at the sky and hating his life, She-Devil gave him her tail-end and kicked dried leaves on his body with her back legs, like dogs did when they crapped and had the instinct to bury it. Then she sauntered off.

  He needed to find a new crew.

  Anson waited until she was in the woods that lined the clearing before he rolled upward, dusted off his pants, and gripped his clawed-up shoulder to staunch the bleeding. It hurt so bad. Feeling utterly defeated, he made his way to his Bronco with his empty mug. He needed to invest in those fancy cups with lids, but money was tight and the roof on his cabin needed work, and one thing was more important than the other.

  Stupid She-Devil, stupid crew, stupid today, and stupid every day. Anson peeled out of the yard, making a circle of tire tracks as he went. If he had more time, he would’ve tried to make a middle finger shape.

  Why did his life feel so empty lately? Because I’m empty. He shook his head hard to punish that thought. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the dark, moody, attitude-y guy who got pissed off easily. But ever since Annalise and her grizzly shifter mate, Jaxon, had joined the crew, a darkness had grown inside of Anson that he didn’t understand.

  He’d started watching them. His inner panther was curious every time they touched, looked at each other all lovey-dovey and disgusting, or every time Jaxon leaned in and kissed Annalise like she wasn’t crazy. Anson didn’t care about Ben and Jenny this way! Why did his panther care so much about PDA between Annalise and Jaxon? And the more curious his cat got, the darker he felt.

  He was losing control. Even now he couldn’t stop the soft snarling sound in his throat, and there was a fifty percent chance he would have to pull over to the side of the road and Change before work. Which he had no time for—because Dewey! Sixty percent chance now. Seventy. Anson curled in on himself over the pain in his middle.

  He pulled through the old, dilapidated gate that marked the edge of Red Havoc territory. His thoughts locked on trying to stop the panther from taking his body, he hit the gas and pulled out onto the main road.

  Bam! The clash of metal on metal was deafening as his Bronco was hit from the side. Time slowed as glass from his shattered window aimed for his face like tiny, jagged, shining bullets, and through the chaos, he could see the black Lexus that was currently bulldozing his Bronco off the road. Time resumed the instant he slammed into his door. His ride lifted on two wheels in the grass and then settled.

  And then there was this moment when everything was perfectly silent. There was a woman sitting behind the wheel of the car that had hit him. Her airbag had deployed, and her nose trickled a single drop of red slowly down to her full lips. Lips he’d seen before. Lips he’d kissed before. The red matched the painted claws that gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles had turned white. Bright green, stunned eyes stared back at him. Like she’d always worn in high school, her make-up was flawless. Her blond waves were mussed and flipped over to the side of her face, though her roots were darker than he remembered. Wild hair, wild eyes. Her shocked expre
ssion morphed slowly into a snarled lip and a look of pure and undiluted hatred that probably mirrored his own.

  Kaylee Cummings, the woman who’d ruined his life, had just become the cherry on top of this shit-tastic day.

  Chapter Two

  Anson. Peckerface. Carter.

  The steering wheel creaked under her tightening grip, and she wished with the passion of a thousand burning suns that it was his neck instead. Of course, he would be the one to pull right out in front of her! He hadn’t even looked! Fail. He was an epic-failer. Failure? Never mind, he was both.

  She took stock of her body, but other than her face throbbing from the airbag, she seemed fine. If she ignored the shaking. There was so much adrenaline surging through her body right now, and the red-hot fury wasn’t helping.

  Good and pissed, she yanked the lever on the door and kicked it open. Like she wasn’t dealing with enough? And then the boy who ruined her life back in high school was here to ruin her life as an adult? She wanted to punch everything!

  “Are you serious?” she yelled as he stomped around the back of his old Bronco, where Anson was getting out. The old monster machine looked a lot better off than the front end of the car she was driving. “Peckerface!”

  “Snob,” Anson said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest as he assessed the damage. “I see you still drive a hoity toity car. How predictable.” But he cast her a sideways glance that she didn’t understand, and his eyes were that gold color he’d sported in high school when he got riled up. Freaking shifter. Her life was full of them.

  “I want your insurance information,” she muttered as she dialed 911.

  Before she could connect the call though, Anson slapped her phone out of her hand. It stuttered across the grass and landed with the sparkly case up, glinting in the sun. “Veto the police. And I don’t have insurance.”

  “Who’s the predictable one now?” she said, bending to pick up her phone. “And furthermore, don’t touch me. You don’t just slap someone’s phone out of their hand like a spoiled child, Peckerface.”

  “Stop calling me that,” he growled. And it was a growl, too. His voice was low, and his face had transformed into something a little less human and a little more animal.

  Her phone rang, and when she saw the caller ID, she instantly wanted to cry. “Today of all days,” she murmured.

  “Late for a nail appointment?” Anson asked from where he was running his hand over his smashed passenger-side door.

  She hated him. He was blunt and insensitive. Clearly nothing had changed in the ten years since she’d seen him last.

  She wanted to cry.

  Giving her back to Anson, she connected the call and answered, “Hello?” to the alpha of the Cold Mountain Pride.

  “You’re late.”

  “I know. I had to get gas and then this asshole pulled out in front of me. I just got in a car accident.”

  “You’ve put off the meeting for months, Kaylee. I told you what would happen.”

  He hadn’t even asked if she was okay. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. “I know. I know! I wasn’t ready then. I’m here now though, aren’t I? I’m in your territory. Just…give me another day. I have to deal with the wreck.”

  “I’m not a patient person, Kaylee, and you’ve been pushing me for too long. Teasing the wrong man. Don’t make me be the one who comes and finds you. Tomorrow. No excuses.”

  The line went dead.

  Fuck. A tear streaked down her cheek as she turned off the glowing screen of her phone and shoved it in her back pocket. Was this what her life had come to? An arranged marriage with a lion shifter? She couldn’t believe she was really doing this, but she was out of choices. So many things had happened to put her here, in the path of a lion pride.

  She turned to find Anson on the phone, talking low. Even with her dull human senses, she could still hear his side of the conversation in the quiet of the woods.

  “Yeah, I need you to bring the tow truck. Snobby lady ran into the Bronco right outside of Red Havoc territory. I need to get her fixed up.” There was a pause as he kicked at the sparkling glass on the road with the toe of his scraped-up work boot. “I don’t know, man. It looks like a few thousand worth of damage, at least. Just give me the work as cheap as you can, and the favor is repaid.” Pause. “Seriously, you’re fucking negotiating?” Anson made a tick sound with his tongue against his teeth. “I’ll re-pack your shotgun shells. A hundred of them.” Pause. “Nah, I’ll take care of the Bronco myself. I can’t afford the fix on that right now.” Another pause. “Fine. I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t fucking stop for food first either, just come straight here. This lady’s getting on my damn nerves.”

  Anson shot her a glare, but the fury in his eyes faltered when he saw her wipe her damp cheeks with the back of her hand.

  He hung up the phone and asked way too loudly, “Are you crying?”

  She wasn’t about to explain anything to Anson Peckerface Carter though, so she asked instead, “Who is coming to get my car?”

  “One of my friends. He’s good at fixing shit.”

  “Sounds reliable,” she said sarcastically. He had hung out with all the guys who had no drive in high school. The ones who made bad grades and cut class, smoked under the bleachers at all the football games she cheered at. She knew because they would heckle her while she was trying to remember the cheer routines. Jerks, just like Anson.

  “Dewey, I got in a wreck,” he said into his phone. “I’m gonna be late. No, just a couple hours, I swear. I’ll be there. I just need to take care of the cars first.” He hooked a hand on his hip, and his sigh morphed to a rattling sound in his throat. “You’re writing me up for getting in a wreck?” Anson’s lips thinned to a line, and his eyes blazed gold as he shook his head at whatever was being said on the other end of the line. He hung up and jammed his middle finger at the phone, then made his way back around his Bronco.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To sit in my truck until the tow gets here. Unless you want to hang out and catch up on old times?” he said, his eyes flashing with sarcasm.

  Okay, that expression revealed just how bright gold his eyes were, and as much as she wanted to pop off with a rude comment back, the words got stuck in her throat as she really looked at him. Anson was still a grade-A jerk, but somewhere along the way, that boy had grown into a hot-as-hell man. He wasn’t lanky anymore like he was ten years ago. He’d packed on muscle and grown out his dirty-blond hair—longer on top and shaved in the back and sides, unlike when he was a kid and kept a buzz cut. His neck was crisscrossed with old silver scars, and his chiseled jaw was dusted with two-day blond scruff only a shade or two lighter than his hair. He wore a white T-shirt and— “Oh my God! What happened to your arm? Is that from the wreck?” she asked, her attention on the crimson that stained his tattered T-shirt on his left shoulder.

  Anson’s blond brows lowered slightly, and he looked at his shoulder as though he hadn’t realized he was hurt. “It’s old.”

  But it didn’t look old. It was damp, like he was still bleeding. And was that…? She squinted her eyes and stepped closer. “Are those claw marks?” The slashes were deep into his muscle. Kaylee swallowed bile and rested her knuckles against her lips to encourage her dollar-fifty gas station breakfast burrito to stay where it was.

  Anson looked at her coolly, his eyes fading to a bright blue. “Claw marks happen a lot in my life, Kaylee. Don’t pretend you care, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I am either.” He cocked an eyebrow and turned, then made his way to the driver’s side of his smashed-up Bronco, got in, and slammed the door so hard the whole thing rocked.

  Okay. So, he was still mad about what she’d done right before graduation. She lived on a pile of regrets, and the one that topped the throne was Anson’s secret—the one she’d given away in a fit of hurt and anger.

  She hated him, but betraying him had stunted her for always. And no amount of good deeds or self-loathi
ng had eased the guilt. And now she hated him a little more for bringing it up the second she gave him an opening because she would think about it for weeks and feel the shame all over again. Like she didn’t have enough on her plate already.

  If he knew how far she’d fallen, he would call it karma and laugh at her expense. She’d had everything once—a big house, money, security, a good education, a job that paid well in a big fancy city, and then she’d been leveled by love. She’d picked a man who had drained her emotionally and financially, just because he could. Because he was a user. And now she clung to the scraps of a life that had turned out so disappointing. She was no victim either. She’d got here because she’d let herself get here, and every step of the way, she’d learned hard lessons. By giving her heart away, she’d let a man bring her to her knees. Never again.

  She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to get the shaking under control. The Lexus was demolished on the front end, and her neck was already tightening. Maybe she should call the police anyway. File a report just in case she got whiplash. That was how this was supposed to work. Not have her car towed to some backwoods buddy of good ol’ unreliable Anson. Yep, she needed to call the cops.

  But just as she reached back to dig her phone out of her pocket, Anson asked from right behind her, “Are you okay?”

  She startled hard, nearly jumped out of her skin. He’d been way over there in his ride, and then suddenly, he was right behind her. When she turned, he was holding a fast food napkin out to her.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” he said, shrugging up his uninjured shoulder and dipping his gaze to her car, to the street, to the woods…anywhere but her. He flicked his wrist impatiently, so she took the offered napkin.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, holding it up to her nose. She gestured to his shredded shoulder. “Did you get in a fight?”

  He snorted and gave her a slow, wild smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know about my mysterious life. Maybe you should’ve been a panther, Curious Kitty.”