Coti's Unclaimed Mate, Page 2

  Coti heard her whispered words and fought the urge to make her tell him what her plans were. The closer he got to where she was, he smelled shifters. His wolf snarled. The men at the gate had been human as were the ones at the pop-up bars he’d entered, but these men, they were not. He’d walked right into an unauthorized pack territory that wasn’t his and was about to find out just who he was fighting that night. Coti had a feeling it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he’d thought.

  He rotated his neck back and forth, shaking out his arms and grinned. Yeah, he definitely came to the right place. Everyone at the Iron Wolves were pairing off and while he was as happy as a freaking puppy getting picked at the pound for them, he wasn’t in the mood to sit around and sing kumbayfreakingya and shit. Give him a good fight, let him bleed someone, and he’d be happy to sing a few lines at the end of the night, preferably between the thighs of a female.

  With the ease of one of his kind even though he hadn’t had to do it in years, he masked his scent before walking up to the big man by the makeshift octagon.

  The huge shifter, bear if Coti were correct, looked him up and down, his lip lifting in a half grin. “You’re a big one, son. You think you got what it takes to take on Champ?”

  Coti looked around, getting his first view of Champ. His snort almost escaped, but he managed a nod without rolling his eyes. “Guess we’ll see,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” The man eyed Coti up and down, his nose flaring.

  “My friends call me Wolf.” He dropped the name and waited.

  The bear shifter laughed. The booming sound had those around them turning to stare. “That’s fucking rich, man. Hey, we got fresh meat named Wolf going up against Champ.”

  The crowd grew, spectators anticipating a good fight. Coti was glad he’d taken off his jacket with the Iron Wolves logo on it before entering. Now, dressed in a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and his leather Harley boots, he glanced at the barefoot man across from him. “What’re the rules?” Since there were humans present, he assumed there was a no shifting rule, especially since they thought he was human.

  “Fighters fight until one of ya are unconscious or one of ya tap out like a pussy. Champ there ain’t never tapped out, just so ya know.” He spat a brown stream of spit, the shit landing too close to Coti’s boots.

  Narrowing his eyes, he got up into the man’s face. “Watch where you spit your shit,” he growled. Although the man thought he was human, and by all appearances Coti was, the alpha power rolling off of him would be hard to ignore.

  “Fuck off. Either get ready to fight or get out of here.” The snarled words were said, but he didn’t crowd Coti. Smart man.

  Coti gave a nod, knowing he’d made his point. Keeping his eyes where he could see the bear shifter and his opponent, he took off one boot followed by the other. His wallet was in his pocket, hooked to one of his belt loops by a chain. If something went south, there was nothing in it that’d lead back to the club, nor could they find anything he didn’t want them to. He opened his billfold, took out a fifty before closing it and stuffed his wallet into his boots. Looking around, he spotted a young kid who appeared as if he might have a decent bone hidden in his gangly body, Coti motioned him over. “Watch my stuff?” He held the fifty out in front of him.

  The kid nodded, reaching for the cash. “Yes, sir,” he agreed eagerly.

  Coti reached behind his head, pulling his shirt off and handed it off to the boy. “You sit right here and holler out if someone tries to take it. I’ll hear you,” Coti promised, pointing to the area next to his boots. When the kid sat down, pulling his boots into his lap, he shook his head, then entered the chained octagon arena. Although he’d fought many times in the cage at the Iron Wolves Club, he’d never felt the same energy surrounding him as he did now.

  The people watching began making bets as they took his measure. He walked to the center, making eye contact with several men who were shifters. Fuck, since when did wolves, bears, and cats start hanging out in a free-for-all pack community?

  “Alright, folks, get your bets in. We got Champ. He’s undefeated six weeks in a row, against a newcomer. Look at the fresh meat, men. We’ve got Wolf, who stands a couple inches taller than our champ, but don’t let that make you think he can defeat our boy.”

  Cheers erupted as the ‘Champ’ stood. Coti sized up his opponent. At six four, he was a couple inches taller than the other man, but the champ was every bit as muscular. His eyes though, they looked dead. Black as pitch and filled with nothing. Coti met the other man’s steady gaze and tried to gauge what was going through his mind but saw a void. It was as if the man had no thoughts. While he’d given his name and had been announced as such, his opponent was called Champ. Surely, he had a name.

  “Once the bell rings, you fight until you can’t fight no more. You want to tap out, you tap the ground three times. Or if you pass out, then we’ll get him off ya,” the bear shifter laughed.

  “What’s his name?” Coti asked.

  A bell sounded as he asked, and then Champ was moving toward him, his gait steady and sure like a cat stalking its prey. The big bastard slapped his left bicep with his right palm, then repeated the action with his left hand, a grunt accompanied each hit.

  They circled the cage, each of them eyeing the other up, looking for a weakness. Coti subtly inhaled, watching as the lion shifter did the same. His long, matted mane of hair needed washed, his nails needed clipped, but he was clearly in excellent shape. He’d been so focused on the man’s looks he wasn’t paying proper attention and almost got his head knocked off as Champ shifted his feet in the dirt as only a shifter can do, and leapt the distance separating them. A big fist aiming for the side of his head would’ve been a killing blow, which shocked the fuck out of Coti as there were human spectators, but he ducked, taking only a glancing blow that knocked him against the chain link fencing.

  Coti shook his head a couple times. The rattle of the fencing had the crowd going wild, chants of Champ echoing around them. Champ spun, facing him with dead eyes.

  “Come on, fucker, is that all you got?” he taunted. He walked forward, done with the circling shit. As Champ came at him like a crazed animal, Coti met him in the middle, his arms up, fists ready to do some damage. The lion shifter swung on him, but he blocked it with his left arm, punching out with his right, following with his left and right again. Blood flew from Champ’s nose, but Coti didn’t let up and neither did Champ. Shit, the bastard smiled as he wiped across his face, looking at the red smear, and then licked his own blood.

  “Is that all you got?” Champ mocked.

  Those were the last words that were uttered as they both fought; each hitting and kicking the other. Coti fell to one knee as Champ landed a vicious blow to his kidney with a kick that sent him staggering backward. He could hear the crowd yelling ‘finish him’.

  He kept his head down, looking at the blood splattered dirt, listening to the beating of Champ’s heart as he got closer. His other half, the one that allowed him to mask his scent pushed forward, focusing on the other fighter. Coti could see the other man was hurt a lot worse than he was. His right lung was punctured, along with a bruised kidney, not to mention broken ribs and a possible broken leg which the man was dragging. Coti couldn’t tell for sure as the injury looked older.

  When Champ got within striking distance, he jerked up, punching Champ in the solar plexus, before hitting him with what his brothers called a haymaker. Champ looked dazed, then he fell backward, landing on the hardpacked dirt littered with their blood. Coti wondered how many others had bled there before them, and just how many had lost their lives there as well.

  The chants continued with ‘finish him’, only they were aimed at him. Coti walked over to where Champ lay, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. “I say that’s a definite tap out, folks,” he growled.

  “You gonna finish him?” a deep voice growled from behind.

  Coti looked over his shoulder, eyeing the man
who spoke. “Nah, the rules stated the fight ends when your opponent is knocked out, or when one of us taps out. He,” Coti pointed at Champ, then met the other man in the eye, his stare steady. “I’d say is the former.”

  “Interesting. Come, let’s have a drink.”

  Without looking back at Champ, or whatever the hell his real name was, Coti made his way toward the exit and his shit, glad to see the kid still had his boots. “Thanks, kid.”

  He shoved his feet into his shitkickers after pulling his shirt on and tucking his wallet back into his pocket and connecting his chain to his belt loop. His fob was still there as well, which meant the kid did a good job of watching his shit, or whoever went through it was quick.

  “Sounds good,” he agreed. Looking back, he watched as the kid ran into the cage, helping Champ get to his feet. Those black eyes locked on him, blinked once then gave a nod before getting to his feet. Coti followed the obvious alpha up a set of rickety steps, fearing he was going to bust through the damn things at any moment. “Shit, these things gonna hold up?” he asked once he reached the top and looked back down.

  The man slapped him on the shoulder, his hand staying and gave a squeeze. Had Coti been human, it probably would’ve hurt. As it were, it pissed him the fuck off. Not because it hurt, but because he had to either act as though it did, or he’d give himself away. With a slight flinch, because he could only act like a pussy for like two point five seconds, he shrugged the man’s hand off.

  Chapter Two

  “You’re done for the night, bitch. We got this,” Kris said.

  NeNe looked at the black-haired girl who was Grace’s little bitch. God, how she wished they’d just go fuck off and maybe even, fuck off again. “I’m not done until Mac says so, Kris, and you know it. Last time I checked, he’s the one who pays me.” And she hadn’t received her money for the night, except for the tips she’d made.

  “Do you not have a brain in that head of yours?”

  She turned to see Paula enter the tent that acted as a place for them to relax. Of course, it was the one place they could come and reapply makeup, deodorant, and use the bathroom without fear of getting felt up. Not that Grace, Kris, or Paula cared about the latter. To hear Paula ask if she had a brain was so funny, she snort laughed. “Oh, good one, Pauly.” The nickname came out before she could censor herself.

  “My name is Paula, you little twat,” Paula said, shoving NeNe into one of the tables.

  “Hey, what’s going on in here?” Grace walked in, her red hair pulled into a ponytail.

  NeNe noticed for the first time that all three girls had their hair pulled back. Usually, they wore their hair down and had more hairspray holding their curls in place. Between the three of them, they were probably the cause of some of the ozone issues. The next thing she took in was their lack of earrings. She started doing some calculations and didn’t like the answers she came up with. Nope, three on one was only sexy in a book, and that was if it were three guys and one girl, and it was sex.

  “So, what’s your plan?” she asked Grace since she was their leader.

  Grace flipped her ponytail around. “Why, I think it’s pretty simple. Since Mac seems to find you attractive, we’re gonna do something about that.”

  NeNe rolled her eyes. Their logic was fucking flawed. Hello, she would heal, then what? They going to kick her ass every night at closing time? Newsflash, she was out of here in a couple days. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with any of you. I don’t want Mac or any guy here for that matter. I just want to do my job and go home.” Gah, she hated the whine at the end. She was pleading for them not to beat her ass. Heck, one-on-one she was pretty confident she could take them, but three on one was a no brainer. She was going to get her ass whooped.

  “We could just let her go,” Kris offered.

  The sound of flesh hitting flesh had NeNe looking over her shoulder. Paula glared at Kris who was now holding her palm against her cheek, anger radiating off of both of them. Well, fuck her running. “Alright, I guess that’s a no, then?”

  Before Grace could decide to make the first move, NeNe tried to rush toward the door, her flight instead of fight kicking in.

  “Oh no you don’t, little girl.”

  NeNe was shoved back inside by a man she’d met several times as she delivered drinks to Mac. “You in on this?” She blinked up at him, watching him shrug and look over her shoulder.

  “Pussy’s good, sweetheart. You shoulda put out.”

  She looked behind her, a sick feeling entering the pit of her stomach as Grace stood there with her two little bitches. The three of them didn’t think anything was wrong with spreading their legs for the men wearing cuts. Never mind the fact none of them in this club would respect them in the morning, or make them theirs in any way, except for the moments of pleasure if they gave as good as they got, which she doubted.

  NeNe wasn’t a virgin, but she sure as shit chose her partners wisely. Of course, it had been a long dry spell for her. Ever since she’d seen one tall, tatted biker who looked right through her. Nope, she wasn’t going to think of him.

  “So, you’re saying if I’d put out I’d have been safe? Yet, the reason the three of you are going to give me a beat down is because Mac wants to fuck me? Do you even hear yourselves? That’s fucked up on so many levels. Look, I’ll go and not come back. Problem solved.” She dusted her hands off in front of herself, showing how easy it would be, hoping they agreed.

  Grace tossed her head back, laughing. “Ah, sweetie, you’re so funny. No, now we just really want to hurt you. You’ve walked around here, strutting like a bitch in heat who was too good for any of us. Now, it’s time for us to teach you a lesson.” As one, they moved forward, cracking their knuckles.

  Lord, did they watch movies and take notes on what to do when in situations such as the one they were in? Cracking their knuckles for fucking crying out loud. Next, they’ll be pulling out a set of brass knuckles and a ball bat. Holy shit, she prayed on her Great Aunt Stella’s grave that didn’t happen.

  NeNe felt a big hand on her back give her a shove toward the trio, her cowgirl boots kicking up dust as she tried to keep on her feet. From years of avoiding her father and brother’s abuse, she ducked between Grace and Kris, elbowing Kris in the back of the head, then latched onto Paula’s ponytail and jerked hard. The woman landed on her back at the unexpected attack.

  Grace spun around, smirking. “Ah, look at her, she’s got claws.”

  She had more than claws in her right boot if she needed it, but NeNe wouldn’t pull the blade out unless things got real messy. Facing the three of them again, she held her palms out in front, her legs bending slightly as she balanced on the balls of her feet. Grace attacked first, her fist flying out, but NeNe blocked, hitting the other woman in the jaw, moving away quickly.

  “You’re gonna pay for that,” Paula shrieked.

  NeNe hit, kicked, blocked, and rolled from more punches, yet in the end with three on one, she knew she didn’t stand a chance. Blood dripped from her nose, and she couldn’t see out of one eye thanks to Paula’s foot that had come down on her head.

  Now, she rolled into a tight ball, trying to protect her face and stomach as best she could. Another kick hit her in the side and she swore she heard something break.

  “Enough,” a man roared.

  Coti had only drank half his beer with the man named Mac, self-proclaimed alpha of the Hell Makers, when he felt a tug on his mind. The man was jawing about his business savvy and how great he was. All Coti wanted to tell him was that a man who had to proclaim how much a king he was, clearly had to be a fucking pussy. However, he kept his thoughts to himself and sipped the beer, a fucking Corona. What self-respecting alpha male drinks a damn Corona?

  “Gentlemen, I need to take a piss,” he announced standing in the middle of Mac’s blathering about something Coti couldn’t recall.

  “Just go hang your junk off the side, ain’t nobody gonna say shit, unless you’re one of those wh
o need a little privacy?” Mac made the word privacy sound like an offence.

  He shrugged, chugged the rest of the drink being played off as beer. “Need to make sure my dick and balls are still in the same condition as before. You wanna look for me?” He raised his brows, a slight challenge in his tone.

  Mac tossed his head back laughing. “Champ’s a tough sonofabitch, huh? You must’ve got him when he was weak. Next time, watch your shit.” Mac pointed his bottle at Coti.

  The implied threat didn’t bother Coti, not when the tug on his mind was screaming at him to get somewhere fast. Fuck, he wanted to squeeze his temples. Instead, he made his way back down the damn stairs, which surely were going to collapse under him at any second, allowing his senses to lead him. Instinct was a fine thing, and what had kept him alive as long as he’s been. It was what had led him to the Iron Wolves all those years ago. He sure as shit wasn’t going to ignore it now.

  Making his way back toward the entrance, he nodded at humans who called out to him, never breaking stride. One of the men he’d seen with Mac stood outside a tent, his arms folded across his chest. Coti stopped, his nostrils flaring at the familiar scent and the coppery smell of blood behind the man.

  “Keep walking, boy,” the man snarled.

  Coti shook his head. “No can do, boy.” He moved to go around the wolf shifter.

  He put his hands up, trying to shove Coti back. Coti looked down at the hands on his chest, then up into amber eyes. “You don’t want to do that,” he told the shifter. “Take your hands off me and walk away.”

  The other man shook his head. “Fuck you.” He tried to grip Coti’s T-shirt, his face twisting in a snarl.

  Had Coti truly been human, the fact that the other man half-shifted would’ve freaked him out. As it were, he allowed his own wolf to rise just under the surface, lending him strength. He grabbed hold of the shifter’s wrists, squeezing until he released Coti’s shirt. Much harder and he’d have crushed bones. They’d have healed in time, but Coti didn’t care. The man was blocking him from NeNe and she was hurt. “I said move, fucker. Either get the hell outta my way, or I’ll make sure you can’t walk.” The real threat was clear. This man had seen him beat the shit out of Champ. Coti could see him thinking of shifting, then the decision to walk away was made. His grip relaxed, Coti’s shirt fell from his fingers. For good measure, Coti gave one final tight squeeze before letting him go. The man stepped around Coti, muttering about pussy not being worth it. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the vision of three women surrounding a tiny lump on the ground wasn’t it. His wolf howled in his head. His other side wanted blood. The females’ blood.