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“There you go, now you get a front row seat to the show,” he muttered, eyes bright copper, nearly the shade of rust on the ship. “Your man likes to think he runs the show on everything, but he didn’t suspect dear old Vito now, did he?”
He was bending over, hands on his thighs, when Liz threw her head back in desperation. He didn’t see it coming either, as their skulls collided with a merciless head butt.
It killed the right side of Liz’s head, the thread of pain bursting down to her eardrum and rendering her slightly deaf for a moment.
Vito staggered backward, holding his eye, eyes bulging in disbelief.
“Fuck!” he said, finding his footing and clutching his skull.
He gazed at her not with the fury of a thousand shifters like Liz was expecting but with a ghastly look of being impressed. He dabbed at the spot, finding that she had successfully drawn blood.
Vito proceeded to lick his lips at her, which only made the apprehension in her heart grow more sour.
“Now I can see why he likes you,” Vito said.
He started to walk toward her when a deafening roar filled the air, splitting Liz’s injured ear and forcing Vito’s and Moretti’s attention in the opposite direction.
Once Liz could open her eyes a sliver, she saw a tall, fit, familiar blur a few feet down the dock. Her heart burst with warmth as she saw Ben standing there, the man who had captivated her heart and soul like a bewitching sorcerer.
“Get away from her!” Ben yelled.
“Oh, Ben, Ben,” Vito said, walking toward his former boss. “I never thought you would turn this weak. You, of all people, falling for some boring chick? Does she have your balls in a jar or something?”
“Shut the fuck up, Vito,” Ben sneered. “You are the weak one here. Turning your back on the family for a little bit of money? Cheap and predictable.”
The men were slowly coming toward each other, walking down the docks while the water around Liz splashed upward and soaked through her socks. She started to wiggle her calves to loosen the rope and moved her wrists back and forth tediously.
She also had an eye on the Moretti boy, who was holding more rope and hiding beyond the van.
“Admit it, you never wanted me to have any power,” Vito screeched. “And now I have your woman, and you have none. Do you see how it feels?”
Liz knew Ben well enough to know when he’d had enough. He removed his shirt, the sight of his muscles still somehow making her quiver even in her dire state. He spoke before beginning to shift, bending over onto all fours and having his skin crack away into blazing tangerine and midnight black lines of fur.
“No more talking. Your throat is mine.”
Vito proceeded to do the same, except he let the fabric of his clothing burst into a million tiny pieces as he turned into his lion form. The fur was the same orange, rusted shade of his human hair, morphing into a puffy mane. Once both had shifted, Vito went in directly, the rules of engagement utterly tossed aside.
Liz’s heart beat a mile a minute as she watched her lover collide with his enemy. The two big cats were roughly the same size, but she liked to think that Ben had the advantage with his cunning and measured sense of patience. Vito was chaotic and violent. There was certainly a way to take advantage of the predictability.
Ben did just as Liz imagined as Vito charged him. He leapt out of the way, landing his claws on the spine of the lion and trailing it down like a sharp knife. Vito roared out in pain, instantly trying to snap at the same paw that had dug into his flesh.
But Ben was too fast. He backed away, pacing back and forth, measuring his opponent before he made him silent for the rest of his life.
Their rumbles and growls boomed in the desolate area, elusive to passersby. Liz continued to wiggle at the rope, feeling like the ones around her calves were finally getting less tight.
The bindings on her wrists were a whole other story. They were plastic and much harder to maneuver. She strained, ignoring the red-hot pain moving up and down a likely shattered bone, watching the fight go on before her.
Ben seemed to constantly have the upper hand. He had Vito’s tail in his mouth, chomped down, and even dug his nails into his back like it was butter. Vito screeched in pain every time but kept coming back for more like a stupid mutt.
“Come on, baby,” Liz whispered.
The ropes on her calves were almost completely off. She writhed around, feeling a surge of hope, then the Moretti boy popped out of nowhere.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
He used the rope in his hands to wrap around her throat and began to press hard. The chair tilted backward, and Liz could feel the oxygen being filtered through the straw of her airways. If she was going down, it would be fighting.
A burst of energy rushed through her at the thought of spending the rest of her life with Ben, who was fighting for her. The power moved through her legs, sending one upward and between Moretti’s legs.
