Better than Perfect Read online

  "I…" Jimmy shrugged. "If Brady says you are, then yes."

  Another gut punch. "Just…go."

  "But—"

  Leslie held up a hand. "I want to be by myself. Please, leave."

  With sagged shoulders, Jimmy walked out the back door. Leslie's throat burned as tears gathered in his eyes. He felt detached from the world, as though he was moving through a dream as he walked to his bedroom. He missed Brady and never wanted to see him again.

  Leslie collapsed on his bed and cried. He hugged his pillow and curled into a ball as the tears fell. He'd unintentionally stepped into a strange world where nothing made sense, and now—although it was so impossible that Leslie wanted to scream—he was pregnant. Not because Brady had told him, but because two other people had confirmed it, as well.

  His thoughts crashed and swirled, touching on so many things that he got a headache.

  Leslie did the only thing he could think of to help him cope. He cleaned his entire house until he looked at the clock and saw it was four in the morning. Great. I have to be to work in two hours. For the first time since starting at Sweetie Pies, Leslie called off work.

  * * * *

  Brady hadn't gone anywhere. He'd been sitting on Leslie's porch when Jimmy arrived, hadn't said a word to Leslie's best friend, had listened to his mate cry through his open window, then clean the house—he only knew this because he smelled the cleaning products through the open window and heard the vacuum running—until the wee hours of the morning.

  He was surprised Leslie hadn't realized he was out there.

  The entire time Brady had tried to figure out a way to get Leslie to forgive him, but every time he got up to knock on the door, Brady had sat back down. Listening to Leslie cry had torn him apart, but he was positive his presence would only piss his mate off even more. Brady had gotten teary-eyed when he'd heard Leslie's sobs, but he'd stopped himself from barging in.

  And he couldn't stop thinking about the fact he would be a father.

  Brady pressed his elbows into his knees and rested his face in his hands. Leslie wasn't the only one freaking out about this. Brady's life was about to change—had already changed since he'd found his mate and absolutely nothing seemed to be going right—and he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to call Ethan, but he didn't want Leslie discovering he was out there.

  But his mate would when he left for work, and Brady wasn't sure what he would say when Leslie stepped onto the porch.

  Brady checked his watch and saw that it was five in the morning. Leslie should've left by now. He stood and peeked into his mate's bedroom window but found the room empty. Had Leslie left by the back door?

  Knowing he would probably regret what he was about to do, Brady checked the doorknob and found it unlocked. He eased the door open and stepped inside to find Leslie asleep on the couch. Brady's heart squeezed when he saw how puffy Leslie's eyes were. He had cried himself to sleep.

  He stood there, staring at the man who was made just for him. Leslie was so small, so fragile-looking that Brady wanted to hold him in his arms and protect him from the world. He had his hands pressed together and tucked under his cheek, blond strands in his face. Brady wanted desperately to see those gorgeous green eyes, to see Leslie smiling, to hear his laughter and for him not to look at Brady with anger.

  Brady needed all his self-restraint not to approach the couch, to stop his wolf from taking over, and to step back onto the porch as he quietly closed the door. He sat back in the chair and dialed Matt.

  "Boy, this better be important."

  Matt calling him boy was comical since they were around the same age, but Matt's rank as alpha allowed him that luxury. If anyone else had called him that, Brady would've laid them on their ass.

  Maybe he should have waited for a decent hour to call, but since Matt was already on the phone, Brady told him what was going on.

  Matt sighed as the sound of rustling sheets reached Brady's ears. "It's a damn shame we can't warn our lovers up front about the possibility of being mates and the Katana. But he'll adjust. Just give him time, Brady."

  Because keeping their existence a secret was high priority. Though Brady never understood how humans could live in a town for many years and not know something otherworldly was going on. The howls, the demon the agency had fought in the street, and many other instances where strange shit happened should have clued them in.

  But he wasn't gonna let the fact he couldn't tell Leslie up front excuse him. After Brady found out that Leslie was his mate, he should have warned him about the high possibility of pregnancy.

  "He kicked me out," Brady said. "I'm not sure he's gonna forgive me for this."

  "He will," Matt said. "After all, he's your mate. Fate wouldn't have paired you if things weren't going to work out." He grunted. "In the meantime, some heavy-duty ass-kissing wouldn't hurt."

  "Can't kiss ass if he refuses to talk to me."

  "I see you've never kowtowed before." Matt chuckled. "You'll figure it out." His tone turned serious. "But don't get creepy about it."

  Too late for that. I've been peeking into his bedroom window all night.

  "Thanks, you were absolutely no help." Brady squinted when he spotted "Jerry" crossing the street at the corner. "I gotta go."

  He hung up and stepped from the porch. He looked at the house, then swung his gaze back toward the corner, unsure if he should leave Leslie unprotected. Before he could decide, Jerry vanished midstride. Brady furrowed his brows and looked around, but he didn't see the guy anywhere.

  "What the fuck?" An uneasy feeling squeezed his chest.

  He spun when he heard a noise in the backyard. Brady hurried down the side of the house, hopped the fence, then scanned the area. He walked to the fence and looked up and down the alley.

  Nothing.

  When he turned, Jerry stood right in front of him, a malicious grin on his face. "Hello."

  Brady cocked his arm back to punch the guy, but Jerry moved too fast, dodging Brady's fist. He twirled and slammed his fist into Brady's side.

  "I'm gonna have a bit of fun with you before I kill you."

  "What the fuck are you?" Pain shot through Brady's side, making him slightly winded as he spun to face Jerry—which he suspected wasn't even his real name, but that was all he had to go by.

  He also couldn't understand how the guy had disguised his scent. Brady was positive he'd smelled human earlier. Jerry still smelled that way.

  "Your worst nightmare." Jerry struck him again, making Brady drop to one knee as he tried to catch his breath. He pressed a hand to his knee as he stood, but Jerry struck a third time, sending Brady to both knees this time.

  Jerry grabbed a handful of Brady's hair and yanked his head back. Judging by the dark expression in his eyes, he was about to deliver a death blow.

  With a deep growl, Brady shoved his claws into Jerry's side. The man's eyes went wide. He released Brady's hair and took a step back. "Don't you dare destroy this body. I've grown rather fond of it."

  Although Brady had heard of demon possession, he'd never witnessed it. Randall had to have a twin, and a demon had taken over. But for what purpose? Brady had never met a demon, let alone pissed one off.

  Not that he knew of, anyway.

  "What's your beef with me?" Brady rose to his feet, his body tense as he waited for the demon to make another move.

  "This isn't personal." Jerry's hand was pressed against the wound Brady had inflicted, and blood seeped past the demon's fingers. "I've been paid to do a job, and you're at the top of my to-do list."

  Brady could've done without the taunting. He was already pissed that this guy was getting the better of him. Brady's lack of sleep, which was par for the course lately, wasn't helping, either. He'd been so busy chasing behind Leslie and executing warrants that he'd gotten maybe eight hours of sleep combined over the past few days.

  "And who the hell paid you to eliminate me?" Brady couldn't think of anyone, aside from the people he'd imprisoned, who woul
d pay someone to have him killed. But everyone he'd had locked up was still sitting in a jail cell. None of them—who he knew of—had the money or resources to pull this off.

  Jerry scrunched his face, which was not a flattering look. It made his eyes look too beady and his nose too wide. "Whoa, buddy. I don't know you and you want me to exposit all over you?"

  "You make that sound disgustingly naughty." Brady tried to think of a way to defeat a demon without hurting the host. He could kill Jerry, but then the person he'd possessed would die, too. He was positive this was Randall's twin, only Jerry smelled human and Randall was a shifter.

  Why don't you worry about that later and think of a way to disable this bastard without offing the human? Brady got nothing.

  If possible, Jerry's grin turned eviler. "No way I'm gonna stand here and tell you everything. I'm not that kind of bad guy."

  The demon charged and Brady barely got out of his way. That was when he spotted the silver knife in Jerry's hand. If Brady was stabbed, the wound wouldn't heal. He was running out of ideas, then a garbage truck loudly ambled down the alley before its squeaky brakes sounded.

  Brady wasn't sure what spooked the demon, but he vanished. He stood there for the longest moment, looking around, not trusting that the demon was really gone. When Jerry didn't reappear, Brady headed for the house. He had a damn demon after him, which meant, as much as Leslie hated him right now, his mate would be safer at the pack house.

  If Leslie refused, Brady would hogtie him. He walked to the living room, ready to battle it out with Leslie, only to find his mate gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Something was wrong. Soft cushions were no longer beneath Leslie. He was lying on something hard and cold, and somewhere in the distance he heard water dripping. His instincts told him not to open his eyes, but his curiosity got the better of him and he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around.

  Was this a dream? It had to be because Leslie couldn't understand how he'd fallen asleep on his couch and woken in this dimly lit room. But if this was a dream, it was the most vivid he'd ever had. As he looked around, he saw rusted pipes running up one side of the wall, a single bulb swaying from the ceiling, and a tiny window with no glass that was way too high for him to reach, let alone see out of.

  In the back of his mind, Leslie knew this was real, but he refused to believe what he was seeing. Then his stomach lurched and he crawled to the corner where he vomited before pushing unsteadily to his feet. He pressed one hand against the wall, the other against his stomach as he tried to bite back the nausea.

  Leslie had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, and his stomach chose this moment to rebel. When he was able to stand without his gut pitching, he patted his pockets for his phone, then recalled he'd left it in his bedroom.

  He was fucked six ways from Sunday. He'd kicked Brady and Jimmy out. Neither of them would know Leslie was missing, which meant a rescue wasn't going to happen. He had to get himself out of this situation, just as soon as he figured out what situation he was in.

  A dusty shelf stood in one corner, filled with useless, dust-covered objects. Leslie groaned in frustration as he pushed things aside, coughing as the dust kicked up. There had to be something in this room he could use to escape.

  Although he knew it was futile, he went to the door and tried to open it. This had to be a trick. Why would someone go through the trouble of kidnapping him—if that was the case because Leslie still wasn't sure what the hell was going on—only to leave his door unlocked?

  He felt as though he was in a horror movie where the monster left the door unlocked so its victim could wander out, only to get chased by said monster. Still, he couldn't sit there and do nothing.

  With a deep and steady breath, Leslie opened the door, wincing when it squeaked on its hinges. Yep, definitely a horror movie. He just prayed no one was waiting close by with a chainsaw or hatchet.

  Leslie was in a basement. He didn't bother to look around. He bolted for the stairs and ran up them, but stopped at the top and held his breath as he listened. When he didn't hear anything, he stuck out a shaky hand and turned the knob. Leslie stepped into a modern, pristine kitchen.

  What the hell?

  He was thankful he hadn't walked into a kitchen straight out of a horror flick, but he was still unnerved and wished to god Brady was here. He might be angry at the guy, but at least he would have had someone who could fight their way out of this.

  Leslie creeped toward the back door and tried the knob, but it was locked. Damn it! He had no other choice but to go through the house to get out the front. Leslie spotted a butcher's block and slid the largest knife free. He held his weapon to his chest, praying he didn't trip and impale himself as he tiptoed toward the hallway.

  His heart raced, his palms were wet, and his throat had gone bone-dry. Leslie couldn't stop shaking apart as he pressed his back to the wall and slid his way toward the living room. The silence was deafening as he waited for some lunatic to jump out and try to attack him. He clutched the hilt of the knife so hard his palm hurt.

  When he rounded the wall, Leslie stopped in his tracks.

  "Please, join us now that you are awake." A rather tall gentleman sat in an accent chair, a wineglass in his hand. He had amazing dark hair that cupped his face in silky waves, blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and he wore polished shoes, slacks, and a V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath.

  Leslie looked to his right as his heart beat even faster. A man and a woman sat on a couch with gags in their mouths, their hands bound behind their backs, and twin expressions of terror in their eyes. The guy looked to be in his midthirties, with stylishly cut blond hair and big green eyes, and he wore pajama pants and a T-shirt. The woman looked younger, maybe late twenties, with long brown hair and hazel eyes, and her nightgown lay gently over her swollen stomach.

  She was pregnant. Very pregnant if the large bump was anything to go by.

  "If you play nicely, this couple will go back to sleep and forget this night ever happened." The man took a sip of his red wine while he waved a hand toward the couch where the couple sat.

  Leslie doubted this psychopath would keep his word. He might look sophisticated, but his eyes told a different story. They were filled with cruelty, and Leslie knew he would unleash that malice on the couple if he didn't do as the guy said.

  Keeping the knife in his grip, Leslie sat on the edge of the couch. "Who are you and what do you want?" His voice had squeaked and told the stranger just how scared he truly was.

  "From you?" The side of his mouth curled into an evil smile. "Nothing. My name is Jerry, and what I want is for Brady to come rescue you."

  "I'm bait?" Leslie glanced at the couple, then his gaze fell to the woman's stomach as Brady's words about Leslie being pregnant echoed in his mind.

  "I left enough breadcrumbs for even a dumb wolf to follow." Jerry set his wineglass on the side table. "And yes, you're bait."

  Leslie had no idea what this guy's beef was with Brady, but Jerry wasn't going to let Leslie walk out the door when this was over. He would be just as dead as Brady and the couple. He had to find a way to save at least the woman. He could only assume Jerry had broken into this house, and the homeowners didn't deserve to be dragged into whatever was going on.

  "You don't need them," Leslie said. "You have me. Let them go and I'll do whatever you want."

  Jerry's light laugh sent currents of dread down Leslie's spine.

  "How noble of you." He shook his head. "That's not how this works."

  Leslie's stomach pitched. Not because he needed to vomit—well, he might because he was that terrified—but because Brady would be walking right into a trap. Leslie missed Brady so badly that his chest ached. His anger at what Brady had done dwindled as he stared at Jerry. What he wouldn't give to have Brady burst through that door, kill Jerry, and save him.

  What he wouldn't also give for Brady to hold him, tell him everything would be okay, and reassure him that
his life hadn't been flushed down the crapper. Leslie had freaked out because of the unknown, because of what he'd already started feeling toward…his mate.

  Mate. Tears sprang to his eyes. Although everything with Brady seemed to be truly fucked-up, Leslie had a shot at being happy, of having a family, and for fuck's sake, he was only twenty-five and was about to die a violent death.

  Leslie jumped from the couch, raised the knife, and charged toward Jerry with a scream vibrating in his chest. Midway to him, Leslie was lifted off his feet and flew backward, crashing into the wall by the door. He crumpled to the floor, but was lifted once again. He dangled midair as Jerry tsked.

  "Didn't I tell you to play nice?"

  The guy wasn't human.

  The woman screamed behind the cloth stuffed in her mouth. Her husband passed out. Leslie was set on his feet as Jerry stood and crossed the room. The knife clattered to the floor as Jerry's blue eyes turned a deep red.

  "Try anything like that again and Brady will find you at my feet with your neck snapped, got that?" Jerry snarled. He waved his hand and Leslie flew toward the couch, slamming his hip into the wooden arm.

  He cried out in pain as he stumbled to the cushions and sat. Jerry waved his fingers, and the knife levitated into the air, the tip of the blade facing Leslie. The knife flew, Leslie ducked, and the blade embedded itself into the wall behind him.

  When he looked at the couple, the woman was slumped against her husband, her eyes closed. Leslie looked back at Jerry. "What are you?"

  Jerry approached and Leslie cringed back. If he was going for a pleasant smile, Jerry missed the shot. He slid the pads of his fingers over Leslie's jaw, making bile rise to the back of Leslie's throat. "I'm a demon, sweetheart."

  He jerked his head away from Jerry's touch, feeling light-headed as he looked the demon in his eyes. Leslie wasn't getting out of this alive.

  * * * *

  "It was Jerry who took Leslie."

  Ethan furrowed his brows as he stood in Leslie's living room. "Who?"

  Brady didn't want Leslie to be in the demon's clutches any longer than he had to be, but he took the time to explain. And he knew it was the demon because the living room reeked of Jerry's scent.