Chapter Seventeen
The next few days were routine at the theater, though Connor could definitely tell things were at the boiling point in the production. Even as an observer, he could feel the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. The director was pulling his hair out at Janelle's antics, the cast was annoyed at their star's demanding ways, and even Aiden James was frustrated at trying to keep things in order with the press and securing the theater. Someone had sent another threatening note to Janelle, this time, telling her that they would kidnap her as soon as the curtains closed on opening night. The diminutive diva was hysterical, and she even posted a video to her fans telling them how frightened she was. Connor had a good laugh (in his head, of course) when Evie showed him the video the other night, especially when she was crying and her makeup stayed perfectly intact.
Connor was not one to make light of a threatening situation, especially on a job. But, ever since he came here, there was just something not right. He could feel it. Rather, he couldn’t feel anything. It had been bothering him for days now, and he finally pinpointed it. His instinct was not screaming at him, telling him there was real danger. He tended to trust his gut, and this strange feeling was gnawing at him.
“All right, let’s take a break! Again.” Steven threw his hands up.
“I’m just so tired,” Janelle said in a breathless voice.
“Maybe if you didn’t stay out partying all night, you’d have more energy,” Steven muttered.
“What was that?” Janelle asked.
"Oh, nothing. Go on to your dressing room and have a coconut water or something," Steven replied.
"Let's go, Connor," Janelle said as she passed by. "I think I need to change my outfit, too. I'm going to post another Instagram later today, and I can't be wearing the same thing!" She batted her eyes at him. "Maybe you can help me pick something out."
Connor didn't reply but began to walk to the dressing room with Janelle at his heels. He was getting tired of this shit. It was an easy job, but he didn't want easy. He was starting to get restless, and he needed action. He needed to get on with his revenge, too.
Thoughts of the red-haired man flooded his brain, but, somehow, the rage he felt inside wasn't as strong anymore. And when was the last time the feral wolf had burned inside him, trying to claw out and control their body? It had been days at least. Sometimes he thought he could feel it, just under his skin, but he must have been imagining things. The feral wolf only made its presence known when it wanted something.
“Connor,” Janelle said, catching up with him. “Wait!”
Connor was in front of the dressing room, his hand about to open the door. “Yes?”
“No! I mean, you shouldn’t have to open the door for me.” Janelle gave a nervous laugh. “Here, let me!” She flung his hand away, jerked open the door, then pushed him aside to get through.
His keen senses picked up some noise from inside the room, and his gut twisted. A split second later, a dark blur leaped up from the side, knocking into Janelle.
"Connor!" she cried. Something metallic glinted in the attacker's hand, and Janelle screamed again.
Connor roared and lunged forward, grabbing the first thing he could. The attacker was dressed in all black, complete with a ski mask that obscured his face. Connor pulled him off Janelle, slammed him against the wall, and knocked the knife to the ground.
“Connor!” Janelle screamed from the floor. “Help me up!”
He turned for a second, and the attacker took the opening to get to his feet in one smooth motion, then sprung toward the door. Connor let out an angry growl and sprinted for the exit. He ran after the man, who was headed for the stage.
Most of his opponents thought that, because of his size, he'd be slow and lumbering. True, he was efficient with his movements, but he was in no way slow. His Lycan speed and senses allowed him to move quickly and avoid obstacles and people along the way.
The attacker reached the stage and jumped off toward the house seats. He hurdled over them, scrambling and climbing expertly. But Connor was quick and caught up with him. He grabbed him by the neck, pulled him back, then slammed him to the ground.
The man's head knocked back on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. Connor wrapped his hand around the guy's collar and hauled him up, then pulled the ridiculous ski mask off.
“Who the fuck are you? Who sent you?”
The man’s eyes went wide. No, he wasn’t a man. He was young and boyish looking, probably no more than nineteen or twenty. Sweat, anxiety, and fear dripped from every pore in his body.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her, I swear!” The young man said, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Please sir, it’s not what you think!”
“You one of her fans?” Connor asked. “You get your jollies scaring celebrities?!”
“N-n-no! I swear man, it’s not that! I’m not trying to hurt her!”
Connor wrapped one hand around his skinny neck. “Then what are you doing?”
“I just wanted to make some cash! That guy said all I had to do was jump out of the dressing room, make the girl scream, and run away!”
“What man? Who?”
“I-I-I—” The boy shook his head. “I don’t know! A dude in a suit! He was bald and short.”
Connor felt the veins in his neck bulging. His instincts were screaming now, and he dropped the boy to his feet. His hand wrapped around a skinny arm, and he hauled the boy down the aisle and up to the stage. He scanned the room and found who he was looking for.
“You,” he said, walking up to the producer, Andrew MacAllister. He released the boy’s arm. “What’s your name?”
“J-j-Jimmy,” he muttered, his eyes shifting to the floor.
"Is this him? Look at him, asshole," Connor commanded, and Jimmy's head snapped up. "Is this the man who hired you?"
Jimmy’s eyes went wide. “Y-y-yes!”
MacAllister's face turned various shades of purple and red. "What's the meaning of this? Who is this kid?"
Connor could hear the other man's heartbeat speed up and his sweat glands go into overdrive. "You're lying. Did you hire this kid to do your dirty work? Are you some sick bastard?"
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Connor's patience was running thin, so he let go of Jimmy and lunged for MacAllister instead. His wrapped his hands around the man's suit jacket and lifted him off his feet. "Stop lying. Tell the truth. Now, asshole."
“All right, all right!” MacAllister choked. Connor dropped him, and he landed on the floor of the stage with a satisfying thud. “I did it! All right? I hired him to scare Janelle.”
“What else did you do?”
MacAllister cowered under Connor. “I … I also hired some guy to break the lights that first day and a-a-also to send Janelle that package and those notes.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Connor roared.
"For publicity!" MacAllister screamed. "You stupid goon. You know nothing about business, do you? Broadway shows are losing money year after year. All these idiots, all they want is to stare at their little screens like zombies! No one wants to pay for quality entertainment anymore." MacAllister got to his feet and brushed himself off. "I did it to save your jobs. All your jobs!"
A crowd had formed behind him. Everyone was there, including the director, the composers, Evie, and even Aiden James.
“You did it to make your company money,” Jane Collins huffed. “You didn’t have faith in the art or in this cast and crew who put their blood, sweat, and tears into this production!”
“Grow up, Jane,” MacAllister said. “That’s not what people pay for these days.”
“Fuck you and fuck Atlantis Artists,” Annie said, slamming her script to the floor. “I’m going to talk to my lawyer.”
“And we’ll be talking to ours,” Aiden James added.
Connor looked at MacAllister in disgust. “I hope you get what you deserve.” He walked away from the stage.
Really, he wasn't sure why he was angry. He'd be paid for this job, so that wasn't it. Maybe it was because Evie had almost been hurt that first day. It didn't matter. He hated liars and schemers. At least when he dealt with dictators, insurgents, and thieves, they didn't try to stab you in back.
“Connor! Connor!” Evie called. He stopped and turned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He ran his palm down his face. Shit. Evie. If this production shut down, what would happen to her career?
“Connor, wait a second!” Aiden James was running toward them. “Sebastian’s on his way. He wants to be debriefed, then we’re going to talk with the production company. Don’t go yet, okay?”
He nodded. “Fine.”
***
Sebastian Creed was not very happy to be pulled away from important matters to deal with the shit that went down at the theater.
"I assure you, Mr. Creed," the severe-looking lawyer said. "Andrew MacAllister was acting independently, and my client, Atlantic Artists, had no knowledge of his or Ms. Edwards' actions." She sat across from Sebastian, Aiden, Connor, and Creed Security's legal counsel, Anthony Carelli, in the theater's small meeting room.
“My client was not involved in this,” another lawyer in a gray suit said. “Ms. Edwards was a victim, too.”
Connor snorted. “She didn’t look very surprised when that guy jumped out at her.”
"In any case," Atlantis' lawyer continued, "we'd be happy to release Creed Security from their contract and pay the full amount promised for the entire month."
That seemed to satisfy Sebastian, and, after ironing out a few more details, they concluded the meeting.
"Fucking show business," Sebastian muttered. "Fucking lawyers. Give me a terrorist with an AK-47 any day."
“At least it’s all done,” Aiden said. “I’m sure Connor will be happy to be going back to Lone Wolf.”
"Sure," Connor said with a shrug. Without another word, he left Sebastian and Aiden and went in search of Evie. Guilt had spread into his chest. Would the show go on? He saw more men in suits waiting outside the meeting room. There were whispers that the insurance guys and the president of the production company would be meeting, too. Fuck. What would happen to the show now?
Evie was standing by the stage, her face a mask of worry. An ache in his chest spread as he watched her wistful expression. “Evie,” he called softly.
"Oh, Connor," she said, turning around. "Is everything okay?"
“I’m fine. What about you? What about the production?”
"Screw this production," she said, fists curling at her sides. "I mean, not Jane or Annie or Steven or the cast, but this whole thing is bullshit." Her face scrunched up in anger. "I can't believe they would do that! Those assholes!"
“But your show …”
"I'm quitting. I mean, we don't know what will happen anyway. The insurance providers might pull out, or Atlantis might even cancel the show." She shrugged. "But I don't want to be part of it. Not like this. A show has to have integrity." She looked up at him. "Let's go home. I can't be here anymore."
Connor let out a sigh of relief. “Me neither.”
***
Connor glanced down at Evie as she slept soundly. Her face was calm as an angel and even more beautiful. After picking up her things from the dressing room, they left the theater, not even stopping to say goodbye to anyone. Despite her words, he could tell her heart was breaking. He was no critic or art lover, but, being around the crew and the cast these past weeks, he knew all of them had put their hearts and souls into the show. They all wanted it to be good and successful, and it was crushing that a few bad apples had ruined it for them.
He rolled off the bed. Now that he didn’t have to be in the theater, he could go back to his old life. He should be happy or, at least, be glad he could go back to his normal routine.
Revenge. The Facility. The red-haired giant. He had been too distracted all this time. Not that he minded, he thought with a glance back to Evie. Still, there was no further movement on that front. There were no more usable names on Archie’s list and, according to Killian, David Booth had refused to give up his boss. But there was still information he was willing to give.
He snorted. His family? Did that really matter now? Did he want to know? All these years, he tried to remember what life was like before The Facility, but he couldn’t recall a damn thing. So, he decided he must not have a family. Maybe he was bred in The Facility. Because if he had been born to some family, wouldn’t they have fought for him? How could they not have done everything to find him and bring him home? It was what he would do for his siblings. What he would do for Evie. What he would do for his own children.
A rumble in his chest jolted him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure where they were coming from, but he scoffed at the idea. Him? Children? He had a fucked-up life, why would he subject children to it? Still … he glanced at Evie again, and an ache bloomed in his chest.
Without knowing why, he reached for his phone.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end said. “What is it?”
“Killian,” he began, “I want to talk to Booth.”