Finding Treasure

Sharon Cox's POV

Riverwalk Ranch Condos, Northwest Las Vegas, Nevada

Tuesday, September 3, 2020

I didn't escape him.

The big wolf had knocked me down into the pine needles and leaf litter just off the trail. I was dazed by the impact on the hard-packed ground, and I could feel a drop of blood trickling down my forehead. I started to lift my head, but the growl and the teeth on my neck made me freeze. His jaws pushed my head back down until my cheek was resting on the cool ground.

I felt his paw on my shoulder blade, moving down until his claws cut my sports bra in the back like it was butter. It continued down to my jogging shorts, tearing the waistband before the nylon parted like a curtain. I could feel his warm breath on my neck, and a drop of slobber reached my shoulder.

One move and the wolf could break my neck like a twig. I closed my eyes and waited, feeling the cool mountain are blowing over my now-bare ass and chest.

That's when I heard the bones crunching and felt the weight on top of me shift around. A second later, the fur on my skin was replaced by warm, smooth skin. The gray paw disappeared from my view, replaced by a big hand and a strong arm covered with light hair. He lowered himself onto me, his broad chest holding me in place while his legs forced mine apart. I felt something big and hot on the crack of my ass, and gasped as he moved his hips to align it with my entrance.

My sopping wet, needy pussy had betrayed me again. "You should know better than to run from a wolf," he whispered in my ear. "When I catch you?" He shoved that big dick into me, filling me completely with one thrust. I cried out in ecstasy as I came hard around him. "I take what is MINE."

And he did. He pounded me from above, his cock nailing my g-spot with each thrust. I arched my hips up and tried to fuck him back, but nothing I did could slow him down. I felt helpless beneath him as he used me for his pleasure. If tender lovemaking was on the left side of the scale and a hard fuck was on the right, this was off the map.

He pulled out, only for his hands to grab my hips and pull them up until I was on my hands and knees. One arm moved to my neck, pushing my head back down just before he slammed home again from behind. He didn't need to tell me twice; I don't think I could have raised myself up if I wanted. The only sounds in the woods were from the smack of his hips into my ass and the wet squelching sounds of my sopping pussy as he rearranged my guts. I came again and again, wondering how much more I could take before I passed out from the pleasure.

"I'm going to put my pup into you," he promised. "You're fertile. I could smell it a mile away."

"Please, no! I can't be a mother now," I begged.

"You can't stop what is meant to be. I am your mate. I am all you will ever need," he said as he pulled my arms back. My back arched, the position allowing his cock to slam into me even harder. "Say you are mine. Beg for me to claim you and breed you."

My head was spinning from the pleasure running through my body. I'd told myself that I was a strong woman. I'd been in a marriage that went bad, and swore I'd never let a man be over me again.

And yet...

I'd never had a werewolf claim to be my mate.

What did I want?

The answer shocked me, more so when I said it out loud. "Breed me," I moaned. "Make me yours forever."

That was all he needed to hear. I felt something big swelling at the base of his cock; he pushed it inside, making me scream as it stretched me before popping inside. It kept getting bigger until it felt like a softball inside me, and there was some pain as I adjusted, but then it turned to pure pleasure. He couldn't move his dick more than a few inches at a time now. It began to short-stroke me, rubbing against my magic spot with every deep thrust. Now that his knot was seated, we were tied together until it went down.

His arms pulled me up against his chest, roughly squeezing my tits. He pounded up into me now as his nose moved my hair away from my right shoulder. I tilted my head to give him access, my arms reaching back to pull his head closer. I felt his head shift, the fur coming out and his jaw elongating. He licked my shoulder. "Do it," I begged.

His cock swelled inside me as his teeth bit down. I screamed out my pleasure as I felt the bond snap into place, flooding my mind like he was flooding my womb with his sticky cum. I was shaking as he pulsed shot after shot into me. I could swear my stomach was blown up like a balloon, but that knot sealed me up like a cork. "I'm going to carry my mate's baby," I said as he rubbed my belly.

*BEEP BEEP*

I opened my eyes, cursing the phone that interrupted my morning masturbation session. It seemed like all my fantasies revolved around being taken by one of those sexy shifter specimens of maleness. I'd devoured stories from authors like Partwolf, Steamyhot, and EmilineRousselot like they were true. Maybe those authors were really werewolves in a giant psy-op. By using a slightly skewed look at their society, their stories made it so any sightings or tales would be discounted as fantasies. We now know they weren't, and the fantasy stories and werewolf porn were exploding in popularity.

Watching that woman in Mexico riding through the trees on the back of a wolf? Imagining that was my go-to fantasy when I needed to orgasm quickly.

I needed to get laid, but that hadn't happened in over a year now. I tossed the "realistic feel eight inch" dildo aside and swung my legs out of bed. Reaching for the burner phone, I saw a message appear. It wasn't the Agency, well, not the true agency. I had a dozen of them given me by the Mimir, the secret organization of current and former intelligence operatives I'd joined after my father's suicide. "Same place and time tomorrow. Pack for a European holiday. -C"

"On my way,"I texted back. I broke the phone in half; I'd dump it somewhere on the way out of town.

Shit. Craven Morehead needed me, which meant my vacation was over. I hadn't done much in the last week. I'd repainted the second bedroom I used as my gym and office, then brought in the rowing machine and weight bench I'd purchased with the bonus. Now that I was on the wrong side of thirty years old, I had to work hard to keep looking good. The dating pool in Vegas wasn't great to begin with, and I refused to date within the Company or the military again.

Two hours later, I'd showered, dressed, packed, and on my way to the airport. I was traveling under my maiden name, not my CIA name. Everything I needed was in my backpack. I parked my bike, a 2020 Yamaha YZF-R6 sportbike, in the long-term parking. Riding in Vegas meant heat, so I was dressed for comfort and not protection. I was wearing white shorts, a crop-top T-shirt, running shoes and a sports bra. This was about all I could handle in the hundred-degree temperatures by ten in the morning. I locked my helmet to the bike, shouldered my backpack, and headed for the terminal.

I managed to get a non-stop United flight to Dulles that arrived late in the afternoon. I rented a car and drove to the hotel I'd booked in Virginia Beach. It wasn't on the water, but it was the last week of summer and demand was high. Since Vegas is three hours behind the East Coast, I wasn't ready to settle down yet. I donned a bikini and a cover-up and caught a ride to the beach. I wandered the sand as the sun went down, looking at the families and the college kids. I was divorced and childless, and too old to compete with the buxom beauties around me.

It was depressing. I'd devoted the last sixteen years of my life to the military and the intelligence services, and I had little to show for it. My family was gone, my father's name trashed, and his money tied up in the courts. As a drone pilot I'd distinguished myself, but even that was tainted now. Military missions had defined good guys and bad guys, but CIA missions often lacked moral clarity. This last one was a perfect example. I'd sent Maverick missiles to kill people who'd just taken out a drug kingpin. It wasn't until later that I learned my victims were on a rescue mission. The one I watched running with Allison on his back? He was the mate of the computer hacker we'd sold to the Chinese. Craven set them up with bad intelligence, paving the way for the end of the Tijuana Cartel. He blamed the dead werewolves for starting a Cartel war to stir up more resentment against the Packs among government leadership.

Knowing the hacker was the one who exposed the conspiracy involving father and the others didn't help assuage my guilt. Dad was a coward, killing himself rather than face trial and imprisonment. Craven and the others were worse.

Selling people to the Chinese? No one deserved that.

I struggled with my thoughts, but I was realistic about my situation. Once I'd joined with Mimir, there was no going back. The Justice Department investigation was still going on, though most of their attention was focused on trials. The top people remaining had insulated themselves enough that no one could rat on them in exchange for a reduced sentence. I knew who they were only because I was a legacy they could trust, and they needed people in the field to carry out their instructions.

I had no illusions about how expendable I was. The best way to stay alive was to be competent and quiet.

I ended up at a beachside seafood place called Waterman's for dinner. I sat at the bar, eating a crab dip appetizer and a crabcake sandwich along with white wine. A few much older men tried to hit on me, but I was here for business. I walked back to the hotel and went to bed.

The same man in the dingy met me at the end of the pier by the aquarium the next day. TheBOHICAgot underway before I made it to the salon. This time, Craven Morehead was the only one present. He handed me a heavy tumbler with single malt and ice, then gestured to a chair. I sat down and sipped the bourbon, enjoying the flavors in my mouth before swallowing it and setting it down. "What is going on?"

"The Chinese had a pirate problem," he told me. The computer screen on the wall brought up a Japanese news story with English subtitles. I watched the subtitles told the story. A Chinese container ship off Okinawa was boarded by the Japanese Coast Guard when it was found steaming in a circle five miles in diameter and trailing smoke. Once on board, the Guardsmen put out the fire, found eight dead Chinese soldiers, and freed twenty-four crew members who'd been bound and imprisoned within the ship. It was the first incident of commercial ship piracy in Japanese waters in over a century. Authorities had no suspects in the capture of theXin Mei Zhou.

"Is that?"

"The ship carrying Spider Monkey back to China? Yes. Our man delivered her to the ship personally."

Fuck. "The Chinese must be pissed."

He waved his hand. "We did what we were contracted to do, and it's not our fault they couldn't hold on to the prize. There will be no repercussions to us from their fuckup."

"So, what is the problem?"

"Someone took her back, and it wasn't us. The CIA had no idea where she was, and no rescue operation could have been planned without our people knowing about it." He took a sip from his glass. "The only people who could pull this off are the same ones who tried to rescue her in Mexico."

"Those people are dead, sir. I watched them die on the video feed."

"Their allies in the Packs and her friends." He handed me a thick folder. "Our people obtained photographs of every person who arrived or departed from the airport in Okinawa for a week either side of the attack on the container ship. We ran them against our facial recognition database and got a few surprises."

I opened the folder to the first photograph, and my blood ran cold. "Victor Knightly? He's dead!"

"Rumors of his demise are in error, it appears. He's changed his hairstyle and color, but the face is a 99.5% match and looks no worse the wear for surviving a drone attack."

I was almost afraid to turn the page. "Nathan Storm. He was next to the mystery woman who shot Joaquin." I looked up at Craven in shock. "He was feet from where the missile hit!"

"Turn the page."

The next photograph was of a woman. Her hair was in a shorter style and a new color, but it was Allison Cook, formerly of the FBI and an observation post in the hills east of Ensenada. "Who else knows this?"

"No one outside our group," Craven said. "I had their entries in the database corrupted so they won't show up in future searches. No one knows of any American involvement, and my man in Japan will ensure it stays that way."

"But they live."

He nodded. "Keep turning the page."

The next page had four photographs I didn't recognize. The first was a beautiful Latina woman, a plain Latina female, a late-twenties Latino male, and a white male in his thirties. I didn't recognize the names. "Who are they?"

"They arrived on the same private plane as Victor, Nathan and Allison. Recognize the woman?"

The feed was fuzzy, but maybe? "Was she the one who shot Joaquin?"

"I think so. The older woman works as a housekeeper in Ensenada. The two men are more curious. Their passports are Croatian, recently issued. Facial recognition has a different story. Keep turning."

I flipped to the next page to find out one was a Mexican Special Forces Marine, the other a Drug Enforcement Agency agent. Both men were reported dead years ago. "Are they Cartel?"

"We don't know. As they say, 'but wait, there's more!' Keep turning."

The next five pictures in the airport were matched with service jacket photographs. Three of the men were prior Navy Seals, another a Captain in the Army Rangers. The female was a Navy Corpsman with combat tours with the First Marines in Iraq. "She's an interesting case. Her husband was in the First Marines unit she was attached to, and both were members of the Steel Brotherhood. As for the men? The first one is a werewolf from a pack in West Virginia."

"The biker friends of Arrowhead Pack, and a Pack wolf," I replied.

"Yes. Her husband reportedly died in a motorcycle accident south of Ensenada around the same time as the attack on the Cartel human trafficking warehouse."

Fuck. "It's a hell of an assault team."

"It IS the assault team. There is no other explanation."

It was too much to be a coincidence. "Where are they now?"

"The private plane made two stops before ending the flight at an airfield near Dubrovnik, Croatia. Vic, Nathan, Allison, the mystery woman, and the Marine all arrived there last week. We haven't traced the agent and the housekeeper. The others made their way back to the United States on commercial flights."

I thought about the options. "You're not letting the authorities know any of this, are you?"

He shook his head. "The less attention drawn to this, the better. If anyone finds out Spider Monkey was on that ship, they might ask questions we don't want answered."

I flipped back to the front of the folder. "These four are the threat to us," I said. "They can testify both to the information we provided and the drone operation that tried to kill them."

He smiled. "You're as smart as your father."

"What's the mission?"

"Take your team to Croatia and find these four. Eliminate them all at once; they'll disappear if we do it any other way." He handed me my official CIA tasking. "And Sharon?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't fucking MISS this time."

Chapter 28

Churro's POV

Mayo Clinic, Rochester, Minnesota

Tuesday, September 3, 2020

I shook out my legs and butt as I got off my motorcycle. Two days of hard riding had worn me down, but I was here. Rochester wasn't much; the town was famous for the Mayo Clinic and not much else.

I wasn't here for me, though.

I'd traveled halfway around the world in the past week. Everyone involved in the rescue returned to the States alone, with none of us on the same flights or destinations. After arriving in the helicopter at the Okinawan airport, I caught a flight to Tokyo. I did some shopping for a day before flying to San Francisco, then connecting to Las Vegas. Some friends from the local Steel Ladies chapter picked me up and drove me to the clubhouse. I got drunk, hung out with Bunny and the girls, and almost forgot about Hollywood for a bit.

Vic had asked me to pass along some messages face-to-face when I returned. "Don't do it right away in case anyone is watching," he told me. "There's no hurry. Spend some time back home in Vegas and act normal. And don't go to Arrowhead because they will be under surveillance. You'll have to meet them somewhere else."

"How do I get in touch with them?"

"Use the Steel Ladies and stay off the grid," he told me. "Do everything they can so they can't track you."

I left my smartphone at home.

All the Club members who participated in the raid on the Cartel human trafficking site received the motorcycle of their choice thanks to an 'unknown benefactor' via the local dealer, who was also a Steel Brotherhood Vice-President. I picked out a candy-apple-red and chrome 2021 Street Glide Special before I left, the biggest cruiser I was comfortable on. It was ready to go on Saturday afternoon. It was beautiful and the custom pipes sounded great. The Custom Dynamics LED lighting was wild looking, and they installed a big trunk with backrest to hold gear for long trips. Since I was riding alone, I kept a waterproof bag lashed in place in the second seat. I told everyone I was going to visit some national parks and visit friends, and no one suspected a thing. My bike ate up the miles, and I had a lot of time to think as I rode through the mountains.

I stayed at a club friend's house on the northeast side of Denver on Sunday night. I thought I'd have to stay Monday in the Twin Cities until Buttons heard back from Canvas. They were headed to Rochester for a few days to visit a Pack member at the Mayo Clinic, so they couldn't meet up in Duluth. I was elated; it would save me five hours on the road, and I could make Rochester in a long ride. Buttons got the room number for the patient, and I was on my way.

I kept the speed reasonable, used cash for gas and food, and fell in with other packs of riders along the way for cover. I put my Steel Ladies cut in the trunk at the first gas station, wanting to be less noticeable on the road. I arrived at the Mayo parking ramp just after eight at night. The air was cooling off as the sun set; I wasn't even sweating under the riding gear. I locked my helmet to the bike and stowed my chaps and leather jacket in the trunk.

No one gave a five-foot-seven Hispanic woman a second glance as I walked through the hospital.

It didn't take long to make it to Mykayla's room. I'd met her once before at an Arrowhead Pack rally; she was a good kid, and didn't deserve cancer after everything else she'd endured. I could hear the video game before I got to the cracked-open door. I knocked, and a girl told me to come in.

"Hi, Mykayla," I said as I saw her on the hospital bed. "Chase."

The Arrowhead Alpha dropped his Nintendo Switch controller in shock. His Mario Cart character paid the price a second later. "Churro? What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," I replied with a smile. "Who all is down here with you?"

"Rori is back at the hotel with Tammy, Taylor, and our security."

"No babies?"

He shook his head. "At home with Possum. We're hoping to take Mykayla home in the morning if her blood work supports it."

"FINALLY," Mykayla said with a roll of her eyes. "I feel fine now."

"And you need to be able to fight off infection," I responded. "You've been through a lot, kid. Don't screw it up now."

"She knows what she's talking about," Chase agreed. "What do you need to talk about?"