Excerpt for Claw and Ollie by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords


Copyright© 2017 Angelique Voisen

ISBN: 978-1-77339-182-3

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Karyn White


WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


To my readers, I hope you enjoy Claw and Ollie’s story.


Bad Boys Need Love Too, 3

Angelique Voisen

Copyright © 2017


Heavy footsteps thudded outside, interrupting Ollie Ross from picking the lock on the safe in front of him. Ollie froze, glancing at Jasper, fellow crew member.

“Focus on the safe,” Jasper hissed, nodding to his revolver. “Gary and I will watch your back.”

Ollie had been in the business long enough to know those words meant nothing. He distrusted Jasper and Gary even more. No thief worth his salt relied on anyone but themselves. Even his own brother had bailed out on him.

Well, fuck Orange. Who wanted to teach kindergarten when they could be living the high life?

Biting down on his lower lip, Ollie focused on the lock. A headache formed in the back of his skull. He should have remained sober, but fat chance of that happening. These days, he took anything capable of sending shifters to their happy place.

He was a train wreck waiting to happen. Part of him knew he should have listened to Orange. They might be brothers, but they were worlds apart. Ollie needed the cash though, had debts to pay. Hence, this fucked-up job with a crew who wouldn’t hesitate to double-cross him.

Ollie stared at the metal safe with undisguised hatred. He hated old-fashioned boxes like these. Who used these anymore? He pressed his ear against the metal again, turning the knob.

A click sounded from the mechanism inside. Ollie wanted to break out into a celebratory dance. Who needed Orange?

Wood splintered. He whirled, swallowing at the sight of the door breaking down, and three men in suits barged in, rifles pointed at them.

Triumph turned to ashes.

“Time for Plan B,” he told the others.

“What Plan B?” Gary demanded, hands trembling on his tiny gun.

Double fuck. Orange always made contingency plans. Ollie kind of just went with anything. Besides, why hadn’t the goons shot at them?

“Drop your weapons, now!” one of the muscled suits yelled in accented English. The guy was buffed, bald, and smelled like bear. A horrible rake mark marred the entire right side of his face.

Gary and Jasper instantly obeyed. Pussies. Then the speaker pulled the trigger. No sound, no nothing. The guy must have a silencer on his weapon. Flesh and bone exploded. Gary and Jasper toppled over like dolls, well dolls with missing faces.

Someone let out a shrill scream that smacked of desperation. It took Ollie a second to realize the sound came from him.

Screw this. Ollie reached for his animal and tucked away his human half. He shrank. Once he was in tabby form, he broke into a run. Screw the safe’s contents. His life mattered more. Well, not exactly true, but he’d ponder on his miserable existence later.

A gun went off.

“You fucker, be careful where you point that thing. The boss wants the thief alive.”

He sprinted from a clumsy suit who tried to lunge at him.

Ollie could place the accent now. Russian. Jesus. He knew he’d made plenty of enemies, screwed people on a frequent basis, but tangling with the Bratva? He was dead meat. Plus, he didn’t like the sound of being taken alive. What did these assholes want?

Seeing the opened window where Gary, Jasper, and he had entered, he jumped to the ledge, paws scratching on wood. He thought he made it, except a hand closed over his tail and yanked him away from the ledge. Panicked, vision swirling, he dangled in the air.

He scratched and hissed, but to no avail. Ollie was no fighter. He had fast hands and quick reflexes from being a tabby shifter. That was all.

“Got you now, you little piece of shit.” The leader of the little troop snarled out the words and held Ollie at an arm’s length.

Those icy gray eyes held him in place. Ollie didn’t like what he saw there—absolutely nothing. This asshole was empty of pity, sympathy, emotions. His inner cat told him this man had an apex predator in him. The smell of dominance and fur filled the air. A fucking bear. Ollie could narrow down the list to the Petrovic Crime Family, who were also Kodiak shifters.

Ollie wished he hadn’t argued with his brother. He relied on Orange helping him get out of messes so often, he didn’t realize what a horrible human being he was becoming.

If he could only turn back time, he’d know better than take on a job without knowing all the information. Were they stealing from the Bratva? Ollie didn’t even bother to check. When had he become so careless?

The leader with the scarred face snapped his fingers using his free hand to an underling. The goon bought a sack. Seeing it, Ollie thrashed and twisted, not seeing Scarface’s hand blurring, hitting the side of his skull.

All the fight went out of him. He wanted to vomit. Unconsciousness took him. The last Ollie remembered was darkness closing around him, drowning him.

Chapter One

Six months later

Ollie woke, throat hoarse from screaming. For a second, he thought he was back there, the bad place. He would find himself hung on the wall like some kind of ornament, chained by the wrists and ankles, bleeding. Knowing death was around the corner wasn’t the worst thing. It was the knowledge he lured his brother into a trap.

Bright sunlight hurt his eyes. He slowly sat up, realizing he slept on his couch again, in his apartment. Ollie left the TV on. He noticed it was morning news now. Same old takeout boxes on his coffee table. Familiar walls.

Relief filled him, but it was short-lived. Ollie clutched his blanket over his shoulders, shivering. The heater worked. Orange made sure. Still, the chill crept past Ollie’s skin and into his bones.

“Another day,” he whispered. He couldn’t tell the days apart anymore. It felt like he’d been stuck in his apartment for a long time.

Time passed slowly when he was trapped in a prison of his own making. The screen of his phone lit up. Knuckles rapped on his front door, making him jump.

Ollie’s first instinct was to pick up a weapon. He scrambled out of the couch, grabbing the baseball bat underneath. His ring tone shattered the silence.

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