Gena was always calm, no matter the situation, and in the past six years, there had been plenty of situations. Tattooed, pierced, easygoing but as tough as nails, the blonde biker rarely seemed ruffled. Until Storme insulted the killer Breed behind her.
"At least I'm honest in my enjoyment of him," Gena drawled. "Tell me, Storme, did you enjoy f**king your Wolf near as much?" She leaned forward, her elbows propped on her knees as her nose wrinkled in a grimace. "Styx Mackenzie is a dirty little dog that pretends to be better than what he is. He was forced to eat as a pup just as the rest of them were."
Storme arched her brow mockingly, knowingly. She knew better. Styx Mackenzie hadn't been trained as the other Breeds had been. From birth he had been personally reared by the man who considered himself Styx's grandfather.
Evidently, Gena didn't know nearly as much about the individual Breeds as she thought she did.
"Let's stop wasting time now." Gena sat back and lifted the weapon lying at her side.
The light but powerful laser-powered handgun was pointed directly at Storme's chest. "The data chip, if you please. This is the only place he could have stashed the damned thing and we're tired of searching for it. Retrieve it, Storme, before I have to kill you."
"It's been ten years," Storme mused quietly. "You of all people should know I don't have what the Council wants."
She had fought this battle for so long. For too long.
God why hadn't she just given in to Styx and Jonas while she had been at Haven.
There would have been no need for this then, no need for Gena and Marx to believe that kidnapping her would get them what they wanted.
"You didn't give it to the Breeds." Gena frowned at the thought. "Some of those Breeds gossip to one another like old women. If you had given Jonas Wyatt what he wanted, then Marx would have heard about it."
"Would he have?" Storme glanced at the Coyote as he glared back at her. "Why should they? Jonas Wyatt wouldn't have given that information to anyone any more than he would have given out the location of Brandenmore's grave site."
The pure blood societies believed Brandenmore was dead. It was something Storme knew wasn't the truth. She had seen the truth when Jonas stared at her as she threw the accusation in his face that he was keeping Brandenmore alive.
"Where is it?" Marx nearly came over the back of the couch, his eyes glittering now with bloodthirsty excitement.
"She doesn't know where it's at, moron," Gena drawled in amusement as Storme stared back at her. "Wyatt would have never trusted her with that information."
"I didn't say I knew where it was." Storme shrugged. "I said he wouldn't have gossiped about the chip any more than they were gossiping about Brandenmore. It's that simple."
Gena laughed. A harsh sound that grated against Storme's ears.
"Such a little liar," she exclaimed. "I know you better than that, Storme. You don't trust Styx, therefore you don't trust Wyatt."
"He mated her, Gena."
That comment caused Gena to pause as she stared back at Storme.
"You told me you couldn't smell the mating scent." She turned and stared back at Marx as though in confusion.
"I didn't, until this evening." The Coyote shrugged. "It's come on slowly. I would say if he wasn't dead, then the next time he saw her it would have been full-blown heat."
"Interesting." Gena turned to stare back at her. "It took long enough."
Storme kept her expression smooth, praying they didn't see or sense her confusion.
"So has the big boy knotted you yet?" Gena questioned her as she stared back at her curiously. "I hear he's hung rather well. One of those big ole canine knots up inside you can't feel pleasant."
"Jealous?" Storme asked archly, correctly interpreting Gena's lascivious interest.
They obviously believed the tabloid stories that printed that trash, she thought.
Stories of some hormonal, genetic virus, an animal mating reaction and uncontrollable sexual urges.
The hateful glare the other woman shot her warned Storme that Gena would exact a bit of vengeance before actually killing her.
"I'm tired of wasting my time is what I am," she announced, her voice cold once again. "You have about sixty seconds, Storme, then I start hurting you. Rather badly."