by Sadie Hart
But simply watching as Jerome strode up those steps, his phone pressed to his ear, had been the hardest thing Rift had ever done. His hands kept fisting at his sides and the Hound next to him kept sidling further away from him, as if he expected Rift to explode any second. Of course, the longer the bastard was in there, with Sawyer silent on the communication system, the harder it was for him not to explode.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to wait it out.
Voices crackled over the earpieces, and Rift tried to focus on them, but they were hushed, muted. No one was screaming, though. That had to be a good thing, right? The muscles in his shoulders were locked so tight he half expected them to snap any second.
The door opened again and Jerome came out. Sunlight glinted across his greasy black hair as he jerked the door shut behind him, then flipped it off. “Watch the kid,” he muttered and Rift froze, his breath locked in his throat.
The Hound next to him glanced Rift’s way, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was hearing whatever else spewed from this idiot’s mouth.
“I’ll fucking watch the kid.” Jerome kicked at the grass and headed across the lawn and toward the forest edge.
Rift exchanged a look with Mace and Cutter. If they could take this one out... He sidled closer to the Hound paired with them. “What’s that way?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going after him.” Rift had started through the trees when the Hound caught his arm. A snarl flashed through him and Rift bared his teeth. “If he’s leaving open ground, we could take him out. Three instead of four guarding my daughter. I like those odds better.”
The Hound cringed but nodded. Touching his earpiece. “Boss, one of the pride males is heading into the back cover. Callahan and I are going after him, the other two will be holding position. Copy?”
“Got it.”
Mace and Cutter agreed with a nod. That was good enough for him. Rift snaked through the trees, careful to keep to the shadows. The Hound trailed at his back, weapon drawn. Not that Rift planned on using a gun. Too noisy. No, he intended to take Jerome down the old-fashioned way.
A quick slice of claws and one gurgling last breath.
***
Tavis smiled at Jenna. The woman was trembling like a leaf, utterly terrified. She should be. Dougal was still pissed at her for smuggling Rift’s kid in, pissed enough that he really would let her go to his little goons. “I thought you were cooking breakfast.”
She flinched when he spoke, and Tavis shook his head, disgusted. So weak. So scared. He didn’t get what about that turned Jerome on. She’d probably weep and sob the entire time she was in bed with him. Yeah, that just made Tavis hard as a fucking rock. Not.
“I wanted eggs, or did you forget that already?”
“No, sir.” Her answer came out breathy, but she still didn’t reach for the pan.
Useless. Absolutely useless.
“Maybe I should just settle for toast.” He turned toward the pantry and she jerked into action.
“No. I got it.” Jenna scooped up the frying pan and stepped toward him, holding out one trembling hand toward the kitchen door. “Just...just go.”
A growl rumbled through him and she flinched.
“I mean, I’m so sorry. I just needed a moment.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and took a deep steadying breath. “Omelet or fried eggs?”
She smiled, finally looking more like a woman than a waif. Tavis sneered.
“Omelet. Ham.” Then he turned and strode out of the room. At this rate, he’d have to check in to make sure she actually made him one. Otherwise he’d starve before she remembered how to use that fucking pan.
Chapter Twenty One
Sawyer’s breath left her in a rush. That had been so close. She waited until the footsteps receded past the dining room before toeing open the pantry door. Jenna stood there, still half in front of it, her whole body shaking.
“Thank you,” Sawyer whispered.
Jenna gave a jerky nod, tears filling her eyes, and Sawyer stepped closer. She touched the other woman’s wrist. “Come on,” but even as she said it, she knew Jenna wouldn’t go. She recognized the fear in the other woman’s eyes. The unwavering certainty that Dougal would always find her kept her from leaving. Every time.
At least last time she’d let Sawyer take Kinsey away from here.
“Brandt,” Sawyer whispered. “Pride male left, Jerome. Take him down before he reaches the cabin if at all possible. It’ll leave only one guard with Kinsey.”
“Already on it.”
“Come on,” Sawyer whispered again, her fingers tightening over Jenna’s wrist, but the woman stepped back. She shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Jenna lifted the pan in explanation.
“I can buy you time. Save her.” Jenna’s voice broke over the last word, and this time, the tears that slipped over her cheeks seemed to be shed for Kinsey. Sawyer swayed, shaken. “Please.”
It was the first motherly thing Sawyer had seen her do. With a nod, Sawyer darted out the back door and ran for the trees. Tavis was up now, Dougal probably, too. Somebody would be eyeing the cameras soon enough; she just hoped it wasn’t now.
“Brandt, status,” she whispered as she hit the tree line and slipped into the underbrush. Fading into the trees, Sawyer turned, trying to get her bearings.
“South of the door, heading deeper into the trees. Rift and Tank are already tracking the male that left before you.”
Sawyer spun and ran in the direction of the lake house. Her steps were light, easy, practiced as she wound her way through the trees. She knew the way to the cabin. She’d had to ferry food there more than once for the men when they’d been out hunting, or spending ‘special’ time with a particular pride female. Sawyer shuddered, remembering the bruises circling Jenna Slade’s neck. A crash sounded ahead and she put on a burst of speed.
She heard a muffled snarl and she spotted the pair of men struggling on the ground. Rift rammed his fist with Jerome’s chin just as the other man opened his mouth to scream. A Hound, Tank if she had to guess, slid to a stop beside them and slammed the butt of his gun down on the side of Jerome’s head. The man jerked, dazed, and then Rift wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed.
Jerome sputtered, gasping. He twisted and kicked, his hands clawing at Rift’s arm.
“Hit him again,” Sawyer said. “Lions have thick heads.”
Though most shifters could shake off a good knock or two, lion shifters tended to be a bit tougher than that. The Hound slammed his elbow into the side of Jerome’s head and the lion went still. Rift held him for a second longer before he let him drop.
Anger blazed in his eyes, his lion clearly fighting to break free in response to the roiling aggression in his gut. She knew he wanted to protect his pride, and that meant making damn sure that this threat didn’t get up again. That meant killing rather than wounding. The beast in him wouldn’t understand arresting someone when he could be dealt with, permanently.
Sawyer sank down next to Rift, briefly letting her gaze meet his. Dark amber eyes flashed with tempered violence, but when she reached for Jerome, Rift pulled back and let her have him.
“Cuffs?” she said to the other Hound as she pulled Jerome’s limp arms behind his back.
“Yup,” the other man said and slapped them on his wrists.
“Gag him.” Sawyer hauled Jerome’s body up with Rift’s help. He was nothing but dead weight. They let the Hound gag him, then passed him off to him. Brandt appeared behind them.
“One down, three to go,” Sawyer said. “They’re holding Kinsey at the cabin up here. Just Sans to guard her. Dougal and Tavis are down at the main house waiting for Rift.”
“So secure the girl, then go after the remaining pride males.” Brandt jerked his head in a nod. “Show us the house, and I’ll call in the pack.”
Sawyer headed deeper into the woods, pine needles rustling un
der her feet, as Brandt barked out a series of orders. Half the pack would stay and ring the house in case Dougal or Tavis moved. The other half would come with him. They had a hostage to rescue.
And the odds were slowly creeping toward being in their favor.
Sawyer gestured for Brandt to follow as she headed deeper into the forest, Rift at her side. Tension radiated off of him, that carefully locked-up aggression, she could feel it with every step he took. Male lions weren’t patient stalkers. They typically defended their prides in bloody, to-the-death battles.
She doubted patience was Rift’s strong suit in situations like this.
“It’ll be okay,” Sawyer whispered and he grunted.
She could smell the lake first. The scent of fish, lake, the old, rotted wood of the dock the Slades never used. Sawyer angled toward the water, and the wooden sides of the cabin came into view. It was small, only two bedrooms.
“One story, two bedrooms. Go through the front door and enter into the living room, kitchen on the left, the hall to the two bedrooms on the left. Bathroom between the two rooms. Back door exits from the living room on the other side.”
“Got it,” Brandt said and relayed orders to the remaining members of his pack. Two to the back, one to cover the front. “Sawyer, you and I go in.”
“And me?” Rift asked, his voice low.
“You’re a civilian. You stay with—”
“Like hell.”
The corner of Sawyer’s mouth kicked up. Brandt should have known better. She’d known Rift wouldn’t just sit there while they went in. Brandt cut him a look, but Rift didn’t back down.
“Let him come,” she said.
Brandt muttered something and shook his head. “Fine. But stay behind us. We will not arm a civilian. And keep your mouth shut.”
At the flick of his hand, the Hounds surrounded the building. Quiet, stealthy. Sawyer could barely hear the swish of grass under their boots as the team sneaked along the side of the wooden cabin. She steadied her breathing and un-holstered her gun. The weight felt comfortable in her hands. Secure.
It might be the only thing that saved Kinsey.
Though, oh, how she hoped not.
There was only one man in there to guard her. Surely the pack could take one man without Kinsey getting hurt.
Brandt gestured towards the door. “The rear’s covered, let’s go in.”
And just like that, Sawyer’s world narrowed to the door in front of her. Her heart steadied, her breathing calmed. All her training and practice slipped over her, until there was nothing in front of her but the job.
She stepped up by the door, took one last steadying breath, and prepared to enter.
***
Dougal eyed the girl tied to the chair. Kinsey lifted her chin, and he had no doubt if they hadn’t gagged the little bitch she’d have tried to spit at him. The gall she’d shown up until now. He shook his head. Sans sat on the bed, looking grumpy as hell about being up already. Too damn bad. Dougal wouldn’t put it past Rift to get here long before they expected him.
And he would not be caught off guard.
“Where the hell is Jerome?”
Sans scrubbed a hand over his face. “He went out last night. No biggie. Dude’s not going to be here—”
A growl tore free and Dougal lunged, grabbing the other man by the throat and pinning him back against the bed. “No biggie?” he ground out. He squeezed harder.
Sans flailed over the bed, his hands scrabbling at Dougal’s grip. Dougal held strong, refusing to let the other man up. Never had one of these idiots thought to question him, and he’d be damned if they thought they could keep doing it. He’d given them orders last night, and it sure as hell hadn’t been to fuck their way around the local tavern.
“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”
Sans frantically nodded his head, but Dougal didn’t let go.
A twig snapped outside. Another soft, padding thud. His head cocked. Jerome and Tavis would have marched up to the cabin, confident, loud. They wouldn’t have cared if Dougal heard. “Stay still and quiet,” he whispered and released Sans.
The other lion took in a deep, steadying breath, but he didn’t make a peep.
Dougal eased off the bed, every sense in his body on alert. Kinsey flailed in her seat and Dougal gestured at Sans. “Get the gun and make sure she stays fucking quiet.”
The order came out a furious hiss. He was not going to have some punk girl ruin this for him. If Sans had to knock the bitch out, Dougal would have him do it.
He stalked softly to the window and with a finger brushed the curtain aside. A lean woman in a Kevlar vest danced through the woods, gun drawn in front of her. Hounds. The nerve of that son of a bitch. He’d called in the Hounds again, and this time it seemed Roy Beckett had caved.
His gaze skittered over the forest towards the front door. He saw Rift and Sawyer whispering with another man. Dougal let the curtain fall back into place. Everyone but Rift was armed and dressed in body armor. Sawyer, too. Now that was interesting.
“Boss?” Sans whispered and Dougal shook his head.
“We’re going to have company. Use the girl for a hostage. They want her alive.”
He rubbed his jaw. There was a chance they didn’t know how many were in here. If they came in and just saw Jerome, Dougal might have a shot—his last shot—at revenge on Rift Callahan.
He looked Sans straight in the eye and lied. “I’m going to get us out of here. Just stay calm and use the girl.”
Dougal reached for the closet and slipped inside, pulling the doors shut to conceal him. He knew they weren’t getting out of this alive. Even if Sans managed to shoot his way out, the Hounds would hunt him down.
Everyone would know the truth about Cane Creek, and some bleeding heart would see the women, and it would all be over with.
But that didn’t mean Dougal had to lose.
He’d make damn sure that Rift Callahan paid for his crime.
After that, nothing mattered.
***
Rift held his breath as Brandt barreled into the cabin, Sawyer right behind him, guns drawn. They thundered into the room. “Shifter Town Enforcement!”
Rift followed into the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest, as they cleared the rooms and moved down the call.
“Everyone is still inside, boss,” came over the comm system.
Nausea climbed in Rift’s stomach. Sans had to have heard the commotion. He could have killed Kinsey by now. A swipe of claws, a quick twist of her neck. He had no reason to keep her alive.
Another door slammed open.
“Drop your weapon!” Sawyer shouted and Rift felt the world fall off around him.
Kinsey was tied to a chair, blood trickling from a split lip, but it was the gun pressed against her temple that had rage pouring through his veins. Rift took an involuntary step forward before he managed to stop himself.
“Don’t move! Don’t come any closer. I will kill her.” Sans voice trembled as much as his gun hand, but with one arm wrapped around Kinsey’s throat and the gun pressed right against her head, he didn’t need a steady hand to kill her.
A twitchy finger would do that easily enough.
Sawyer and Brandt spread out to the sides, guns trained on Sans. No doubt trying to line up a shot, but all Rift could do was stand there and stare, his gut twisting wildly. Sick.
Sans jerked, his eyes wild as they moved further into the room. He squeezed so hard Kinsey cried out. “Come any closer and I swear I will blow her fucking brains out!” he screamed.
“Drop your weapon,” Sawyer repeated, her voice deadly quiet. And, unlike Sans, she didn’t shake or tremble. Her whole body was still, the perfect picture of calm.
Blood dribbled down Kinsey’s chin, and Rift’s lion roared up under his skin, frantic to break free. She was his daughter, damn it, his to protect. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to sprout claws, but he couldn’t keep himself from stepping further
into the room, a snarl rippling up his body. The room vibrated with the force of the growl, and Sans pressed the gun harder into Kinsey’s temple.
She gave another pained whimper behind the gag, her head flailing wildly from side to side, just as the closet door to Rift’s right exploded. Wood splintered, flying out in a wild spray of debris, as a fully-shifted male lion launched himself through the door straight at Rift.
He didn’t even have time to react before Dougal’s two-inch claws were buried in his chest. The lion tore through skin, ripping straight to the bone with a single slash. Rift spun towards the floor, his arms outstretched to brace his fall, but the world around him whirled with pain. Dots swam before his eyes.
Red pooled across the smooth hardwood floor as Rift hit the ground. Blood, some niggling thought at the back of his brain told him. Then another swipe of claws shredded down his back and he went numb. His lion surged up under his skin and blasted out, magick exploding through him.
Violent. Raw. Sheer power, as the beast ripped its way out of Rift, and suddenly he was twisting on four feet to meet Dougal, tooth and claw. He slashed out, the thick meat of his paw slamming into the side of Dougal’s face. His claws tore into fur and skin, slashed through the thick knots of Dougal’s mane. Roars filled the tiny room. They echoed and bounced off the walls, the sounds deafening.
Through the pounding in Rift’s head he could still hear Sawyer and Brandt shouting somewhere in the distance. “Drop your weapon now!”
But they faded away completely as Rift fought for his life. Dougal threw himself at him with a frenzied, wild desperation. He lunged in, teeth sinking into Rift’s shoulder, piercing through muscle in horrible ripping sensation. Rift slashed out, biting, but if Dougal felt any pain, he couldn’t tell.
Rift slipped on the wet floor, red smears under his paws as he staggered. Someone screamed, high and piercing. A loud thud sounded behind Rift as his haunches spun out and connected with something solid.
A gun cracked.
