Until he heard them laugh.
They fucking laughed.
The sound of their amusement rang in Wes’s ears, filling him with rage and a newfound vigor to fight. He had been their packmaster. He had created them, and now he would destroy them.
Ethan pulled back to strike a second blow. Snarling teeth plunged toward Wes’s throat. Wes didn’t think through the pain. He acted on pure instinct alone. He punched the wolf straight in the neck with his functioning arm and the full weight of his strength. The blow made Ethan pause enough that Wes could lodge his knee between them, kicking the wolf square in the chest. The beast was off him.
Muscle and sinew shifted as Wes’s wolf burst from beneath his skin. In wolf form, the injuries to his head and shoulder were no more than what he’d sustain in any pack brawl or fight, nowhere near the maiming injuries to his human form. A snarl tore from his lips as he lunged toward Ethan, not an ounce of remorse or mercy in him.
Ethan met him head-on, and the two wolves clashed in a battle of teeth. Head reared back, Wes aimed his next bite at Ethan’s throat.
He had the bastard on the ground. Just a few more blows, and he’d have all the information he needed handed to him courtesy of Boss’s curse.
It was almost too easy. Too simple. Ethan had been Wes’s high commander. Next to Donnie, he was the best fighter the Wild Eight had. In some ways, maybe even better than Donnie. What he lacked in agility and speed, Ethan made up for in brute force and strategy. Wes had anticipated that any fight against the other werewolf would leave him bloody and broken. He had counted on winning, but Wes wasn’t stupid. He had known that even a win against Ethan would be hard fought.
And this wasn’t.
Wes drew back his fist and paused. It was too easy.
But he wouldn’t allow the fight to be for nothing.
“Boss, call it!” Wes barked.
He turned his gaze toward the crowd. Gabe and several other Wild Eight stood there, seemingly oblivious to everything but him on top of their fellow packmember. Gabe pounded his fist into his palm, his eyes flashing into his wolf’s.
Wes knew what would come next. They far outnumbered him.
A loud bang sounded from upstairs, like a door being blown off its hinges with dynamite.
Screams erupted, silencing the crowd below. Wes’s gaze shot toward Boss. The warlock trained his eyes on the ceiling.
The door to the basement burst open, and Frank’s voice boomed down the staircase. “We’re being raided!”
The crowd scattered like mice. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh were instantly drowned out by gunfire and shouts. Wes remained on top of a barely conscious Ethan. No, goddamn it. He needed Boss to call the match, or all of this would have been for nothing.
Rage twisted over Boss’s face, his eyes gleaming with violence. “Humans.”
“Boss!” Wes roared.
But it was too late. The warlock charged up the stairs, taking his magic with him, just as six Wild Eight members headed straight toward Wes. He was outnumbered and surrounded.
Wes rose to his feet. Aside from a full-out attack from the Grey Wolves, there was only one group that would warrant the Wild Eight’s rage enough to distract them from killing Wes, earning him enough time so he could escape with his life. And Wes had bet his very life on it.
The Execution Underground had organized a helluva lot faster than Wes had anticipated.
And now he had two sets of enemies to confront.
Chapter 13
“Stay in the van.” The hunter’s words came on a growl nearly as menacing as if they had come from Wes. “There’s a gun in the center console, but only use it in case of emergency. And whatever you do, stay in the van,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir,” Naomi replied. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
She’d been sitting in the back of a utility van—property of the Billings division of the Execution Underground—for the better part of two hours, listening to the intricate raid plans. She and Wes had anticipated that the Billings division would raid the Midnight Coyote as soon as they gathered the manpower, a plan that would allow Wes to escape the Wild Eight amid the melee. What they didn’t anticipate was Naomi being held hostage by the Execution Underground leading up to the raid. The plan had been for her to lead Quinn to the Midnight Coyote and then get the hell outta Dodge and back to the safety of her ranch. So much for that.
With one more stay-put-or-else glare, Quinn slammed the door behind him, leaving Naomi alone. She climbed into the front seat and saw the crew of ten heavily armed men barrel down the alleyway.
The small explosion that busted the door in echoed down the alleyway. Smoke billowed from the explosion as the hunters flooded inside. The sounds of shouting followed. For a moment, Naomi half considered staying with the Execution Underground, fellow humans who would protect her, her flock, and everything that mattered.
But then she would never see Wes again. A sharp ache pierced through her chest.
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Her flock, her livelihood, and her own protection mattered more. Even Wes would tell her that. The allegiance she’d sworn had been false, and the heat that had passed between her and Wes was nothing more than sexual attraction. It would never be more than sexual attraction. He may have saved her life, but she didn’t owe him anything. Though she hadn’t heard Wes’s side of the story, hadn’t Quinn, a fellow human, just outlined all Wes’s horrible misdeeds?
It didn’t matter that Quinn, a man who claimed Wes had killed his wife, was in there. Ready to extract his revenge. Wes himself had told her to leave, to forget about him and everything she knew about the Wild Eight. She wouldn’t need the long-term protection of the Grey Wolves or the Execution Underground if all went according to plan.
She would stay in the van as she’d been told. Any sane person would.
Her gaze darted back toward the blown-apart doorway, to Wes inside with ten hunters, and him, the man who’d saved her life, a wanted man at the top of their target list…
Apparently, she’d lost her marbles long ago.
She snatched the gun from the center console, tucking it into the back of her pants in case she needed backup. Like hell she was staying in the van.
Naomi threw open the sliding door and made a beeline down the alleyway. She ran as fast as she could, her boots pounding against the concrete. She tore her knife from its holster on her belt, ready and prepared should she need it. The smell of smoke from the explosion filled her lungs as she rushed inside the Midnight Coyote. The hall was so dark, she could barely see a thing.
When she rounded the corner into the main bar area, she saw the hunters in hand-to-hand combat with the supernaturals. For a moment, she stood frozen, her eyes scanning over the violence. In the midst of the melee, she counted all ten hunters here, fighting.
But no Wes.
He wasn’t here?
Maybe he had changed plans. He had told her to forget about him. Before she could spend another moment contemplating this, a hand slipped out of the darkness and wrapped over her mouth. Someone dragged her back into the shadows, through a door to her left. The door snicked shut behind them, and the hand released her. She spun around, knife raised at the ready, prepared to lunge at her attacker.
A blond woman with amber eyes stared back at her, her hands lifted in surrender. From the all-black outfit she was wearing and the bar rags hanging from her belt loops, Naomi guessed she was a bartender. They were standing at the top of a staircase that appeared to lead down to the basement.
Naomi opened her mouth to speak, but the woman laid a single finger to her own lips, silencing Naomi immediately. She pointed down the staircase. Descending several steps, she beckoned Naomi to follow her. Together, they crouched at the top of the staircase, peering down into the basement below.
Naomi choked back a gasp.
<
br /> Three werewolves in human form held Wes. They had to be Wild Eight. From the looks of it, he’d taken out two in a group of six, but he’d been too far outnumbered. The fourth werewolf, the ringleader of the group, held a knife to Wes’s throat. Though Wes’s arms were behind his back, the three men barely contained him as he writhed and struggled against them.
Naomi leaned over to the woman at her side. She whispered directly into the woman’s ear. “You any good with a knife?” She held out her blade to the woman.
Her companion shook her head. She mimicked Naomi’s gesture, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I’m better with magic.” She lifted a hand that suddenly radiated a hot shade of glowing pink.
Naomi nodded. She holstered her knife and drew the standard nine-millimeter from the back of her pants. As she locked eyes with her companion, they shared a moment of understanding.
It was now or never.
Gun trained at the ready, exactly as her Marine brother had taught her, Naomi charged down the stairs, the other woman at her back. She might have been nothing more than a cowgirl, but she sure as hell knew how to put a wild animal down when needed.
“Drop the knife, or I shoot,” she said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
All eyes turned toward her and her companion.
The ringleader shot her a glare. “Who do you think you are, bitch?”
At the sight of her, Wes fought even harder against the wolves’ hold. “What are you doing here?” His voice was laced with fear for her safety.
“Saving your ungrateful ass,” she shot back. She aimed the gun toward the ringleader. “I said drop the knife, asshole.”
The ringleader laughed, spreading his arms wide. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I’ve taken plenty of bullets before.”
“Likely not a silver bullet.” She’d heard the Execution Underground hunters talking about it during the van ride over. Silver was like kryptonite to all shifters. From the hunters’ private conversations, she’d gathered more than enough information to know a werewolf’s weaknesses—or at least enough to bluff her way through this. She brandished the gun again. “I said, put it down.”
Wes’s eyes were pleading with her to leave, to save herself. She tore her gaze away.
Seemingly ignoring her as if she were no more than a pesky fly, the ringleader shifted his attention to her companion, whose hands pulsed and glowed with magic. Naomi had no clue what the witch threatened, but she’d wager no one wanted to be on the receiving end of it—Barbie pink or not.
“What happened to valuing my patronage, Trixie?” the leader growled. “You’ll lose your job for this.”
“Desperate times and all.” She shrugged. “Plus, you’re a shitty tipper, Gabe.”
Gabe scowled.
Naomi stepped forward. “I said drop the knife.”
A smile curled over his lips. “Go ahead. Shoot. My friends here will snap you little bitches in two, and I’ll still kill this Grey Wolf piece of shit.” He spat the words at Wes.
Naomi shook her head. “If I pull this trigger, ten Execution Underground hunters come running. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Gabe held her gaze, locking eyes with her in a head-to-head challenge. Wes snarled, but Naomi refused to look away. Gabe’s snarky grin grew even wider. He lifted the knife into the air, waving the blade as if in a show of surrender. Slowly, he crouched as if he was about to place the knife on the ground.
And then he lunged.
Naomi pulled the trigger. Chaos broke loose. The kickback from the gun jolted up her arm and through her shoulder. A sharp ringing filled her ears. The sound of the gunfire rattled the concrete walls of the basement as several things happened at once, and before she knew what was happening, she was on the ground. Gabe was on top of her, his hands at her throat, despite his shoulder sizzling as if the bullet inside it had burned him from the inside out.
She tried to breathe, but Gabe’s hand constricted her windpipe. Heat burned through her cheeks as she struggled to draw breath. She beat the butt of the gun against Gabe’s wrists, but it was no use. Air. Air. She needed air. Her lungs screamed in pain, her chest constricting.
And then she heard it.
A resounding roar tore through the basement, seeming to echo louder than the gunshot itself. The noise sounded as if it belonged to a lion. But Naomi knew better. She’d heard it once before. Suddenly, Gabe’s weight was lifted off her. She sucked in a massive breath. Wes didn’t hesitate. Having torn apart the other wolves holding him with no remorse, he snapped Gabe’s neck as if he were nothing more than an insignificant twig.
He turned his bloodied and bruised face toward her as she struggled to draw breath. What Quinn had told her was the truth. She could see it, all of it, reflected in the golden depths of his eyes. The man, the wolf, the human, the monster. All of him.
He was beautiful and horrifying, Wes Calhoun, nefarious former packmaster of the Wild Eight. A ruthless, fearless murderer who’d sought solace among his worst enemies.
The man who’d risked his life for her.
She should have been terrified. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t find it in herself to be scared. Instead, as he stared down at her, his wolf eyes blazing with unchecked aggression, a steady stream of power coursed through her, a sense of security and protection.
Because the look in those eyes said he’d tear out the throat of any man who dared lay a hand on her…
* * *
The door to the basement rattled on its hinges, signaling the Execution Underground’s discovery of the locked basement door.
“Wes!” Trixie shouted. She beckoned to them, then disappeared behind a bronze hot-water tank. Wes yanked Naomi to her feet, and they darted toward the bartender. Behind the water tank, Trixie pulled open what appeared to be an air vent, revealing a small tunnel. She climbed inside. Wes and Naomi quickly followed suit.
Just as the door to the basement broke open, Wes pulled the air vent back into place. He could see the outline of the hunters’ boots at the bottom of the stairs, but he didn’t dare linger. A short crawl through the tunnel, and Wes found himself encircled by darkness. The steady sound of water dripping in the distance echoed through the space. Even with the eyes of his wolf, he had trouble seeing.
Suddenly, blue-tinged light illuminated from the flashlight on Trixie’s phone. The electronic lighting revealed the three of them standing somewhere dark and dank. From the looks of it, they had to be in the Billings sewers.
“Boss has secret exits out of the saloon in case of emergency,” Trixie whispered. She waved for them to follow her. With quiet footfalls, Wes and Naomi jogged behind her down several passages before they finally reached one that led in two separate directions.
Trixie pointed to the left. “That leads east.” She mimicked the gesture to her right. “And that leads west. When you hit either dead end, there’s a ladder to climb out. You just have to lift the sewer grate.”
“Thanks, Trixie.”
“Anything for you, darlin.’ But whatever fool’s errand you were pulling at Coyote’s tonight, you’d best not repeat it.”
Naomi quickly interjected, defending him. “He was trying to find out why the Wild Eight are involved with the vampires, and why they’re targeting my ranch. He did it to save me.”
And for his own interests in destroying the Wild Eight. But he didn’t bother to correct her.
Trixie clasped her hands together in a look that was all Southern sorority girl. “Oh, how heroic,” she cooed. She slapped playfully at Wes’s arm. “Who knew you had it in you, you big brute.”
Wes shook his head. “I’m no hero.” He meant the comment both in general and to highlight his failed plans.
Even in the darkness of the sewers, he saw Naomi’s eyes widen in horror. “You did get the information, didn’t you?”
He shook his head.
&n
bsp; Naomi released her breath on a sharp hiss.
Trixie placed a hand on one rounded hip. “Well, that ain’t neither here nor there. The Wild Eight are partnered with the vamps to destroy the Grey Wolves and take back their territory, all the same jazz they’re always spoutin’. Only difference is, this time, the vampires aren’t right.”
Wes raised a brow. “What do you mean, not right?”
Trixie gave a small shrug. “He didn’t say. Just that it was going to get real nasty, real fast.”
“And how do you know this?” Naomi took a step back, as if suddenly wary that Trixie herself might be Wild Eight.
Flashing Naomi a tender smile, Trixie met Wes’s gaze. “When I can’t have what I really want, I make do.” She gave Wes the once-over before her eyes flicked to Naomi. Wes grumbled, and Trixie grinned, her eyes sparkling. “I guessed as much,” she muttered to him. She directed her next comment at both of them. “Though I suppose I’ll have to find a new toy, considering you just beat the man’s face to a pulp.”
Wes chuckled. Trixie and Ethan. He shouldn’t have been surprised. The feisty little bartender had always had a penchant for bad boys, and she was in no short supply working at the Midnight Coyote.
“And my ranch? Do you know anything about that?” Naomi asked.
Trixie shook her head. “Sorry, darlin’. That I don’t have the answer to.” She turned on one high-heeled cowgirl boot and shot Wes a knowing look. “If it don’t work out, you know where to find me.”
“Wait!”
Trixie turned back at the sound of Naomi’s voice, one eyebrow cocked.
“How did you know I was with Wes?”
Trixie laughed. “Oh, honey, in my line of work, you learn fast that when there’s trouble in a man’s eyes as he’s sitting at the bar top, it’s always of the female kind.” With that, she sauntered off into the darkness, that Georgia peach ass that somehow no longer did a damn thing for him bobbing with each high-heeled step.
And then they were alone in the darkness.
Naomi grabbed hold of Wes’s hand and squeezed. “I can’t see a thing now,” she said.
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 19
