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“She’s a black-foot, Isaiah. What did you expect? They don’t do well with being targeted. They may run, but they’ll circle back and come at you. You personally got some vengeance when you killed Tommaso. She wants her own piece of the vengeance pie. The pack should have expected that, but they have a habit of underestimating females.”
Right then, Isaiah was grateful for the latter. The pack hadn’t arrived prepared for a struggle. That had given her an advantage. “How did they manage to sneak past Joaquin?”
“They didn’t. They found him in the woods and overpowered him, then left him—either thinking he was dead or that he soon would be. We took him to Helena, he’s fine now.”
“That’s a relief at least,” muttered Evander.
“Like I said, we have the house surrounded,” Farrell went on. “If the pack members try to leave, we’ll take them down. But it would be risky for us to try to enter. If you want us to take that chance—”
“No,” Isaiah blurted out. “No, we can’t risk that they’d decide to go out in a literal blaze of glory.” He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. “I don’t get why they’re so set on catching Quinley. They could just walk out and then press the detonator.” He hated to voice that fear aloud, to give it life, but he just couldn’t understand.
“Sebastian watched his baby brother have his neck snapped, and he’ll know there’s a high probability that our pride eliminated Tommaso. My guess, considering he hasn’t been content with attacking her from a distance? Ending her life with his bare hands is the only thing that’ll satisfy his need for vengeance. Plus, well, I’m not even sure a house explosion would actually end a black-foot—they’re freakily difficult to kill. He’ll want to be sure she’s dead before he presses that detonator.”
“He could decide ‘to hell with that’ if he can’t catch her.”
“They’re not trying to hurry, so they must be under the impression that you can’t sense Quinley’s emotions. It means they won’t suspect that you’re on your way home, or that the pride is aware of their presence here. That gives us time.”
Yeah, but would it give them enough time? Isaiah hauled in a jagged breath. “Be ready to take them down if they leave.”
“Will do.” The line went dead.
Isaiah clutched his phone tight, tempted to fling it. “I shouldn’t have left her.”
Evander slid him a sideways look of reprimand. “Isaiah—”
“No, I was suspicious of why the pack would try luring her to a train station. I’ve studied Sebastian—he’s a guy who’d expect a submissive to be too afraid to follow such an instruction. I found it odd that the pack would believe she’d truly do it, but I didn’t question it the way I should have.” Self-loathing filled him, slow and slick. “I didn’t think they’d come to the house for Quinley.”
“None of us suspected they’d do something like that.”
“But we should have. They’ve done far worse and far riskier shit. Like they get off on riding that edge between life and death.” Most especially Sebastian, from what Isaiah had gathered.
“This isn’t just risky, it’s reckless. There are all sorts of variables. They can’t know that you and Quinley aren’t bonded. They can’t be sure she wouldn’t receive a visitor, who’d then likely spot them. They can’t be certain you wouldn’t return early. Yet, they made this move regardless. They’re never careless, but this? Yeah, this is careless.”
“Careless” was a good word for it. “Arrogant” would be another. As Isaiah saw it, the only people who’d blindly ignore the variables that Evander had mentioned were people who’d be desperate for vengeance. Which brought to mind the surviving Vercetti brothers.
Sebastian seemed to call a lot of the shots, so he was likely the main person behind this plot. For him to take so many risks… it was as if the death of Samuele, the disappearance of Tommaso, and the pack’s subsequent failures to come after the pride had chipped away at his feelings of power and control—things a person with his upbringing might crave; things he’d feel unsteady without—and, thus, somehow destabilized his thought processes or something.
“If they do catch her, they’ll sense the partial imprint bond,” said Isaiah. “They’ll know then that they’re not flying under our pride’s radar.”
“They won’t know for sure that we’ll be aware she’s in danger, because a partial bond means you don’t feel everything your mate is feeling,” Evander pointed out. “What do you plan to do once we get to your house?”
The only thing that Isaiah really could do. “Walk in there like I don’t know she has company.”
Evander flicked him a sharp look as his brows snapped together. “They could shoot you dead the second you enter.”
“No, I don’t think they’ll do that. They’d want me to first watch Quinley die.”
“You could be wrong.”
Isaiah raised his shoulders. “What other choice do I have? Someone needs to be able to get into that house to help her. If the pack sees others, they’ll fire without hesitation and maybe panic that their game is up. Me? They’d like that I was there.” And neither he nor his cat were prepared to sit safely outside the house while their mate was inside without backup.
It struck him then just how difficult it must have been for Quinley to agree to stay home while he and the others waltzed into a dangerous situation. If only he’d taken her along, or if he’d just stayed with her …
Evander sighed. “Maybe don’t go in alone, then. Maybe take just one person with you. Three against three is better odds.” He paused. “It’d need to be someone as hard to kill as a black-foot.”
Isaiah twisted his lips. “I can think of someone.”
“I say we just leave,” declared Davide, his face lined with pain.
