More bullets pinged off the barrels. Melinda crouched between two of them, her hands over her ears, her body shaking and tears streaming unchecked down her face. The job she did was dangerous. She knew that. Her clients, all of them, were hiding from something, or someone, but never in a million years had she imagined it would lead to this. To a shootout in an abandoned warehouse. Highly trained and well-equipped men facing off with two…two…werewolves.
She rocked, her choked sobs drowned out by the battle around her. Until they weren’t. Until her keening was the only sound in a silent warehouse.
Melinda clamped her mouth shut. What was happening? Were they all dead? Louis? Pierre? Would they turn on her now? Her chest was so tight she struggled to breathe.
Melinda listened. Not a sound. She peered through a gap between the barrels. An arm, flung out, unmoving, lay at the very edge of the stack of barrels. A human arm, not covered in fur. A hand, not a paw. Above the wrist, a watch. Not a Roger Dubious Excalibur. Her relief at that discovery had her wanting to flee. But she had to know.
She crept forward, one silent step at a time, to the next barrel. Her hands flush against its cool surface, she peered around it. Vacant blue eyes stared at her, unseeing. She jumped back, her breathing shallow and her heart racing. She snuck another look. The hand belonged to one of the tattooed men, dead now. She didn’t focus on his throat, the blood and gore. She could barely look past his sightless eyes.
Melinda moved to the next barrel. Another body in tactical gear came into view, a gun beside his leg. She’d never fired a weapon. Never held one, but it seemed like a good idea to have one in her hands right now.
Melinda inched forward. In the silence, strange cracking and popping sounds.Oh, God.Could the werewolves, the beasts she’d once known as men, be…be…devouring their kills?
A door slammed behind her. Melinda gave up on stealth and dove for the gun. Her shaky hands locked around the grip and, on legs wobblier than Jell-O, she rose. She swung the gun from one threat to the next.
What the actual fuck?
Not a single tattooed man remained standing. From the amount of blood, she was sure none of them had survived. What she faced, what her brain was having trouble comprehending, were the three naked men standing before her. Louis, Pierre and Gabriel.
Chapter Nineteen
Louis dropped the bullet he’d dug out of his shoulder, and held up his hands. “Easy, now, Melinda. Put the gun down.”
She swung his way, a shaky finger on the trigger, and he stared down the barrel. The bullet wouldn’t kill him—unless she got off a lucky shot and nailed him in the head—but it would hurt like hell. Fucking Faucherians and their silver-coated bullets.
She stared at him, then Pierre, the horror in her eyes all but wrenching his heart from his chest. Their mate was afraid of them. He looked around at the carnage on the floor—throats ripped out, gaping wounds. One guy was missing a hand. It lay curled around the grip of a pistol. Neither he nor Pierre were unscathed. Covered in the blood of their enemies as well as their own. The wound in his shoulder was healing. Pierre’s wound in his thigh was a through and through. Gabriel, theconnard, had come out of the fight uninjured, his face, neck and chest splattered with blood, none of it his. He couldn’t blame Melinda for being scared.
Annabelle stepped forward. “Maybe I should—”
She froze as Melinda spun the pistol in her direction. Gabriel roared and leaped, shielding his mate. Before Louis could utter a word, Melinda fired. The shot went wide.
“Melinda.” He took a step toward her.
“Stop.” Melinda gripped the pistol tighter, her attention skittering between them all. “Don’t come any closer.” She half sobbed. “I will shoot you if I have to.”
“Melinda, it’s me. Louis. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“We’re your bodyguards, remember? You’re paying us to protect you,” said Pierre, his voice soft, soothing, though Louis sensed the turmoil and the pain his brother held in check.
She spun to face his twin. “I don’t know who…what you are anymore.”
“We’re still the same Louis and Pierre who invited you to our apartment for drinks.” He inched forward. She swung the barrel at him again. He gave her his best friendly smile. “You liked my nuts, remember?”
If they could just talk her down, get her in their arms and reassure her she was safe… “We flew all the way from London with you. If we wanted to hurt you, we had every opportunity. You let us touch you then. Comfort you. More than comfort. The three of us.”
Her hands dipped a little. They nearly had her.
Behind the barrels, Stef moved on silent feet, sneaking up on Melinda.
“Wait,” he called out, but it was too late.
Stef clamped a hand around Melinda’s wrist. Their mate screamed and struggled. The gun went off, the bullet plowing into the warehouse roof. Then Stef had control of the weapon. She removed the magazine and the cartridge from the chamber and tossed it aside.
Melinda backed away from them all, her eyes wide. “Who are you people? Are you all…?” She cackled, on the verge of hysteria. “Wolf Enterprises. I should’ve guessed. How could I have guessed? Who in their right mind would believe people could turn into…animals?”
Animals?The word sucker punched him in the chest. She thought them animals, now?
Annabelle held up a backpack, tossing it to them. “Why don’t you boys go get cleaned up, put some clothes on and go waitwith the cars? Melinda, Stef and I are going to have a little talk, woman to woman.”
