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Havana, Deke, and Isaiah stood in front of the loners like a barrier. The crew charged as one, and she found herself facing a slim brunette. Havana whipped up her arm to block the hand that came at her with its claws extended, and then she shoved her own claws right in the bitch’s throat.
The ground level became a battlefield. Fists flew. Feet kicked. Claws raked. Teeth bit. It was quite simply mayhem, but her devil damn well loved it.
Aiming to quickly incapacitate her attackers, Havana didn’t bother with fancy moves. She punched throats, snapped necks, broke bones, severed arteries, and sliced open stomachs.
Flanking her, Deke and Isaiah were equally pitiless as they fended off the crew and decimated their numbers.
Some of the loners joined the fight, but they quickly began to tire. They thankfully had the help of Aspen’s bearcat—the animal jumped on backs, slashed Achilles heels, and sank her teeth into sensitive body parts. Bailey’s mamba also helped the loners, using those fangs of hers to inject venom into Gideon’s people.
When only three crew members were still standing, Havana used that moment to lead the loners to the exit. As they clambered off the yacht, she nodded at Farrell, ensuring he knew they weren’t enemies. It seemed that a few bidders were trying to flee the yacht by climbing overboard, because a number of dead bodies lay at the feet of Farrell and the other Olympus cats.
Deke and Isaiah closely followed the loners, helping to herd them off the yacht and along the dock. Havana waited, expecting Aspen and Bailey to be right behind them. Her heart sank when they didn’t appear. She rushed back onto the yacht, along a corridor … and almost crashed into two males.
One of them looked down at her, and his mouth curved into a slick, insincere smile. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Ramos.”
She knew that voice. Gideon.
“We finally meet in person.” He pointed a gun at her head.
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Slicing open a male fox’s throat, Tate let the body drop to the floor like a rock. He glanced around, searching for the man who’d stood on the manmade podium only minutes ago, speaking in a voice Tate had heard many times recently over the phone. But there was no sign of Gideon now.
Pandemonium had broken out literally the moment Tate and his pride mates raided the middle deck. Some of the clientele and workers had tried to flee, but most had braced themselves to fight. As such, Tate hadn’t been able to rush straight for Gideon; he’d found himself facing a pissed-the-fuck-off hyena—who was now very dead.
The air rang with the yipping of jackals, the hissing of a lioness, the laughs of hyenas, and the roar of a black bear. The beasts were deadly, but they were supremely outnumbered. Pallas cats might not have size on their side, but they were incredibly vicious and had more manpower. So it was only a matter of time before the bigger animals had numerous pallas cats crawling all over their bodies, biting and clawing and weakening them.
Some of the bidders were already dead, as were the waiters who’d been serving cocktails to the sick bastards. Their broken bodies littered the floor, staining the wooden planks with blood, guts, and even bits of brain matter. Gideon should be among them, purely because he fucking deserved to be.
He’d either escaped via the staircase or he’d tossed himself overboard. If it was the latter, Farrell and the other pallas cats would get the pleasure of killing him.
Tate tensed as a large male abruptly rushed him. Tate dodged the punch that came his way and rammed his fist into the fucker’s throat. The male sucked in a choked breath and swung again, clumsy this time. Tate ducked and slammed his fist into the side of the guy’s knee, dislocating the bone. The male dropped, crying out in pain. That cry died when Tate snapped his neck.
Luke crossed to him, panting. “I don’t see Gideon. You?”
“I’m thinking he went down that staircase over there. I can’t see him tossing himself overboard.” Seeing that few bidders still stood, Tate trusted that his pride could deal with them. He made a beeline for the staircase and jogged down it. He was stealthily making his way down a corridor, his brother hot on his heels, when he heard Gideon’s voice coming from around the corner.
Tate quickened his pace, his blood pumping, but then he stopped dead when an achingly familiar female voice spoke.
“Leaving so soon? Your evening isn’t going to plan, huh?” Havana.
Tate closed his eyes, and his cat arched his back as his fur stood on end. They’d both hoped their mate would be off the yacht by now.
“You have caused me a lot of trouble,” said Gideon.
A snort popped out of Havana. “I’d say you created that trouble for yourself. You shouldn’t be so surprised to see me. Tate did warn you that we’d find you sooner or later. Not sure why you didn’t believe him.”
