Page 27

“You want to get it over with so you can get high and avoid having to do anything, at all. That’s all you care about. Escaping everything.”

He shoves a blade into the holster at his belt. “I’d be lying if I said your words didn’t hold some truth.”

With a huff, I start to my feet, but feel the hot grip of his hand against my shoulder.

“I don’t think so. The two of you can sit tight. I’ll grab the asshole myself.”

“And I wait with my thumb in my ass?” Titus jumps up. “Not a chance.” Before Cadmus can stop him, he starts on the path toward the tent.

“Stubborn prick,” Cadmus says, passing in front of me and trailing after his Alpha brother.

From my perch, I watch the two of them descend the hill, skirting camp through the brush and darkness, outside of the bonfire’s halo of light. Without much notice, the two arrive beside the tent, and I hold my breath. Cadmus lurches first, and slapping his hand over Kenny’s mouth, the Alpha drags the significantly smaller man, who kicks and squirms in his arms. Kenny’s small frame is no match for Cadmus, though, who plucks him like a fly from a spider’s web. Unseen, too, from the looks of the rest of the camp, who continue to sleep, or pace casually.

The Alphas make their way back toward the hill, just as a figure emerges from a cave off in the distance. Built like Cadmus and Titus, he stands apart from the other men in his camp, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m staring down at the Alpha.

I direct the binoculars toward where Cadmus and Titus climbs the hill, with what appears to be a now-passed out Kenny thrown over Cadmus’s shoulder.

Shouts erupt from below, and my heart kicks up, as the men scramble about the camp, undoubtedly aware of their missing man.

“Hurry,” I whisper, lowering the binoculars from my eyes. “C’mon!” Jumping to my feet, I catch sight of them coming over the top of the hill as the crackle of gunfire echoes through the night. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Go!” Cadmus bellows, racing over the terrain toward me, with the man’s body jostling over his shoulder.

I sprint through the darkness, half blind, while the vegetation seems to reach out for my ankles, tripping me up a few times.

The sound of engines firing up are likely one of the many motorcycles I saw parked down in the camp.

Another blast of a gun, and I glance back to see Titus stumble to the ground.

“Fuck!” He scrambles back to his feet, hobbling behind us.

“Titus!” Gaze flicking between the truck ahead of me and him, I swallow back the panic and slow my pace to make sure he’s okay.

“Keep going!” He calls from behind, his voice gritty with ire.

Yet another shot echoes in the night, and I turn to see Titus fall again on a grunt, this time grimacing, as if in pain.

“Titus!” I skid to a halt and backtrack toward him, but I’m stopped short when Cadmus grabs my arm.

“Leave him!” he growls, as I break free of his grasp.

“No! I’m not leaving him behind!”

Upon reaching Titus, I reach out a hand, which he bats away while clambering awkwardly to his feet.

“Told you to keep going.”

I catch sight of the blood oozing out of a wound at his flank, confirming the hit from a bullet. Men from the camp advance toward us, some running, others zooming ahead of the group on motorcycles.

Wrapping his arm over my shoulder, I help him hobble along toward the truck, where Cadmus loads Kenny’s body onto the back. He races toward us and takes the bulk of Titus’s weight, and I head toward the cab.

It’s too late, though.

Motorcycles circle the vehicle, blocking our escape, and I pause, just reaching out for the truck’s door. The intense glare of the headlights blinds me, and I lift my hand to shield my eyes, catching a glimpse of Brandon in the driver’s seat. Had it been Cadmus in there, he might’ve been inclined to plow through the line of bikes, boldly tearing through their blockade.

Instead, Brandon sits quietly, hands trembling against the steering wheel, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

A quick glance behind me shows Cadmus settling Titus down beside the truck’s back wheel. The blood seeping through his shirt stirs alarm through my body. He’s been hit at least twice. Maybe more.