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The wolf goes quiet.
“Zahra.”
He goes still again. Then, about two seconds later…
FIND HER.
“For fuck’s sake, buddy.”
* * *
I don’t lose control. Four years in this shithole. Stabbed twice. Jumped more times than I bothered counting. Men threatening my brothers, my money, my mother, my fucking life. I never once lost it. Not one time. I’m the head of my family. Losing it is how you end up dead, or in a place like this for the rest of your life.
Then Cillian walks through a door with five and a half feet of soft, curvy omega behind him, and I tear a steel table out of a concrete floor.
I’m lying here smiling about it. Like a damn idiot.
He shouldn’t have brought her. Asshole must be so fucking pissed at himself, and he’s right to be. She could’ve been hurt. That table could’ve…
No. Fuck that. I’m glad he brought her. I’d do it again. I’d take every taser, every dart, every baton in this building, for one more breath of my woman.
Yes, the wolf says. Finally, the prick and I agree on something.
I flex my hands. The straps creak. I could get out of them. That’s not just talk, I’ve broken better. The question is what happens after. More guards. More drugs. More time in this room. Suspended privileges.
No attorney visits…
My hands stop moving.
If I lose legal visits, I lose Cillian. And if I lose Cillian, I lose the only door that leads back to her. She came in as a lawyer. She’s on his team. Cillian is the one and only way I ever see my woman’s face again. For now.
“Fuck.”
The wolf shoves at me. I shove back. No. We do this my way.
He snarls. My bones ache with how much he’s pushing. He wants blood, he wants out, he wants her, right now, and he does not understand why I’m lying here like a good fucking boy.
Because I want her too, you dumb bastard. And this is how we get her.
I breathe. Slow. One claw goes back in. Then another. My jaw shifts back into a man’s shape. I lie there perfectly still; it takes everything I’ve got, but that’s fine. I’ve got plenty.
When Murphy looks through the window again, I turn my head.
“Get medical.”
“Why?”
“I want these off.”
“You almost killed three officers.”
“Almost.”
His face goes flat. I hold his gaze. “They’re alive.”
“Get medical.”
He goes.
