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Gunfire come sfrom everywhere. The trees, the bridge, behind us. The windows crack. I hear our rear car’s tires scream, there’s a crash, then more guns.

“Stay down, stay down, stay down, ma’am!” Dumbo’s whole body is on me. He’s got a gun out, and he’s shaking.

Sunshine throws the Tahoe in reverse. We fly backward and hit something, hard. My head slams against the door.

“They’ve boxed us!” he snarls. “Kid! You fucking keep her in this car!”

And he gets out. I look over the edge of the seat. There’s so many of them! Twelve, fifteen men in dark clothes with rifles, coming out of the trees on both sides. And Sunshine walks right into them… He’s changing as he goes. His shoulders get bigger. Claws come out of his hands. He grabs the first man he reaches and throws him into a tree, takes another one’s throat out. They’re shooting at him. I can see the bullets hit him, but he keeps going.

He takes down five. Then somebody shoots him in the knee, and he goes down, and they’re all on him.

“MIKEY!”

The door behind me gets ripped open. Hands grab my ankles. Dumbo twists and fires twice, somebody yells, then there’s a crack, and Dumbo jerks. He makes a surprised sound, looks down at his chest…

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Then he falls on me, still trying to cover me, his arms still around my head.

They drag me out from under him by my legs.

I fight. The guy carrying me staggers and swears. I get my teeth in someone’s hand and bite until I fucking taste blood. I rake my nails down a face and feel skin come off. I kick. I scream the way my mother taught me, from the bottom of my lungs, HELP, FIRE, HELP, even though there’s nobody out here.

I lose a shoe then my cardigan. But I don’t stop until someone puts a bag over my head and a needle in my arm.

And the last thing I do, before it all goes fuzzy, is reach for him. I fucking grab our bond with both hands and shove everything I’ve got down it. All my fear. All my rage.

Declan. DECLAN. They got me!

* * *

I wake up in a freaking cage. Six feet square, with steel bars, the kind you’d keep a big dog in.

My head’s killing me. I’m missing a shoe, my dress is torn at the shoulder, and I’ve got the taste of blood in my mouth.

I sit up slow.

I’m in a big, empty building. With a high ceiling, broken windows near the roof, hooks hanging from rails. It looks like some kind of old meatpacking plant. There are men with rifles by the doors. I count eight.

And there’s a guy sitting in a folding chair ten feet in front of my cage with his legs crossed, drinking coffee from a paper cup.

He has silver hair, he’s wearing a navy suit, and has the kind of face you’d trust to sell you a insurance.

“Ah, she’s awake! Good afternoon, Mrs. Greene. I’m so sorry about the accommodations. I’m Eamon Callaghan. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

I look at him, look at the cage, at my torn dress and bare foot.

I’ve got two choices. I can cry and beg. Or I can be my mother’s daughter, my mate’s omega.

I get up, smooth my dress, tuck my hair behind my ears and, my hands in front of me, and find my courtroom voice.

“Mr. Callaghan,” I say in my most composed voice. “I’m going to give you some free legal advice, sir. I don’t usually. I bill four hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”

His eyebrows go up.

“So far today you’ve committed kidnapping in the first degree, which is twenty-five to life. Assault with a deadly weapon, multiple counts. Attempted murder, and if either of my bodyguards dies, that’s capital murder. Conspiracy. Unlawful imprisonment. I could go on. But honestly? None of that’s your real problem.”

I slowly shake my head.