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The only person in the room was the human. There had been no need to leave a guard with him. The particular cuffs holding him captive were made to withstand shifter strength, so he was going nowhere.
In a chair, the human writhed—his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide, his mouth covered by the strip of tape that Isaiah had slapped over his face earlier.
“Ah, you’ve almost shaken off the effects of the venom,” Deke realized. “Good.” That was all he’d needed to know, because the Alphas were ready to begin questioning the little shit.
Blue eyes dark with anger, dread, and defiance honed in on Deke. The asshole wasn’t going to break easily. Not an issue. Because Deke was in absolutely no rush to get the whole beat-him-into-breaking part of the interrogation over with quickly.
The human deserved every bit of pain coming his way. Acid. He’d thrown fucking acid in Bailey’s face. God, it was tempting, so very tempting, to just snap his neck there and then.
Deke clenched his fists. He tasted fury with every breath he took. It sat on his tongue like ash. Grated the back of his throat like razors.
His pacing cat, no less pissed, was practically foaming at the mouth. He might not have the time of day for people in general lately, but he was still protective of his pride. And Bailey wasn’t simply any member. She was one who shared his bed and wore his mark—neither of those things were insignificant to the cat.
Deke glared down at the human, who eventually averted his gaze. “If you have any sense, you’ll shove down that defiance. Refusing to answer our questions won’t go well for you.” He then stalked out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.
Several people stood around—the Alphas, Betas, Aspen, Camden, Isaiah, Vinnie, Farrell, and Alex. All were engaged in a debate, their words coming sharp and fast, unable to agree what the pride’s next move should be.
At the mercy of her temper, Havana wanted to storm Westwood Pack territory.
Tate felt they should first question their captive to be sure that the pack had arranged the acid attack—it was clear that he didn’t believe they had.
Some agreed with Havana. Some agreed with Tate … much like Deke himself.
Was it beneath the pack to have gone after Bailey that way? No. But they wouldn’t have hired a human—that they’d have considered beneath them. They’d have done the deed themselves or sent a loner to do it on their behalf.
Only one person in the room wasn’t throwing in their two-cents’ worth. Bailey. She sat alone at the table. So quiet. So still. So very not Bailey.
Her facial features soft and her posture relaxed, she looked the absolute picture of serenity. But her rage was a feral thing that pulsed through the air.
She should have gone home, taken a shower, changed clothes, and rested. But Deke understood why she hadn’t; understood her need to be part of the interrogation. In her shoes, he’d have insisted on it just the same.
Her gaze snapped to Deke as he began making his way toward her. She showed no reaction. Would probably react very little to anything. She’d pulled inward to keep a grip on her temper, and it was costing her.
His jaw tightened as he reached the mamba. The stench of acid clung to her. Mostly due to the stains on her coat. It made his cat’s fur puff up.
Deke didn’t ask if she was okay—it would have been a ridiculous question that didn’t deserve an answer. He also didn’t dare reach out and touch her for the same reason that the others were giving her a wide berth. She would not tolerate anyone getting too close until she’d calmed some. And it didn’t seem as though that would happen any time soon.
He was about to inform her that the human had almost fully shaken off the effects of her venom, but then Havana whirled to face her and asked, “What do you think, Bailey?”
The mamba slowly looked up to meet the Alpha’s hard gaze. “About?”
“Whether or not the jackals are behind what happened tonight,” the devil replied.
Bailey stared at her, her gaze unreadable. Long moments of silence went by before she said, “It makes no sense that the pack would have lowered themselves—and that’s how they’d have seen it—to hiring a human.” Her voice was low and unnaturally calm. “But I’d still like to mention tonight’s incident to them and see what they say.” She plucked a small card out of one pocket and fished her cell from another.
Remembering that she’d been given a business card when approached, Deke asked, “Is that the number for the jackal?”
“Yes,” she replied as she punched in the number. A ringing sound filled the air as she placed the call on speaker.
