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“Us too.” Cooper squeezed his shoulder. “But he didn’t die because of you, Wes.”
Wes stared at Coop, then at Grayson, and finally at Boone. Boone’s eyes were red, and he looked like he’d been through a twelve-round fight, but he said, “Not your fault, asshole.”
The weight that had sat on Wes’s chest since Derek died in Boone’s arms lifted. He touched his chest, almost giddy with relief as his lion made a low trill and then purred softly. “It’s not my fault.”
“It isn’t,” Grayson said.
For the first time in four years, Wes felt like he could take a deep breath. The pain of losing Derek was still there, and the sorrow at the part Wes had played on that day hadn’t completely dissipated, but there was finally a small dim light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
And to his immense relief, his lion’s feelings of guilt and sorrow had eased as well.
Wes took another deep breath as Boone said, “Fuck, I hate crying.”
“I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” Wes said.
Boone smiled a little. “I’m sorry I called you an old man. Even if it’s true.”
“Boone,” Cooper said.
“What? We just sobbed like fucking babies together. I’m not gonna start lying to him now,” Boone said.
Wes huffed out a laugh as Grayson gave first him and then Boone a rough kiss on the forehead. “I love you guys.”
“Leave it to Grayson to make it mushy,” Boone said with a small smile on his face. “But, yeah, I fucking love the three of you too.”
He stepped back, wiping at his face one last time with the tissue before balling it up and tossing it into the wastebasket. “Now, let’s go save Wes’s mate, kill the bad guys, and be the fucking heroes we are.”
CHAPTER 24
“You don’t look much like your father.”
Eleanor ignored the dark-haired man sitting next to her in the SUV. Maybe it was rude, but considering the guy pointed a gun at her, she was okay with a bit of rudeness.
“You sure he’s your old man?” the man asked.
“Hoyt.” The blond man sitting in the front passenger seat glanced at them in the rear-view mirror.
“What? She doesn’t look like him.”
“I look like my mother, asshole,” Eleanor said.
“She speaks.” The one named Hoyt grinned at her. “I was starting to think you were mute.”
“Maybe I just prefer not to have your goon duct tape my mouth again,” Eleanor said.
The giant lion shifter sitting behind the wheel growled at her. “You’re lucky I didn’t rip out your fucking tongue. Still might, you little bitch.”
“Enough, Rourke,” the blond man said.
“Fuck you, Chad,” Rourke said before growling again. He opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle.
“Where are you going?” Chad said.
“I can’t stand your human stink any longer.” Rourke slammed the door shut and trudged across the parking lot to where a group of a dozen men stood in a loose circle. A few of them had guns, and of the ones who didn’t, Eleanor suspected they were shifters.
She stared up at the decrepit building rising out of the darkness. A large sign with “Brooks Sawmill” in faded and peeling blue letters hung precariously from one rusty bolt on the metal fence surrounding the building. The sawmill was a long two-story wooden building with smashed windows and graffiti spray-painted in a thick layer along the front. To the left of the building, she could see a pile of stacked logs, the wood rotting from years of abandonment.
The whole place was creepy as hell and a terrible place to die, Eleanor decided. Her stomach churned, and she clenched her cold hands together in a tight fist. She was going to die, and, even worse, so would Wes. She had no doubt he would bring the flash drive in an attempt to save her, and she was sick to her stomach over it. She couldn’t bear the thought of Wes dying because of her.
