Chapter 17
THE DAY after Danny’s death, the Wolves and their families returned to their own compound. Mac didn’t want to risk any further danger to the Fontaines or Dumonts. The Wolves had plans to make and carry out. Telling Hannah that the man she most respected and admired was dirty broke Mac’s heart, but Harjo had indisputable evidence. In typical Hannah fashion, she’d cussed a blue streak and stormed around until all the facts settled in her mind. Then she got mad. Everyone walked on eggshells around her as a result.
DJ managed to hobble around wearing flip flops to cushion the soles of her feet. Sean and Jacey kept a close watch on her wounds and constantly stuffed antibiotics down her. She and Antoine had basically moved into the compound, Mac having deemed the cabin too far away for safety’s sake. She discovered the rhythm of life with the Wolves and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like she belonged somewhere.
She’d been part of the Marshals Service, had belonged in the sense that she was a deputy, but a part of her always felt like she existed on the fringes. Here, even though there were moments of feeling like she was on the outside looking in with the Wolves, there were even more frequent times when she felt part of the group. She did what she could to help out, given her limited mobility.
Sally had retreated to the RV she once shared with Danny, broken by the inconsolable grief of losing him. The other mothers in the group took over the care and feeding of Grace. DJ didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, but she could supervise the kids as they played. She could also clean and load weapons and did.
In addition, she’d instituted a secret search, with Sean’s hacking expertise, through federal databases for a missing child fitting the rescued girl’s description. They’d come no closer to discovering her identity. It was like the girl didn’t exist. Jacey and Nate had installed her in their RV and she seemed to have bonded with the Marine—and he with her.
At the moment, the men and Hannah were planning a…DJ didn’t know what to call it. Memorial? Funeral? Send off to Valhalla? Antoine had dragged a small boat into camp, something he called a pirogue. To her, it looked like a carved-out log. They would place Danny’s body in the thing, douse him with fuel, light it, and launch it into the bayou. It all seemed rather dramatic, but the logistics made sense. There could be no trace of Danny’s body and burning him on land was a risk no one wanted to take.
The day dragged, waiting for sunset when the ceremony would begin. Antoine insisted DJ nap, like the kids. He curled up with her, holding her close while she drifted in and out. Her life had veered off on a wild detour, but as she buried her nose against Antoine’s throat and felt his cock stir to life, she was at peace with the way things had gone. She was committed. To this man and to the people attached to him.
When the time came, they gathered in the center of the encampment. The men hoisted Danny’s funeral boat, lifting it to their shoulders. Not even Harjo, the only human pallbearer, showed weakness. Three to a side, they began to march with military precision toward the bayou some hundred yards away. The rest of them followed in solemn reverence. Even the children were subdued.
DJ brought up the rear and she’d purloined a 9mm pistol and holster when no one was looking. She felt naked unarmed and if the men and Hannah had weapons, so would she. They trudged down the trail toward the bayou. The setting sun draped the area with a soft, golden glow. No fiery crimsons or stark colors. The air felt…gentle, the breeze a whispered caress against bare skin. Yet that same breeze lifted goosebumps on her skin.
She stepped back closer to a broad cypress tree, finding a measure of cover next to its wide trunk. Her hand hovered over the butt of the gun tucked into the back of her jeans. No one else seemed perturbed, focused as they were on the solemnity of the moment. DJ faded back another step and waited.
KIN CONSIDERED himself blessed to have survived the bloody catastrophe back at that…that what? Prison? Laboratory? Whatever it was, the place had been a nightmare. Too bad Weylin survived as well. Had the fucker died, Kin could be on a plane headed back to the UK and his beloved Scottish Highlands with a sad tale for the family. Instead, he was following the wanker through this godforsaken swamp, along with five other men who had made it out before the building blew sky high and had been lucky enough to avoid the Wolf sniper.
“I’m going to kill those arseholes, every bloody last motherfucking of them.”
He sidled up to his cousin. “Wey, ya know who they are, yeah? Yer five men are no match for them.”
“But you’re here, Fraser. And me. We’ll ambush ’em while the others round up their bitches and bastards. Mr. Smith, he’s tired of the shite. We end this tonight.”
Weighing his options, Kin considered simply dropping back and fading into the woods. His cousin had no clue who he truly faced. Kin had worked with Sergeant Major Ian McIntire and his team on several occasions. He’d recognized the big soldier the moment he laid eyes on the man. More, he respected Mac McIntire—far more than he did Weylin. A bully growing up, his pissant cousin had turned into a mercenary with no honor. He’d only come in answer to Wey’s call because Kin had been promised a big bonus. And those were few and far between these days.
The offer of that much money should have told him there was a game afoot, but he hadn’t listened to the small voice in his head, much to his regret now. Of course, hindsight was always twenty-twenty. Black thoughts continued to circle like muddy water down a drain as he trudged after the others.
Weylin halted and dropped to a crouch, the rest following his lead. Kin heard it then—footsteps. Marching. Then shuffling. He shifted position to get a better look. Bloody hell, a funeral. One of McIntire’s men had been killed and Wey wasn’t kidding about the women and children. These were mated Wolves. A chill spread through him.
One of Weylin’s humans stepped on a branch and the resulting snap echoed as loud as a gunshot. The procession scattered as gunfire shattered the peaceful evening. What the bloody hell? There were children here. Innocents. Wey was out of his bloody fucking mind. The Wolves returned fire so at least they were armed. Kin hit the ground and crawled to a better position.
The closest human stood up to get a better shot and took a hit. Kin didn’t stop to check his vitals. He had to get to Wey, to stop this slaughter. He didn’t care about Black Roots’ mercs. And he didn’t care if the family got pissed at his fratricide. Weylin Scott had to go. A child’s screams galvanized him into reckless action. He stepped around a tree to find the woman he’d met briefly on a military base in Virginia scooping up a tiny moppet. Hannah McIntire was a fitting mate for the Sergeant Major. Kin could only be so lucky someday. The woman was trying to protect the child and pull her weapon at the same time.
Weylin, his AK-47 trained on Hannah and the child, reared up to his right. Making the shot was almost impossible, but Kin had to try. He whipped around even as his brain registered a dark form launching in front of Hannah. Wey’s fingers tightened on the trigger and the weapon spit out a burst of bullets. Cursing, Kin pulled his own trigger. Weylin went down, finger still pressing the trigger as bullets sprayed indiscriminately. Kin pumped a shot into his cousin’s brain and that single shot echoed in the silence.
Shouts erupted and bodies sprang into action. He glanced up, met Hannah’s gaze. Her face was bloody, but she seemed unhurt. The child, though screaming, also appeared to be whole. As Hannah dropped her eyes, his followed. Another woman lay face down on the ground, blood sprouting red blossoms across her back.
Ah, fuck. He’d kill his cousin again if he could. Sean, the team’s medic, dropped beside the woman, checked for vitals, and then looked up, his face bleak. Only human, she didn’t stand a chance against the obscenity of those bullets tearing through her flesh. The little girl in Hannah’s arms continued to scream, reaching her arms down to the dead woman. Only then did his ears make sense of the child’s cry.
“Mama! Mamamamamama!”
Kin stepped out of the brush, anguish burning his gut. He turned toward Mac, weapon lowered. He never heard the bullet that burned through his back and exited his chest in a spray of blood. He spun around. That damn deputy marshal stood there, arms extended, a 9mm clasped in her hands in a classic shooting stance.
“DJ!”
“Ohgawdammitalltohellmotherfuckinggoose.”
“What have you done, chère ?”
Myriad voices jumbled together. He watched her finger tighten. Just like in the movies, all slow motion as the words blurred in his ears. A shadow moved across his vision. The marshal’s mate. He slammed into her, took her to the ground and wrestled the gun from her hands. Kin was suddenly staring at the sky as two of the Wolves hovered over him. Their mouths were moving, but he couldn’t hear them.
“I’m losing him!” Sean was shoving something into the hole in Kin’s chest.
He glanced up at the combat medic and offered a tired smile. “It’s hard to kill a Wolf.”