Pack Obsession (Love Knot War #3)

Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

AXEL

T he black SUV’s engine growls as Logan pushes it to its limits, taking corners like he’s still running combat missions. Nash’s fingers drum against the tablet in the passenger seat, his glasses reflecting the GPS tracker’s pulsing dot. In the back, I flex my shoulders, still feeling the lingering effects of the tranquilizer dart that had taken me down earlier. The rage building inside me since I woke up is a living thing, cold and hungry.

“Two miles ahead,” Nash announces. “Signal’s holding steady.”

Logan takes another corner hard enough to make the tires scream. The heavily tinted windows hide us from the world outside, but they also make the interior feel like a cage.

My fingers trace the grip of my blade. The bastard’s going to pay for touching our Omega.

“Take the next right,” Nash directs, adjusting his glasses. “There’s an access road two blocks down. We can park in the shadows, approach on foot.”

Logan swings the SUV onto a narrow street lined with abandoned houses. The neighborhood reeks of decay and desperation—exactly the kind of place Julian would choose for his games. My jaw clenches, thinking about Casey trapped here somewhere.

We slide to a stop beneath the sprawling branches of a dead tree. The silence when Logan kills the engine feels loaded, dangerous. We gather at the back of the SUV, where our tactical gear is stowed.

“Nash?” Logan asks, checking the suppressor on his Sig Sauer. Even in the dim light, I can see the cold focus in his steel-gray eyes—the look that made him legendary in special ops.

Nash adjusts his glasses, swiping through the tracker data. “Signal’s strong. Places her about three houses down that way.” He points east. “One-story ranch style, from what I can tell from the satellite view.”

“Good.” Logan hands out earpieces. “We’re going through the backyards. Less chance of being spotted.” His eyes lock onto each of us. “Once inside, Nash and I will clear a path. Axel, you get to Casey. Anyone gets in your way?—”

“They die,” I finish, checking my own weapon. The weight feels good in my hands. Familiar.

“Exactly.” Logan’s smile is all predator. “Questions?”

Nash and I shake our heads. We’ve trained for this, practiced these moves countless times, with Logan insisting we needed to be at peak performance for our jobs. But this isn’t a drill or a heist. This is Casey.

We move like shadows through the first yard, ducking under a clothesline heavy with forgotten laundry now rotting in the elements. The fence is chain link, rusted and sagging. Nash finds a hole near the bottom, likely cut by local kids, and we slip through one by one.

The second yard is worse—a jungle of waist-high weeds and broken furniture. My boots crunch on shattered beer bottles. A lone shopping cart lies on its side, wheels reaching toward the sky. The wooden fence here is solid but weathered. Logan gives Nash a boost, then me. We reach down to pull him up.

The third yard reveals signs of recent activity. Cigarette butts. Fresh tire tracks in the mud. Logan holds up his fist—wait. We press ourselves against the fence as a shadow passes behind a grimy window. When it’s gone, we move. Logan climbs the metal fence, then signals with a flick of his wrist for us to follow.

That’s when we see it—the black van from the security footage, parked in front of a late-model Mercedes. Two motorcycles are near the back door.

“Four, maybe five hostiles,” Logan whispers, eyeing the vehicles.

The gun feels cold against my palm as we approach the house.

Logan takes point at the rear door, Nash and me flanking him. Three quick hand signals—breach, clear, silence—then his shoulder hits the door hard. The frame splinters with almost no sound.

A guard inside turns, eyes wide, reaching for his weapon. Logan’s shot takes him in the throat before he can make a sound. Nash and I grab him by the arms, dragging him back outside. One heave and the body goes over the fence into the overgrown yard we just left.

Inside, the house opens into a maze of hallways. The walls are water-stained, wallpaper peeling in long strips. Three corridors branch out… left, right, and center. Logan’s hand signals split us up.

I take the center hall, gun held low and ready. The stone floor muffles my footsteps as I clear each room. Most doors are locked. I press my ear against each one, listening for movement, for Casey’s voice, for anything. Nothing.

The hallway curves ahead, disappearing around a corner.

That’s when a floorboard creaks behind me.

Pure instinct takes over. I drop and roll as metal whistles through the air where my head was a split second ago. The pipe catches my forearm as I bring it up to block a second swing, the impact jarring through bone. I wince from the sharp pain rattling up my arm, cursing under my breath as the force knocks my gun hand against the wall. My fingers spasm open, and my weapon skitters across the floor, disappearing down the hall.

Fuck!

Two men loom over me now. One still gripping that metal pipe, the other reaching for his holstered gun. Immediately, I pull my blade from my boot as I spring up into a fighter’s crouch.

Pipe-guy slashes wide. Amateur move. I step inside his guard and ram my knee into his solar plexus. As he doubles over, I drive my blade up under his ribs. He groans, gargling blood in moments. The second man has his gun halfway clear when I use his dying friend as a shield, pushing the body into him. They both go down. I stomp on his wrist, feeling bones crack. My knife strikes him in head.

“Sorry, boys,” I whisper, dragging them through the nearest door. It’s some kind of storage room. “Nothing personal.”

I retrieve my gun, my pulse still racing from the fight. The hallway curves again and there—a guard outside a closed door. Crew haircut. Spiral tattoo on his neck.

I draw back around the corner, breath coming hard and fast. Want to bet my Omega’s behind that door?

Time to end this.

I ease my head around the corner. The guard stands at the end of the hallway, his back to me, that distinctive spiral tattoo visible on his neck. Sunlight streams through a broken window, casting harsh shadows on the peeling wallpaper. There’s eight feet between us.

No time for stealth now. I launch forward, keeping my footfalls silent despite my speed. Just as I’m about to reach him, he starts to turn—maybe hearing something, maybe just instinct. His eyes widen as he spots me, his hand already moving toward his holster.

I lunge at him, and before he can fully draw his weapon, I slam into him like a freight train. The impact drives us both into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. His gun clatters to the floor, sliding away into shadows. He’s strong, though. He throws a wild elbow that catches my temple. Stars explode behind my eyes, and the copper taste of blood fills my mouth.

“Dean?” a muffled male voice calls from inside the room. “All good out there?”

My hand clamps over the guard’s mouth before he can respond. “Yeah, just tripped,” I call back, speaking lightly and gravelly, having no idea if he bought it. My heart pounds; won’t fool them for long.

Dean, apparently, uses my split focus to drive his elbow back into my ribs. Pain explodes through my side, but I’ve got four inches and thirty pounds on him, plus the kind of rage that makes pain irrelevant.

I lock my arm around his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against my forearm. He throws his weight backward, trying to use the wall to crush me between him and the plaster. My grip slips for a fraction of a second. It’s enough for him to get his fingers between my arm and his windpipe, trying to create space to breathe.

“Not happening,” I growl, readjusting my hold. He bucks and twists like a wild animal, fingernails leaving bloody furrows down my arm. I can feel the desperation in his struggles—he knows what’s coming. I tighten my grip, pressing my forehead against the back of his head to limit his movement.

His struggles get weaker and more uncoordinated. Then he goes limp. I hold the choke for another few seconds to be sure before lowering him to the floor.

A muffled sob comes through the door, so soft I almost miss it.

Casey! Trapped in there, afraid, hurting.

Something splinters in my chest. The rage that floods me is arctic cold, focused to a laser point.

Gun raised, I kick the door hard enough to break the frame. The room beyond is barely furnished—a leather couch, a folding chair, a single lamp casting sickly yellow light. Another guard spins toward me, standing too close to where Casey’s curled into herself on the couch. Her face is tear-streaked, with dark circles under her eyes, but she’s alive. Thank fuck, she’s alive.

The guard’s hand moves toward the gun at his hip. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

I snarl, my throwing knife already leaving my fingers. Logan’s voice echoes in my memory from countless training sessions—blade orientation doesn’t matter for penetration; speed and point of impact do. The knife takes him directly between the eyes with a thunk. His mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of surprise before he topples backward.

Casey’s off the couch before his body hits the ground, launching herself at me with a cry that’s half sob, half my name. I catch her, crushing her against my chest. She feels so small, so fragile, as tremors wrack her frame. The scent of her—peaches and spring rain underneath the fear-sweat and tears—has my chest hurting.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other keeps my gun ready. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

“I was so scared,” she chokes out against my chest. Her fingers clutch my tactical vest like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “I thought... I thought you’d never...” Then she tucks her face in my neck, and I want to keep her there forever in my arms. Sweet, adorable, loving.

“Nash bugged your clothes with trackers,” I tell her.

She pulls back to stare at me, still wrapped around me. A watery laugh bubbles up, though she doesn’t loosen her grip.

“Of course he did. That paranoid, obsessive bastard. I should be pissed about him going all Big Brother on me, but right now, he’s my hero. You all are.”

When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers.

“Later.” I cup her face in my free hand, thumb wiping away tears. Her skin is too hot—the Omega heat must be starting. I claim her mouth in a desperate kiss, needing to taste her, to prove to myself she’s really here. She melts against me with a whimper that makes my blood burn.

But urgency is burning through me.

“Where’s Julian?” I ask.

“Left about an hour ago.” Her fingers dig into my arms. “Said he’d be back soon. Axel, we need to go before?—”

I tap my earpiece. “I’ve got her. Julian’s not here, but he’s returning very soon.”

“Copy that,” Logan’s voice crackles. “Get her out through the back. We’re heading your way.”

“Time to move,” I tell Casey, taking her hand. We make it halfway down the hall before someone speaking echos from the cross corridor. Three men emerge from a room, weapons already drawn. I shove Casey behind me, but before I can get a shot off, two of them drop with precise shots to the head. Logan and Nash materialize from the shadows behind them.

“Go,” Logan orders, but more shouts come from behind us. A bullet punches into the wall inches from my head, showering us with plaster dust. I drag Casey down, shielding her with my body while Nash and Logan return fire.

Reaching the back door, through a side window, I hear voices.

“Fucking intruders in the house!”

My heart pounds against my ribs. We’re exposed here. Our cars are too far, and they’ll be watching for vehicles leaving. Then I spot the motorcycles.

“Come on!” I reach the closest bike, yanking out the ignition wires and starting the motor with years of practice. The engine roars to life, deep and hungry.

“Casey, climb on!”

The back door starts opening.

“Hurry!”

She vaults onto the bike behind me. Her small body molds perfectly against my back, thighs gripping my hips. I thread us between the van and fence before hitting the road. Her arms tighten around my waist as we accelerate, the wind whipping past us. I can feel her heart hammering against my back.

Ten minutes later, with no pursuit in sight, I pull over in the shadow of an abandoned gas station to text Logan.

Got her. Took bike. Heading to a safe house. Code purple.

We give all our safe places codes.

I turn to find Casey still clinging to me, face gazing up at me, looking pale.

“How you doing?”

“I...” She swallows hard, eyes bloodshot from crying. When she looks up at me, I can see an innocent Omega terrified. “You need to hurry. The heat’s starting to really hurt, and I... I need you. Need my Alphas.”

The urgency in her voice squeezes my chest. I smile at her, my heart clenching at her whimper when she leans against me.

“Hold on just a little longer, baby. Ten minutes to somewhere safe, I promise. Then I’ll take care of you.”

My phone buzzes. Logan.

Go. Keep her safe. We’re waiting for Julian.

She hugs me tighter.

“Let’s go home.”