Stealing Sloane (Lone Wolf Generations #5)

Prologue

One year ago …

O ne way or another, Ronan Forte was going to die tonight.

Rage poured through Sloane as she watched the Alpha of Boston—her soon to be ex-Alpha—alight from his car and walk toward the nondescript warehouse located inside the busy port’s commercial area.

Her inner wolf growled at the sight of him. When Sloane found out what he had done, it had taken all her strength to hold herself and her animal back. It wanted revenge, now.

Don’t worry, she assured her animal, tonight will be the night.

Anticipation pumped through her body as she dashed out of her hiding place, carefully avoiding the cameras as she slipped into the back door of the warehouse. Sloane entered the enclosed office where Ronan conducted his business, searching for a place to hide. In the corner was a large safe, about as tall as her and twice her width.

Perfect.

She crouched against the safe, pressing herself up against it so she was completely hidden in the shadows.

Ronan was supposed to be meeting some state official tonight, likely handing over bribes for any of the numerous violations, dubious deals, or outright crimes the clan was involved in. After all, the Boston Clan wasn’t just part of the mafia—they were the mafia. No one could do any type of business in the greater Boston area without Ronan Forte’s blessing.

Tonight, however, said official had run into some car trouble on the way to the meeting. Car trouble, as in, he was currently tied up and locked in the trunk of his Mercedes off the side of Quincy Shore Drive.

As an Alpha, Ronan was always surrounded by enforcers and bodyguards, not to mention his Lycan abilities could heal most wounds. But Lycans weren’t completely invulnerable. They could contract terminal diseases, die with a fatal blow, or, with the right substance, be killed instantly.

Slipping her hand into her coat, she caressed the glass syringe in the bottom of her pocket. The belladonna would be clean, act fast, and provide a virtually painless death for Forte. A pity, though, because the bastard didn’t deserve that. If it were up to Sloane, it would be slow and agonizing instead, but this was the only way she’d be able to ensure he stopped breathing. It would be worth every penny she paid to that witch in Dorchester. All she had to do was plunge the contents into him, and it would be over in minutes. As far as she knew, the Boston clan didn’t keep any antidote around, not when they’d pissed off every coven on the East Coast.

“… the hell is he?” Ronan groused as he entered the office. “Did Garret spot his car yet?”

“Not yet, Primul,” one of his bodyguards said. “Maybe he was delayed.”

“Wait five minutes and then give him a call.”

“Yes, Primul,” he replied. “If you’ll excuse me?—”

“Go,” Ronan sneered impatiently. “And don’t come back until you can tell me where he is.”

The closing of the door indicated the bodyguard had left. Heart hammering in her chest, she watched as Ronan walked over toward her.

Oh God, he knows I’m here!

She held her breath, waiting for him to call her out. But to her surprise he reached for the safe instead. After a few turns of the dial, she heard the door open. Peering toward him, she watched him retrieve a slim black book with a well-worn cover from his jacket’s inner pocket and placed it into the safe, then retrieved a brand new one wrapped in plastic.

She’d seen Ronan scribbling in his black book over the years and though she never really paid mind to it, she’d always wondered if he had some kind of magical notebook that never ran out of pages. But it seemed that wasn’t the case.

Mystery solved, I guess.

When he closed the safe and moved away, she didn’t feel any relief. She couldn’t, not when she was this close to her goal. She waited for the alpha to sit down on the well-worn leather chair before springing into action. Leaping from her hiding place, she wrapped an arm around him from behind and pressed the needle of the syringe into his neck.

“What the fu?—”

“Don’t move, not an inch. This belladonna will kill you before you can even call out for help.”

Ronan’s massive shoulders relaxed. “Sloane.”

Silence hung between them before she spoke up. “Do you know why I’m doing this, Alpha?” she spat, hatred dripping from every word.

“I might have an idea.” To his credit, Ronan’s heartbeat remained steady, despite the end of the needle pressing into his neck. “So, you know.”

“Y-yes.” She cursed herself as her voice shook. “Aunt Ella told me before she died last year.”

An orphan, Sloane had been raised by her aunt since she was a baby. She’d been told her parents had been killed by another clan looking to take over the Boston territory, and they died valiantly defending Ronan.

But as she lay on her deathbed, her ‘Aunt’ Ella confessed the truth.

“You had them k-killed.” Her hand pushed the needle in further, a prick of bright red liquid forming where the tip met Ronan’s skin. “When they wanted to go straight.”

“They blackmailed me.” There was an eerie calmness in his voice. “And no one blackmails me.”

“You let them leave, thinking they were free. Then you sent Garret after them.” Bile threatened to rise in her throat as she recalled Aunt Ella’s story. “Y-you had them executed.”

“But I spared you, little one. You had committed no crime or sin against me.”

Anger bubbled up inside of her. “Neither did they, asshole! My parents served you all their lives. They deserved to be free and to raise me in a normal way, away from you.” Twisting around, while keeping the needle at his neck, she faced him. “And now you’re going to pay.”

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, though his eyes remained dead and cold. “You can’t kill me. You’re not a killer, Sloane.”

“Aren’t I?” She pierced the needle farther into his neck. “All I gotta do is plunge the belladonna into your veins.”

“Then why haven’t you done it?”

“Because I wanted to look you in the eyes while I did.”

“Then do it!” he hissed. “Are you a coward?”

“Bastard!” She wanted to do it, but her entire body went cold as her finger hesitated. Damn it! She was so close … why couldn’t she do it?

Maybe Ronan was right. She wasn’t a killer. Being part of the Boston clan, she wasn’t exactly a saint. One thing she was good at was getting in and out of places she wasn’t supposed to, and so Ronan had her steal whatever he needed—cash, jewelry, heck, even evidence from police stations. But she’d never actually taken a life.

However, she thought of her parents, whose lives had been extinguished by this madman. What her childhood could have been, had they succeeded in escaping. “Goodbye, Ronan.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What?” She laughed aloud. “Are you going to beg for your life?”

“No, but maybe you will,” he said with a smirk. “Once Garret has his hands around that pretty little neck of yours.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Sloane’s ears picked up the shuffling of heavy boots from the other side of the door. It was enough to distract her for a split second, and Ronan used all his strength to push her away and slam her against the wall.

“No!” she screamed as she scrambled to get up, syringe in her hand. It was no use, though. She had lost the element of surprise.

“Primul!” Garret McCall, Ronan’s Beta, shouted as he charged toward Sloane. Thankfully, she was faster than him, and she evaded his grasp, crouching under his massive frame as she lunged toward the door. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, she managed to evade the rest of the bodyguards, leaping over crates and boxes and using them to propel herself toward one of the high windows.

“She’s getting away!”

Ronan’s scream of rage rang through the warehouse, but it did nothing to stop the tears stinging at her eyes. She flew through the window, tucking and rolling as she landed on the concrete. Ignoring the pain shooting up her side and shoulder, she dashed toward the chain-link fence and through the narrow opening she had cut earlier. The motorcycle she had hidden behind some bushes was just over the hill ahead of her, and she would escape with her life tonight. Still, that did not remove the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth.

I had him .

And she’d lost him.

Next time, she would not hesitate.