Chapter 22 #3
His face twists into fury. “You two sons of bitches just can’t mind your own goddamn business, can you?” His voice is venomous, dripping with hatred. “Had to stick your noses where they don’t belong. Had to play hero for that ungrateful bitch.”
The guards’ guns are steady, professional grips, fingers on triggers. These aren’t amateurs.
We’re outgunned and we know it.
“On the floor. Now!” one guard orders.
Kane and I exchange a glance. We could try to fight, but one of us, if not both, will get shot before we reach them.
We get to our knees.
“Smart choice,” Scot says, stepping into the room properly while his guards pat us down and take our phones, blades, and Tasers.
“I’d hate to get blood all over my half-destroyed ledger there.
That’s important documentation.” He comes over and snatches it from my grasp. “Fucking reindeer wrecked this room.”
I grin, adoring Corn Dog for being such a devious little reindeer.
“You’re running a criminal network,” Kane states flatly, not making it a question. “Using fugitives as your personal army. Keeping them hidden from law enforcement in exchange for their loyalty and labor.”
Scot smiles, and it’s ugly. “Someone’s been doing their homework. Not that it matters anymore. You won’t be sharing your discoveries with anyone.”
“Laundering money,” I add, trying to keep him talking.
“It’s actually quite elegant when you think about it,” Scot replies, sounding almost proud. “These people are desperate. They’ll do anything to avoid prison. Work for nothing, ask no questions, disappear when told. And if they cause problems?” He shrugs. “Plenty more where they came from.”
“And sabotaging Hannah’s events?” Kane asks, his voice dangerous despite our situation.
Scot’s face twists with pure hatred, all pretense of civilization vanishing.
His lips curl back from his teeth. “I helped Giuseppe grow that business. Me. Not some fucking Omega who showed up batting her eyelashes and playing helpless. She was just the pretty face I brought in to charm clients and look good in photos.”
“That’s complete bullshit and you know it,” I say. “You’re just a jealous, bitter prick who couldn’t handle the fact that she rejected you.”
His jaw clenches. “It’s all mine now. The business, the contracts, the reputation, everything. And soon? Hannah herself will be mine too.”
The way he says her name has me tensing as fury burns through my veins.
Kane’s laugh is cruel and mocking. “She would rather sleep in a sewer filled with rats and diseases than let you touch her. You disgust her.”
Scot’s eyes go dead cold, and I see something break behind them, whatever thin veneer of sanity he was maintaining.
“Who gives a fuck what she wants?” he snaps.
“With you two and that other pet Alpha of hers out of the way, she’ll have nowhere to turn.
No protection. No support system. She’ll be vulnerable and alone, and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.
To comfort and console her. She’ll learn to appreciate what I can give her. ”
“Fuck you,” Kane growls.
Scot laughs like a hyena. “Shit timing, though, for you. We have a delivery we’re supposed to meet in twenty minutes, important clients, can’t reschedule. Don’t need this complication right now.”
He shoots a glare at the guards flanking him, both still aiming at us. “Take them out back, deep into the woods where the ground is soft enough to dig. Finish them there, make it clean, then bury the bodies where no one will ever find them. Take all the damn reindeer too.”
Corn Dog bleats angrily from across the room, stamping his hooves like he understands exactly what’s being said.
Then we all hear it, a loud car horn beeping repeatedly outside, insistent and annoying.
“The fuck?” Scot’s head snaps toward the door, irritation clear on his face.
“They’re early.” He points at the guards. “Both of you, tie up these assholes now. Fast.”
The guards move immediately. Zip ties bite into our wrists before we can twist away, then our ankles, rough hands forcing us onto our stomachs. Cold floorboards press into my cheek as they cinch everything brutally tight.
“Good, now come with me!” Scot turns away with the guards on his heels and closes the door behind them.
“Fuck,” Kane hisses.
“We need a plan. Fast.”
We’re both staring around frantically for anything useful, seeing that the room is a mess.
Then I feel it, a warm huff of air against my arm. I lift my head just enough to see Corn Dog standing over Kane, staring down with those unsettlingly intelligent eyes, his little reindeer nostrils flaring as he sniffs along the line of the zip tie digging into his wrist.
Kane notices too. “Hey, buddy…” His voice is low. “If you want to chew on something, you can chew on that tie.”
Corn Dog blinks once. Twice. Then he lowers his head and very deliberately takes the plastic tie between his teeth.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper. “He’s actually doing it.”
A sharp yank. Kane jerks. “Christ, I definitely feel teeth. Easy, bud, don’t take the hand with it—”
Corn Dog shifts, finds better purchase, then bites down with determined little crunches. Plastic strains. Groans. Then—snap.
Kane’s wrists come free.
“Holy fuck, yes,” he breathes, swinging his arms forward to rub his raw skin. Then Corn Dog trots around behind him.
He’s on his feet instantly, hopping to the desk in the room, rifling through drawers until he finds a pair of old scissors. He slices through the ties around his ankles. Once free, he comes over and frees me.
The second I’m loose, blood rushes back into my hands with a painful sting. I grunt and rub at the circulation returning as I get to my feet. We’re moving to the door.
Kane crouches and pats Corn Dog. “No, buddy. You stay here. We’ll be right back.” He nudges the door closed behind the reindeer.
We don’t wait. We’re already moving, fast and silent, slipping out of the room like shadows hunting something that never should’ve touched what’s ours. Every step is loaded with murder.
The hallway opens into the living room, dim and stale, and that’s when Kane taps my arm and points.
Our weapons, dumped stupidly on a side table by the couch.
Phones. Blades. Tasers.
Like Christmas morning for pissed-off bounty hunters. Fucking idiots.
We grab everything. Kane checks the charge on his Taser like he’s itching to use it. We crouch low and slip toward the front door, keeping to the shadows.
Through the partially open doorway, we spot Scot on the front porch, staring after a black van pulling down the snow-covered dirt road. Two guards stand in the yard, backs fully turned, relaxed, unaware that we’re right behind them.
Perfect.
I lift my hand, fingers counting silently—three… two…
On “one,” Kane moves first.
Fast. Deadly. Beautiful.
We step outside from behind the doorframe, blades flicking through the air in matching arcs.
Thunk.
We bury both blades cleanly in the guards’ backs, angled to drop them fast. The men jerk forward with startled cries before collapsing face-first into the snow, twitching and gasping. They’re down, not dead—but very much done.
Scot hears the sound and whips around, already reaching into his coat. I see the outline of a gun, see his hand curling around it, starting to pull it free—
I fire the Taser.
The prongs hit dead center, right in the groin.
The effect is instant and goddamn glorious.
Scot’s eyes go huge, bulging in disbelief before the electricity tears through him. His knees buckle, his spine bows, and he lets out a strangled, high-pitched sound that is somewhere between a dying ostrich and a man being force-fed regret.
The gun slips out of his hand. Clatters on the wooden boards.
His whole body seizes, jerking violently as he falls flat on his back, twitching hard enough that snow stirs around him.
Kane bursts out laughing. I might be laughing too. Hard to tell over the screaming.
When the current stops, Scot just lies there, whimpering in a pathetic puddle of sweat and pain. We don’t have time to savor it.
“We’re running out of minutes,” Kane mutters, scanning the tree line. “We need Corn Dog back at the town square now.”
“Yeah.” I grab Scot by the collar and drag him across the porch like trash. “But this asshole isn’t going anywhere.”
We haul him into the yard toward the pine tree near the house. He tries to scramble, kicking weakly.
“You can’t—fuck—you can’t do this,” he wheezes.
Kane slams him face-first against the trunk.
“I can,” Kane says. “And I will.”
Scot sputters as we spin him, yank his arms back and zip-tie his wrists tightly around the rough bark, securing him to the tree. He jerks against the restraints, skin scraping raw, but he’s not going anywhere.
He’s still crying from the Taser, and now he’s cursing through the tears.
“You’re dead—you’re both dead—you think you can—”
Kane punches him in the kidney hard enough to fold him.
“That’s for hurting Hannah,” he growls.
Scot chokes. “You—fucking—psychos—”
I hit him once across the jaw. Controlled. Precise. Enough to shut him up, not enough to knock him out.
“And that,” I say coldly, “is for trying to ruin her career.”
Scot hangs there panting, drooling onto the pine roots, still twitching from the aftershocks.
I pull out my phone and dial 911 while Kane deals with the two muscleheads who are trying to get up. He zip-ties them and pulls our blades free. A dispatcher answers immediately. “Emergency services—”
“This is Noel Saxon,” I say, voice clipped and professional.
“Bounty hunter license 4728. I’m reporting a criminal hideout at these coordinates—” I rattle them off using the GPS on my phone.
“Multiple fugitives with active warrants. Illegal confinement. Money laundering. Armed suspects subdued. Primary target Scot Giordano is restrained on-site.”
The dispatcher sounds stunned. “Sir, can you remain at the location—”