24. Harley
Harley
It happens while we’re on our way to the private jet Marcus has waiting for us.
The prisoners are being driven separately back to Marcus’ packlands while Marcus, Nathan, Ryder, Val and I fly. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that private jets are apparently a thing in my life now when the van in front of us suddenly jerks sideways.
It leaves the road so abruptly my stomach drops.
“Fuck!” Keegan shouts. “That’s not an accident!”
The van swerves again. This time it jerks so violently that dirt and gravel spray out behind it in a thick cloud.
“Jesus,” Nathan mutters.
The mood inside our vehicle changes instantly. One second we’re driving to the airstrip, the next every shifter around me is alert. I can feel it in the air.
Marcus leans forward and Val goes completely still beside me.
The van ahead leaves the road entirely, tearing through a ditch before plowing into a cluster of scrub trees. Branches explode outward as the vehicle rocks violently before disappearing behind a cloud of dust and debris.
Then the rear doors fly open.
“They’re out!” Keegan barks.
The first man hits the ground running.
The second follows.
Then a third.
“Stay on them,” Marcus orders immediately. “Everyone except Ryder and Harley, get ready for a fight.”
“I can fight,” Ryder argues. “But Harley needs to stay here.”
Val tightens his grip on my hand.
“Please, don’t argue, Harley. If you’re out there with us, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything but your safety.”
“That’s how it is with mates,” Nathan says.
I glare at both of them.
“Then how in the hell am I supposed to sit here while my mate is out there fighting?”
“You’ll do it because he can’t stay here. It’s against his nature and is part of why he is such a good guard for me.”
Marcus leans across the seat, and for the first time I get to experience what it feels like when he puts that massive hand on the back of my neck.
The effect is immediate, like being told something by a force of nature.
“You’ll do it because you want him to be safe, and he can’t do that when he’s looking out for you. So you’ll stay, and Ryder will stay with you to make sure you’re protected, and the two of you will run over any shifter that isn’t one of ours if they get away. Got it?”
I nod.
“Yes. Got it.”
“Ryder?”
“Sure, Marcus. I’ll protect my little brother.”
Oddly enough, Ryder doesn’t even sound angry about it.
“Good.” Marcus releases me and faces forward again. “Stop, Keegan. They’re about to hit those trees. Let’s go. Ryder, hit the door locks as soon as we’re out.”
“Please be careful,” I murmur.
Before I can lose my nerve, I lean over, kiss Val, and let go of his hand.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
His expression softens.
“And I’ll come back to you.”
Then he’s gone.
The others pile out after him.
Ryder immediately locks the doors and motions for me to move up front with him. Outside, the doors of the other van fly open and shifters begin spilling out.
“That’s him, the fucker,” Ryder growls, pointing. “The short dark-haired one with the pixie face. He looks sweet enough, but he’s not. Those are the two who helped him, and I guess the other guy—the one I never saw—is still in the van.”
“Guess so.”
My attention never leaves Val. For a second it looks as though the escape is exactly what it appears to be.
Drake and the other shifters scatter away from the van in different directions, forcing Marcus’ guards to spread out after them. Dust hangs in the air around the wrecked vehicle, turning everything hazy and confusing, and for a moment I think they’re actually trying to run.
Then I notice Drake. While everyone else is moving away from us, he’s doing the opposite.
He’s looking straight at Marcus.
Even from where I’m sitting I can see the intensity of it, the fixation in his expression as his gaze locks onto the Alpha Anax and never leaves him. The look sends a chill down my spine because it isn’t the look of a man trying to escape. It isn’t panic or desperation.
It’s hatred.
Cold, focused hatred.
Marcus sees it too.
I know he does because his attention shifts fully onto Drake, his body angling slightly as though he’s preparing for whatever comes next. Around him, Nathan and the guards are already moving to catch the rest of the pack, but Drake doesn’t seem interested in any of them.
His entire focus remains fixed on Marcus.
Then he explodes into motion.
“Marcus!” I shout, though I have no idea if anyone hears me.
Drake launches himself forward with terrifying speed, abandoning any pretence of escape as he charges directly for the Alpha Anax.
What happens next is so fast I almost miss it.
Val moves.
One second he’s beside Marcus. The next he’s throwing himself into Drake’s path.
There isn’t a moment of hesitation. No consideration. No weighing of risks. He simply reacts, every instinct he possesses driving him to do exactly what he’s spent years doing as Marcus’ head guard.
Protect.
Val slams into Drake from the side hard enough to knock them both off course. The impact jars through both men, sending them stumbling across the rough ground, but instead of continuing toward Marcus, Drake twists immediately toward Val, his face contorting with fury at having been intercepted.
A vicious grin spreads across his face.
As if he’s just found a different target.
As if hurting Marcus’ man might be nearly as satisfying as reaching Marcus himself.
And suddenly the two of them are fighting.
Drake lowers his shoulder and slams into him hard enough to drive the air from Val’s lungs. I shout. Nearly throw open the door. Nearly do something incredibly stupid.
Instead I force myself to stay put.
I have to trust Val.
Val curses, but he recovers almost instantly, planting his feet and throwing a punch that snaps Drake’s head sideways so hard I hear the impact even from inside the vehicle.
For a second I think that might end it.
It doesn’t.
Drake spits blood, grins, and comes right back at him.
The two of them collide again, fists flying so fast I struggle to follow the exchange.
Val lands another shot, then another, driving Drake backward across the uneven ground, but Drake fights like a man who knows exactly what’s waiting for him if Marcus gets him back to packlands.
There is no hesitation in him. No fear. Only desperation and fury.
Around them the fight spreads.
Nathan tackles one of the escapees before the man makes it ten feet. Marcus catches another by the back of the shirt and physically throws him into the side of the overturned van. Keegan disappears from my view entirely as he goes after someone near the trees.
My attention jumps back to Val.
Drake swings low and fast. Val blocks it. Drake immediately follows with another strike.
Then another.
Then another.
He’s not trying to win through skill. He’s playing dirty and trying to force Val into making a mistake.
Val gives ground reluctantly, keeping his balance despite the uneven terrain, absorbing some blows, avoiding others, and returning every hit with interest. Blood splatters on Drake’s mouth. Then on his cheek. Then on his forehead.
But Val isn’t coming away untouched either. A fist catches him across the jaw and another glances off his temple.
I see him stagger for a second and it’s enough to make my heart stop.
“Come on,” I mutter helplessly. “Come on, Val.”
As though he hears me, Val straightens and slams an elbow into Drake’s face.
Something cracks. Drake shouts as blood sprays across the front of his shirt.
The sight should horrify me. Instead it fills me with savage satisfaction.
Then Drake’s expression changes.
The rage disappears from his face so suddenly that it catches my attention immediately, and what replaces it settles into something cold and calculating, the wild fury giving way to a focused assessment that makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
His gaze flicks briefly toward Marcus before returning to Val, and in that moment I realize he was never really trying to reach the Alpha Anax at all.
Or maybe he was, at first.
Now, though, his attention is entirely fixed on Val.
This is the fight he wants.
Drake drives forward again, but this time there is purpose behind every movement.
Instead of throwing himself recklessly into the attack, he begins probing, testing, looking for weaknesses, and it doesn’t take him long to find one.
His fist crashes into Val’s left thigh and I immediately know why he chose that target.
The damaged leg.
The leg that never healed properly.
The leg that still causes Val pain every single day.
Val’s complexion drains of color so quickly it makes my stomach drop.
“Oh God.”
The words leave me before I can stop them.
Drake sees it too.
The bastard actually smiles.
From that point on he becomes relentless, every strike and every kick directed toward the same injury, every attempt to close distance designed to put pressure on Val’s left side. He doesn’t need to be told where it hurts. He knows now, and he intends to exploit it.
Val keeps fighting. He keeps blocking. Keeps countering. Keeps driving Drake backward whenever he gets the chance.
But now I can see the strain building beneath the surface. I can see the hitch in his movements, the fraction of a second it takes him to shift his weight, the way he favors his right side whenever Drake forces him to move quickly.
Drake notices all of it.
Of course he does.
“There it is!” he shouts as he circles. “Thought the stories were bullshit!”
Val doesn’t answer him.
That only seems to encourage Drake.
“Marcus keeps cripples as guards now?”
The insult hangs in the air for a heartbeat.
Marcus doesn’t react.
Nathan doesn’t react.
But Val does.
The change is subtle, little more than a tightening of his jaw and a hardening of his expression, yet I feel it all the way from the vehicle. Whatever patience he has left evaporates instantly.
The next punch he throws lands squarely on Drake’s nose.
Blood explodes across the dirt.
Drake stumbles backward with a curse as Val advances.