Take the gun hidden in the trunk of your car. Drive to the enclave of artists on the edge of the Mojave. Kill as many of them as you can before the ammunition runs out. Remember, save one bullet for yourself.
The car shuddered as it fell into a pothole, rattling his brain, throwing those whispering thoughts into chaos. He managed to get it out but the tire was flat. Hitting the hover-drive, he continued on his way. He couldn’t stop. If he stopped, the gun would find its way into his hands. And men, women, and children would die.
The compulsion crushed his mind, creating pinpricks of darkness behind his eyelids—veins were starting to shatter, to bleed inside his skull. He couldn’t go any farther. Twisting the wheel, he brought the car to a halt on the side of the rough mountain road. Then he got out—his gaze going immediately to the trunk. No. He willed himself to turn. That cliff, it was close enough. Holding his head in his hands, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.
All he had to do was get to the edge. He didn’t trust himself with the gun. But a fall would shatter his brain just as well.
An hour after finding Nash, Mercy drove a still alive and uninjured Bowen out of the city, Indigo by her side. Bowen’s hands were cuffed, his eyes blindfolded. Dorian had come out and used his toys to search for—and remove—two tracking devices.
Bowen wasn’t worried. “I’d have been stupid if I hadn’t had backup.”
Assuming his team was following, Mercy took him out through a number of back roads, making any pursuit highly visible to the large SUV following her vehicle. By the time they circled around and pulled into a deserted section of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area on the other side of the bridge, Bowen was very much alone.
He held up his wrists when they removed the blindfold and let him get out. “I think you guys can take me on even if I’m free.”
Mercy shifted in front of Riley as he exited the SUV and walked over. “Don’t irritate us,” she said to Bowen. The Alliance man might be a tough son of a bitch, but Riley was a very experienced wolf in a cold rage.
Jet-black eyes went from one to the other. “Something’s going on that I clearly don’t know about.”
“The last time our people were abducted, one ended up dead and the other was tortured so badly most people thought she’d never recover,” she said, letting him glimpse the leopard’s need to hurt, to punish. “So your chances of convincing us of anything are about zero.”
Bowen swore. “Our intel was wrong. We’d never have done it this way if we’d known.”
“Excuse me if I don’t sympathize.” Mercy could all but feel Riley’s wolf, a hot, angry breath against her nape. It was as well that Dorian had left after doing the technical search. She didn’t know if she’d have been able to keep Bowen safe from two men who continued to bear the vicious wounds of their sisters’ abductions.
It didn’t matter that Willow was young, it didn’t even matter that she was female and Nash male—the girl had been traumatized by being unable to help her brother, her fledgling confidence dented. Mercy knew that if she wasn’t handled right, little Willow would stop sneaking out at night. And for a changeling to curl up like that . . .
She turned. “Indigo?”
“I’ve got him.”
Letting the SnowDancer lieutenant escort Bowen into position, Mercy shifted to face Riley. “I need you to deal.”
Amber glittered in his eyes but he didn’t argue. “I’ll hang back. Tougher to rip the bastard’s head off from here.” With that, he took a position close to the outer perimeter of the protective semi-circle around Lucas and Hawke.
Of the two alphas, Lucas was the more calm. Part of it was because he was built that way. But mostly it was because he had a mate who grounded him. Hawke, on the other hand . . . his ice blue eyes were those of a wolf, his hair the silver-gold of his pelt in his animal form. He looked exactly what he was—a predator uncontained by any loyalty save that to his pack. And by threatening SnowDancer’s biggest ally, Bowen had threatened that pack.
The wolf alpha’s eyes met Mercy’s as she came up beside Bowen, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Hawke was fully capable of killing Bowen then and there. Glancing at Lucas, she saw him spear the Alliance man with a green-eyed look that spoke of the panther within. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”
Yeah, Lucas could put on the civilized act much better than Hawke, but when you got down to it, he was as lethal as the wolf. “Why did you take one of us?”
“Because Nash was in danger of being captured by the paramilitary arm of the Alliance.”
“Seems like that would be a stupid move on the Alliance’s part,” Mercy said. “After what happened to the last group that tried to come after one of us.” Every single intruder had died, some falling prey to a sniper’s rifle, the others to claws and teeth.
“You’d think so.” Bowen’s tone was bitter. “The men who died in your territory were my friends, my fellow soldiers.”