Page 93 of The Feral Alpha

At the sound of gunfire, Rex and his other captor jerked around. Rex looked to Olson first, his forehead furrowed.

“Get away,” Olson yelled.

A look of understanding flashed through Rex’s face. He elbowed off the man he’d been struggling with, putting distance between them.

The moment there was an opening, Olson fired.

His bullet struck the man’s shoulder. Incensed, the alpha raised his own gun with his uninjured arm, pointing it at Olson.

Before he could fire, Rex body-slammed the man against the car and bit into his nose, ripping it off with his teeth. The man screamed and raised his gun.

He was going to shoot Rex.

A cold chill slithered down Olson’s spine. He scrambled to his feet. “Rex, get away!”

Rex threw himself to the side just as a gunshot cracked through the air.

For a moment, Olson couldn’t breathe.

Rex remained upright, his eyes alert, no pain on his face.

Olson sucked down some air. Then he was moving, running. He had to stop that alpha somehow. He had to save Rex.

The alpha pointed his gun at Rex again.

Olson took aim and fired. This time, his bullet landed in the alpha’s chest.

The man collapsed. Olson grabbed Rex and dragged him away.

Somehow, Rex’s captor wasn’t dead yet. He raised his head with a groan, his hand twitching around his gun.

Rex squirmed out of Olson’s grip and lunged for the alpha, his arms still shackled behind his back. “No hurt Olson,” he snarled.

He brought his foot down hard on the man’s head, and there was a sickening crack.

Olson grabbed Rex again, dragging him to safety between some cars just as a motorcycle came roaring into the parking lot.

They couldn’t identify the rider—the newcomer wore a helmet with a reflective visor.

“Oh, gods!” Olson pulled Rex down behind a car, looking desperately for an escape route as the engine noise grew louder. How many bullets did he have left?

Rex exchanged a worried look with him. Then he pressed closer, shielding Olson with his body.

“No! Don’t put yourself in danger again,” Olson hissed.

The motorcycle engine cut off. Olson craned his neck, trying to see where the person was.

“It’s me,” Storm yelled. “Fuck, is all the action over already?”

Relief flooded Olson’s chest. He sagged against Rex, his limbs turning into jelly. “Oh, gods.”

Rex leaned in and nuzzled Olson’s forehead. “Safe,” Rex whispered. “Storm good.”

“We still don’t know if it’s safe. Stay behind me,” Olson whispered back.

He carefully peeked over the top of the car they were sheltering behind, finding Storm with his helmet visor up.

“They’re over there.” Olson pointed. “I shot them both in the chest. Rex kicked one of them. They may still be alive.”

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