Page 68 of What a Wolf Demands

The command, low and wrapped in steel, was like a bomb going off. Luc fell silent, his mouth agape. Guyon’s face grew paler. Bruno just looked miserable, as if the basement was the last place in the world he wanted to be.

Join the freaking club.

“We’re done talking,” Dom said. He used the gun to gesture toward Bart. “Cut him loose.”

Luc was silent. Tension built, seeming to suck the oxygen out of the musty space. More sweat darted down Lily’s back.

Suddenly, Guyon spoke. “Do it, Luc.”

Luc’s expression went stubborn. He kept his eyes on Dom and Lily as he replied. “He’ll go back to New York. He’ll tell—”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Guyon said. He slowed his speech, enunciating each word as if trying to explain something complicated to a child. “If they shoot, we’re dead. The boys upstairs won’t get down here in time to help.”

Luc swallowed. “I could yell—”

“Not before I shoot,” Dom said.

Lily held her breath. It was obvious Guyon was in charge, even if he let Luc think he was the one running the show. The question was, would Luc listen to him?

Seconds ticked by. Her shoulder burned, her muscles straining as she fought to hold the gun steady. What was Dom thinking? Was he mad at her for showing herself and putting them both in danger? She couldn’t risk looking at him to see his face.

“Fine,” Luc said at last. “Have it your way.” He walked to the chair and stood behind Bart.

Lily released an uneasy breath. How were they going to get up the stairs and all the way to the car without Luc and the others giving chase?

Bart lifted his head. Dried blood covered his cheeks.

Anger scalded her insides. She met Guyon’s gaze. Knowledge flashed in his eyes.

Oh yes. He knew he was a dead man. No matter how this ended—no matter what role he’d played in maiming Bart—he’d pay for this.

She stared at him. I hope it was worth it.

Luc bent and cut the ropes binding Bart’s wrists. The bar owner’s arms dropped limply to his sides, and he groaned.

Lily tensed, waiting for Dom to give her some kind of signal. Should she call out to Bart? Start backing up toward the stairs? Her finger was sweaty on the trigger. When Dom gave her a crash course on gun handling in the car, he’d cautioned her to use only the very tip of her finger on the trigger. “It’s touchier than you think. You don’t need a lot of pressure.”

She tried to ease her finger back now, but it kept slipping.

Come on, Bart. Time to get moving.

Luc looked up. Met her gaze.

His eyes flicked to Dom—and he smiled.

Alarm bolted through her. Without realizing what she was doing, she lurched forward.

Luc stepped close to Bart, gripped a handful of his hair, and yanked his head back. Still looking at Dom, he said, “I’m calling your bluff.”

Then he sliced Bart’s throat open.

Everything happened in slow motion.

Blood sprayed from Bart’s throat in a perfect, gruesome arc.

In Lily’s mind, Charlie turned his head toward her.

Murderer.

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