Page 65 of Faith and Fury

My blood stops.

I sign at him—uselessly, desperately. Maverick. Maverick!

He grins, but it’s a poor attempt to hide the grimace. “Told you to stay behind me, kitten.”

No. No. Fuck! I told them—tried to make them understand—I could do this alone. Axe never would’ve fired if it were just me. I could’ve used that to my advantage. Tortured the ever-loving fuck out of him until he gave me the answers I wanted.

You idiot! I sign, my vision burning, as Maverick slumps over me. He smells the same way he tasted when I bit him—copper and cinnamon.

“That you, F-7?” Axe’s voice, just like I remember it, goads me from down the tunnel. He traipses closer. “And here I thought I was gonna have to hunt you down.”

Maverick growls. He tries to turn around, but his strength give out, and I have to steady him as he sinks to his knees. I catch Axe’s eye over his head—those beady, muddy pits.

Fucking psychopath.

Axe takes another step. Maverick tries to aim his gun, but he can barely lift his arms. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, not sure I’ll be able to scent his blood without turning feral.

“Look at you,” Axe drawls, pointing his gun at Maverick, “trading one guard dog for another. D-1 says hi, by the way.”

D-1. Fang’s number. I hiss furiously.

Axe laughs. “There’s my girl.”

BANG!

Another shot fires from behind me. I spin around, wondering how the hell Maverick managed to get a clear shot, when I see him.

Caleb.

Breathing hard, more beast than alpha, he sprints through the tunnel—barely giving Axe a chance to react.

There’s my opening.

I dash forward, biting back the agony in my ankle, to close the distance between me and Axe. He shoots aimlessly, hitting nothing but tunnel. The gun is still clutched firmly in his hands when I attack.

Maybe he forgot rogues don’t get weapons in the ring. We have to be better than that. Stronger. Faster. Smarter.

I feign left and tackle his right. He’s tense in all the wrong ways, making him way too easy to throw off-kilter. Then it’s just a matter of stomping his heels, sending him straight to his knees.

He fights me exactly as I always expected—clinging to his weapon like a lifeline before he finally remembers his training. The second his focus shifts to regular combat, it’s all-too easy to tear the gun straight out of his grip.

Maybe I could point it at his head. Make him talk. Make him beg.

But I have a better idea.

I throw the gun aside.

Whack! His head snaps to the side. Whack! Blood flings out of his mouth. My hands are on fire. My knuckles are like gaping sores. If punishing this asshole means punishing myself, I can live with that.

For Fang. For Maverick.

“Enough! Omega, stand down—now!”

Caleb’s voice rattles me from my delirium. I look up, vaguely wondering how I ended up on the ground—nothing between me and the cold wet concrete except for Axe’s mauled body.

Breathing heavily, I force myself to meet Caleb’s eye. He has his hands outstretched like he expects me to run at him. Maybe do to him what I did to Axe.

Slowly, I stand. Caleb doesn’t step back … but he doesn’t get any closer, either.

---