Page 106 of Her Wolf

Peter cocked up a thick, dark eyebrow. Granted, the guy was seriously good looking. Like an unpolished actor, fresh off the farm. He’d been blessed with thick hair that he wore long and stylishly unstyled. His flawless skin was pale, but that only seemed to highlight his dark features. Intelligent, hazel eyes watched Milo with what Lars might have taken as hedonistic anticipation…if this was a gay porn video and not a fucking interrogation.

Milo’s belt dangled from his hand as he stepped closer, moving at a menacingly slow pace. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“Yeah?” Peter said, his smile growing.

“I think you’re alone.” Milo stepped past him, standing behind Peter’s chair. “No one’s coming for you. No one even knows you’re here.”

In a flash, Milo had the belt around Peter’s throat. He jerked so hard at the strip of leather that the man’s chair rocked back. He brought up his leg, boot flat against the back rest so he could apply more pressure without toppling the chair.

Lars’s stomach tightened. It wasn’t the most aggressive interrogation technique, but in the silver moonlight, in this desolate room, with that ferocious snarl on Milo’s face…it was enough to make his skin want to crawl off his body.

Don’t let this get out of control.

Don’t let him lose his shit.

Not if this guy might be their only hope of ever finding Cora.

“Hey…buddy…” Lars inched forward. “Take it easy.”

Milo looked up at him. He expected a wink, maybe. A reminder that he was supposed to ‘go with it’…but there was nothing except a feral rage etched deep into Milo’s normally impassive face.

Fuck.

Peter writhed in the chair. Surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of panic or fear on his face. Just resolute determination to stay alive. Hazel eyes flashed to Lars, then to the window.

When Milo eased up on the belt, Peter drew a long, ragged breath and then stared straight at Lars as if waiting for the next part of the game to begin.

Fucking hell. He’d probably been trained for this as well.

“They’re getting away,” Peter said in a thick voice. “You know that, right?”

Moonlight glinted off Milo’s teeth as he grimaced. The chair rocked back, but this time Peter didn’t even bother struggling.

“Milo, wait.” Lars stepped forward, lifting his hand.

Chair legs thumped back on the ground. Milo glared at him, but Lars had a feeling it wasn’t intentional.

“Listen, guy, we all know your friends ain’t coming, else they’d have been here by now.” Lars went to one knee in front of Peter, laying a hand on the man’s thigh. “So give us something useful, something concrete, and we’ll let you go.”

“Why would I want to help cartel scum like you?” Peter snapped.

In that instant, a change came over the man. Where Lars had been looking up at a calm, almost idyllic features, now he faced a man that looked as primal as Milo at his worst.

“You’re a bunch of fucking rats,” Peter spat. “When the food runs out, you start cannibalizing each other. She’s probably dead already — decapitated, strung up on a bridge—”

Lars’s fist cut off whatever Peter had been going to say. The chair rocked back, and this time the man fought his bonds like he was undergoing an exorcism. Veins stood out on his temples and throat, pale moonlight glancing from blood stained teeth.

When the chair legs thumped down again, Lars had his face an inch away from Peter’s.

“Rats don’t take prisoners,” Lars murmured. “Last chance, Peter Hanson. Make yourself useful.”

Peter’s gaze fixed intently on Lars’s. The man’s furious panting brushed over his lips, breath coppery from the blood in his mouth.

Slowly, incrementally, disgust eked from his face. Peter blinked, and his gaze became imploring. “I can help you find her, but time’s running out.”

Lars laughed, rushing to a stand. “Jesus, just kill him Milo,” he said with a dismissive wave.

“No, please, I can—!”

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