Page 72 of Pack Obsession

“We’ll kill him,” comes a gravelly voice from the back seat. We both glance back to see Axel struggling to sit up, his ice-blue eyes finally focusing. “Slowly.”

Well. Looks like those weapons will come in handy after all.

Chapter

Twenty

AXEL

The black SUV’s engine growls as Logan pushes it to its limits, taking corners like he’s still running combat missions. Nash’s fingers drum against the tablet in the passenger seat, his glasses reflecting the GPS tracker’s pulsing dot. In the back, I flex my shoulders, still feeling the lingering effects of the tranquilizer dart that had taken me down earlier. The rage building inside me since I woke up is a living thing, cold and hungry.

“Two miles ahead,” Nash announces. “Signal’s holding steady.”

Logan takes another corner hard enough to make the tires scream. The heavily tinted windows hide us from the world outside, but they also make the interior feel like a cage.

My fingers trace the grip of my blade. The bastard’s going to pay for touching our Omega.

“Take the next right,” Nash directs, adjusting his glasses. “There’s an access road two blocks down. We can park in the shadows, approach on foot.”

Logan swings the SUV onto a narrow street lined with abandoned houses. The neighborhood reeks of decay and desperation—exactly the kind of place Julian would choose forhis games. My jaw clenches, thinking about Casey trapped here somewhere.

We slide to a stop beneath the sprawling branches of a dead tree. The silence when Logan kills the engine feels loaded, dangerous. We gather at the back of the SUV, where our tactical gear is stowed.

“Nash?” Logan asks, checking the suppressor on his Sig Sauer. Even in the dim light, I can see the cold focus in his steel-gray eyes—the look that made him legendary in special ops.

Nash adjusts his glasses, swiping through the tracker data. “Signal’s strong. Places her about three houses down that way.” He points east. “One-story ranch style, from what I can tell from the satellite view.”

“Good.” Logan hands out earpieces. “We’re going through the backyards. Less chance of being spotted.” His eyes lock onto each of us. “Once inside, Nash and I will clear a path. Axel, you get to Casey. Anyone gets in your way?—”

“They die,” I finish, checking my own weapon. The weight feels good in my hands. Familiar.

“Exactly.” Logan’s smile is all predator. “Questions?”

Nash and I shake our heads. We’ve trained for this, practiced these moves countless times, with Logan insisting we needed to be at peak performance for our jobs. But this isn’t a drill or a heist. This is Casey.

We move like shadows through the first yard, ducking under a clothesline heavy with forgotten laundry now rotting in the elements. The fence is chain link, rusted and sagging. Nash finds a hole near the bottom, likely cut by local kids, and we slip through one by one.

The second yard is worse—a jungle of waist-high weeds and broken furniture. My boots crunch on shattered beer bottles. A lone shopping cart lies on its side, wheels reaching toward thesky. The wooden fence here is solid but weathered. Logan gives Nash a boost, then me. We reach down to pull him up.

The third yard reveals signs of recent activity. Cigarette butts. Fresh tire tracks in the mud. Logan holds up his fist—wait. We press ourselves against the fence as a shadow passes behind a grimy window. When it’s gone, we move. Logan climbs the metal fence, then signals with a flick of his wrist for us to follow.

That’s when we see it—the black van from the security footage, parked in front of a late-model Mercedes. Two motorcycles are near the back door.

“Four, maybe five hostiles,” Logan whispers, eyeing the vehicles.

The gun feels cold against my palm as we approach the house.

Logan takes point at the rear door, Nash and me flanking him. Three quick hand signals—breach, clear, silence—then his shoulder hits the door hard. The frame splinters with almost no sound.

A guard inside turns, eyes wide, reaching for his weapon. Logan’s shot takes him in the throat before he can make a sound. Nash and I grab him by the arms, dragging him back outside. One heave and the body goes over the fence into the overgrown yard we just left.

Inside, the house opens into a maze of hallways. The walls are water-stained, wallpaper peeling in long strips. Three corridors branch out… left, right, and center. Logan’s hand signals split us up.

I take the center hall, gun held low and ready. The stone floor muffles my footsteps as I clear each room. Most doors are locked. I press my ear against each one, listening for movement, for Casey’s voice, for anything. Nothing.

The hallway curves ahead, disappearing around a corner.

That’s when a floorboard creaks behind me.

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