Page 107 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“Hey, Daddy,” she calls casually as she adjusts her bag.

Wade looks up, wiping his hands on a rag. “What’re you doing here this time of day?”

“Just taking a meeting in my office,” she quips, nodding toward the empty bay. She doesn’t wait for him to respond. But as she steps closer, she glances back over her shoulder.

“Actually, could you give me a little privacy? It’s… personal.”

Wade’s brows knit together, his mouth opening like he’s about to ask a question. But something in her expression makes himpause. He nods once, slow and reluctant. “Alright. I’ll be up front if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she says quickly, striding toward the bay with purpose.

Wade huffs a laugh, but his feet stay planted. He watches her go, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand freezes mid-wipe when another figure steps into view—broad-shouldered, tattooed, and impossible to forget. He narrows his eyes, muttering, “Well, shit.”

I slip closer, silent in the shadows, eyes locked on Sunday. She stands near the back wall, looking so damn vulnerable. The way she glances around, smoothing her hair and shifting her weight, makes me want to scream. She’s too trusting, too hopeful. I can already see her rationalizing whatever bullshit Silas is about to feed her.

He steps out of the darkness a moment later, his towering frame backlit by the afternoon sun behind him. My grip tightens on the blade at my side, shadows forming its edge.

***

I wait. Watching. Listening.Ready.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzz like angry bees, spilling harsh light into every corner of the garage.Not ideal.The brightness limits the shadows I can use, but it doesn’t matter. Not yet.

Sunday doesn’t see it. She stands in front of him, arms crossed, expression wary but too open. She’s listening, letting him speak. And the bastard is good at it—his voice low, smooth, carefully measured. I can’t catch every word, but I don’t need to.

I know his type. Manipulative. Charming when it suits him. Dangerous when it doesn’t. The kind of man who always thinks he’s three steps ahead, he leaks superiority, bleeds it.

But that arrogance is going to bite him in the ass this time. He doesn’t know I’m here. Thinks he’s in control, that has my mate alone and vulnerable. I can’t wait to correct those assumptions.

But not yet. He’s standing right under the light. His shadow stretches toward me, but not far enough. I need him to move.Just a little more.

He leans in, says something I can’t catch, and Sunday steps back. Her hands drop to her sides, her body language shifting—nervous, unsure. Our bond pulses with her discomfort, then sharpens into alarm. He’s cornering her, his presence pressing in, trying to bend her to his will. My jaw clenches, the blade in my hand vibrating with the urge to act.

Move—just a little further and then I’ll have you.

Sunday shifts, backing into Wade’s line of sight. Her anxiety is climbing now. Silas follows.

I slip along the wall as they circle each other, his shadow stretching, elongating with each step he takes away from the light. Almost there. He’s crowding her and I hate it.

And then—got you.

El cabrón.

He really is her mate. My jaguar gives a confused hiss and steps back. The scent hits us ike a gut punch—amber and sandalwood, relaxing and warm, like he was always meant to be with us.

And he’s standing here, harassing her?What apinche basura.

My jaw clenches, the blade in my hand vibrating with the urge to act, now I want to kill him harder.

A portal opens—an earth-bound one, thank the Moon Goddess—but it forms fast. His hand shoots out, wrapping around her arm.

“You’repathetic,” he spits, his voice a jagged sneer. “Do your mates know you’ll swallow any line you’re given?” He scoffs, eyes gleaming with derision. “Or is that one of your vaunted skills?”

Her breath hitches, sharp and startled. That’s all the excuse I need.

“Let. Her. Go.”

The words come out cold, deliberate. He freezes. Sunday jerks back, stumbling as she pulls free, her eyes darting to me—relief and confusion tangled together.

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