Page 26 of Fated to the Enemy Alpha

“Our offer is strong enough to resecure them,” I said, deflecting her inquiry.

Her fierce gaze brushed over me, reflecting the same tenacity she brought into every boardroom, and I wished I could confide in her. But duty as Magnus’s right-hand man shackled my truth.

Just as she was about to speak, our driver abruptly shouted, “What the—” and in an instant, the screech of tires clawed at the air, metal crunched, and I was thrown forward. My seatbelt jerked me back, forcing the air from my lungs as the car careened violently to the right.

Time slowed, and blood thrummed in my ears. As my head smacked against the headrest, I sat dazed for a few seconds. Then, the realization pounded through me: we’d been struck by another vehicle.

“Lina?” I rasped, turning to check on her. My heart hammered in my ribcage. She was on the left side of the car, the one that had been hit. My gaze darted over her, scanning her for injuries.

She winced, hands clutching her head.

Urgency spilled through me as I gripped her shoulders. “Lina, are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” she replied.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, but my relief was cut short.

Outside, the sound of a door sliding open set off my protective instincts. I peered out her side to see the black van that had rammed us.

“Lock the doors, Chuck!” I shouted, but my stomach lurched as I saw that he was slumped forward with his head on his chest, unconscious and bleeding. The driver’s side, where the van had hit, was crumpled and mangled.

Adrenaline thumped through me. I needed to get Lina to safety. I unbuckled her seatbelt before tearing open my door and pulling her out my side—farthest from the threat.

Crouching down, I commanded, “Stay down.”

Instinct screamed for my wolf to surface, but I fought against it, acutely aware of the humans surrounding us. The sound of the collision had drawn nearby pedestrians and curious drivers to stop and stare.

I edged around to the front of our car. My heart pounded as I assessed the scene—three masked figures poured out of the van with guns in their hands.

I darted toward the front of the car, opened the passenger door, and kept low to find the gun in Chuck’s holster. It was customary for Blackthorn drivers to carry one, although I’d never had to use one before.

Carson, one of our packmates, had taught me to shoot a gun at a firing range when I was a teenager, though. I’d never been more grateful for that training than right now.

From behind the crumpled hood, the three figures strode toward us, their movements unnervingly coordinated, guns clenched tightly in their hands.

Their scent wafted through the air—a pungent blend like pine sap. Shock crashed over me: they were shifters. Why were other shifters targeting us? We shifters were more likely to have showdowns in the boardroom or in the privacy of our own gated communities so that we could fight things out in wolf form. Were these the rogue wolves who had kidnapped Lina?

As one of the assailants leveled his weapon toward us, protectiveness surged through me. “Keep low,” I ordered Lina, angling my body in front of hers just as the crack of volleys resounded, slicing through the metal of the car and setting off the smell of burnt propellant, sharp and acrid.

With a pounding heart, I waited for a moment of silence before darting up to fire back at them. One of the gunmen shouted, falling to the ground. Adrenaline raced through my veins as another of the gunmen stopped firing, pulling back the injured one toward the van.

I ducked lower as the remaining gunman fired at us again. The sound of glass shattered above me, and I covered my head, but pain cascaded over my scalp and face as the car window exploded above us, raining down slivers of glass. The warm trickle of blood on my face and neck told me I was bleeding from multiple places. I turned back to check on Lina, only for my heart to still.

In horror, I watched her fall onto the ground, curling in on herself as she clutched her shoulder. Shock reverberated through me as her light grey blazer and the white shirt became tinged with crimson. That wasn’t glass embedded there. She’d been shot.

Urgency, like never before, spiralled through me, and I wanted to shift so as to take care of our attackers once and for all. But just off the freeway, on the streets of Queens, with the sound of screams and yells from other drivers who had stopped farther back witnessing this shootout, I couldn’t risk it. The need of my wolf mingled with my own; we needed to protect our mate.

I pressed Lina’s hands to her wound, telling her, “Keep the pressure on. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Keeping low, I waited for the gunman to stop firing. Then I dashed up, focusing my aim with razor-sharp precision. I fired. I heard his shout as my bullet hit him in the shoulder. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I slid over the crumpled hood of the car, dashing toward him where he’d fallen on the road. I knocked him out before kicking the gun out of his hand and away from him.

The uninjured gunman was sheltering behind the door of the van, and I pointed my gun at him as I backed away. I wanted to fire at him, to take him out, too, but I needed to get Lina out of here.

Finally, I was back with her. She was pale. Her hands were still pressed against her shoulder, and her skin looked clammy. Although we shifters were affected by blood loss, we weren’t usually so quickly affected. The sheen on her face had me stooping down and examining her, placing my hand against her forehead. She was burning up.

Fuck.

I didn’t know what this was. Had the bullet hit a major artery? The thought of her hemorrhaging internally had my heart beating in a frenzy.

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