Page 26 of Rescued

“Gone, Sheriff,” he says, keeping his tone calm. “Not that it should matter. I’m not in the town limits, remember?”

I see the flicker of frustration in Kaufman’s eyes. It’s the truth, and he knows it. Whatever he wants to pull, he doesn’t have jurisdiction here.

The sheriff’s jaw twitches, his gaze flicking between me and Gabe. I shift slightly, keeping a cool, steady presence—a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Kaufman’s expression.

If the sheriff is planning something, I can’t tell what it is yet. But I know one thing—this man doesn’t like losing, and we just gave him no ground to stand on.

“What do you mean, gone? If you turned that son of a bitch loose—” Kaufman’s voice is already rising, climbing toward his usual self-righteous indignation.

But I don’t let him finish.

“He means the wolf is gone,” I say, cutting the sheriff off mid-sentence. My voice is cold and leaves no room for argument. “It escaped from the kennels.”

Gabe glances at me, a grateful look on his face. We hadn’t exactly come up with an explanation for ‘the wolf’s’ disappearance, and I’m not in the mood to play games.

Kaufman curses, launching into a tirade about how Gabe has doomed the town to its death by letting a vicious beast run loose. His words spiral higher and higher, painting a picture of chaos and carnage that would be laughable if it weren’t so damn ridiculous.

I keep my expression neutral, but my patience is wearing thin. Gabe mirrors me, outwardly composed, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. His fists are clenched at his sides, and the sharp edge in his voice tells me he’s close to snapping.

“You about wound down now, Sheriff?” I ask, cutting through Kaufman’s rant. I’m ready for this fool to leave before his little power play turns into something worse.

“Am I wound down? Let me tell you something, you damned quee—”

Kaufman never finishes.

I move fast, stepping between us and pushing Gabe back gently with one hand. I lean in close to Kaufman, and I see the fear flash across the sheriff’s face as he takes in the rage he sees in my eyes.

“I seriously doubt you want to continue that sentence, Kaufman,” I say, my voice a low growl, but every word is laced with warning. “You need to really, really think before you let your mouth run off like that.”

My hands flex at my sides just itching to punch the slimy fucker, and Gabe steps closer, pressing just enough against my back to let me feel him there.

“You threatening me, Blackwell?” Kaufman snaps, though his voice wavers slightly. “It’s a crime to threaten—”

I cut him off with a sharp motion of my hand, slicing through the air.

“Of course not, Sheriff,” I say casually, almost too casually. “Just stating a fact. Wouldn’t want you to slip up and say something like that out where other people could hear it now, would you? It’s such a narrow step from words like ‘queers’ into hate crimes territory.”

The air goes heavy as my words sink in, and I can practically see the gears turning in Kaufman’s head. It’s not a direct threat, but it might as well be—and it’s a smarter, sharper one than anything physical could ever be.

Kaufman straightens, his expression locking into that cold, calculating mask again. But I can see the fury simmering beneath it, a storm waiting to break.

“Watch yourself, Staley,” he says to Gabe, but he’s still staring at me, his voice low and threatening. “This town’s patience only goes so far.”

“Funny,” Gabe shoots back, taking another step forward. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

The tension crackles between them, sharp and electric. My wolf pushes at the edges of my control, growling for me to intervene further, but I hold firm. Gabe doesn’t need me to fight his battles—he’s more than capable on his own.

Finally, Kaufman breaks. Without another word, he turns on his heel, stalking back to his cruiser. The door slams shut, and the tires spit gravel as he speeds away, leaving the air heavy with unspoken threats.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and glance at Gabe.

The scent of Kaufman’s bitterness and bile still lingers in the air, and it’s all I can do not to shift and chase him down, tearing apart whatever put that smug look on his face.

Gabe’s still standing beside me, his shoulders squared, his chest heaving, as though he’s been holding in the same breath. When I glance at him, his green eyes burn, not with lust, not with amusement—but with fury. Raw and untamed, it radiates off him in waves, more intense than anything I’ve seen from him before.

“I hate him.” Gabe’s voice is low, guttural, like it’s being torn from his chest. “I hate the way he looks at us, the way he talks about us like we’re less than nothing. Like we’re something vile.”

His words are sharp, each one cutting deeper into the knot of anger and helplessness that’s been building in my chest. “You’re not,” I say, my voice rough. “You’re not vile, Gabe. He’s the one who’s fucking broken.”

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