Page 84 of Wrath
The flare of sin came from way down, and he had no time to waste.
Down the dark stairwell and into the thumping base, he dropped, two steps at a time. Saucy electro-jazz music pumped loudly through the club giving their entrance the cover of noise. Whatever happened tonight, there would be collateral damage, but as another burst of sin exploded from deep in the bowels of the basement, a surge of hopelessness flooded him. If he was too late… He pushed on, descending at an alarming speed.Nearly at the next level. Almost there.
If Misha was hurt, and Alek was… no. He could still sense Alek down there. His wrath simmered, providing Wyatt the beacon with which to find them. He hurtled from the stairwell onto the main club floor and stopped.
Despite their intel, despite the satellite heat map showing multiple bodies inside the club—it wasn’t customers and dancers who greeted them. It was Falcon stepping casually his way, dressed head to toe in white, bird mask hiding her face, white bullwhip snapping at her side. Behind her, on the mirrored stage and from the curtained side walls, a white-robed army of Faithful stepped out of the shadows.
A trap.
His stomach dropped out. It was all the evidence he needed to tell him Misha betrayed him. Clear as day. She’d led him there… to his death. His pulse pounded in his ears, roaring while his hot breath pushed at the cloth covering his mouth. Seconds ticked by and neither party moved while he came to terms with the fact his mate had betrayed him.
So why did his heart still pull him toward the basement?
She was hislife. He wouldn’t survive without her.
Mary stepped around him and held her throwing knives ready. “We’ve got this,mijo.”
“Go save the princess.” Sloan took up a position behind Mary and aimed into the hoard. The entrance to the basement was just to the right. He’d make it if they provided cover.
Wyatt hesitated. Neither woman had been in the field for months, and neither were bulletproof. Family first, had always been Mary’s motto.
She must have seen the conflict in his eyes.
“Don’t go soft on us now, Wrath.” Mary’s gaze hardened over her blood-red scarf. “We’ll hold them off.”
“I’ll come back.”
“We know.” Sloan fired her arrow into Falcon and then all hell broke loose. But he didn’t stick around to watch. He went down the steps to where he felt Alek’s wrath pull at him, taking him toward the boy like a puppet string to the gut. Taking him to where he hoped Misha still remained unharmed.
When he came across one of Dimitri’s men, he jabbed him in the throat, putting him down immediately.
He wasn’t showy, like Tony. Wasn’t flashy, like Evan. He was after the swiftest way to his woman and her brother. Anything in his path simply became an object to remove. Through the dark maze, he turned. He slammed heads. He poked eyes. He crushed kneecaps with a boot. He threw bodies over his shoulder. And when he got to the end of the tunnel—Wyatt pulled back at the last possible moment as a blur of wrath attacked him. He caught the fist before it struck his face and grinned with pride.
Alek, my boy.
The teenager was beaten, black-eyed and bruised, and he was alone in the edge of the hallway, standing before a closed door containing Dimitri’s twisted wrath. Alone, beat, but insatiable. The kid had remembered his lessons, and when Wyatt had caught his fist, the boy adjusted his strike.Turn the body, bend the knees, follow through, commit with the other hand—strike the open solar plexus.Wyatt remembered vividly showing Alek what to do, and the boy did it without wavering.
Wyatt caught Alek’s second fist.
A foot headed toward Wyatt’s groin, and he was about to shout for Alek to stop, but couldn’t. His mouth was covered. Alek couldn’t read his lips, and with Wyatt’s hands occupied, he couldn’t sign. He released, shoved away and tugged his scarf down.
It’s me,Wyatt signed and mouthed.It’s me.
Alek flinched, and his bravado melted. His face crumpled, and he began to sign wildly, pointing at the solid door behind him.
Wyatt slid the fingers on his right gloved hand up the back of his left hand.Slow down,kid. I’m not there yet with the sign language.
Alek’s bottom lip disappeared under his teeth as he forced himself to calm.
A cold realization settled on Wyatt. There was no way Misha worked with the Syndicate. Not with Alek so brutally beaten. She’d never stand for that.
“Misha’s in there?” Wyatt asked quietly.
A nod, and then Alek’s brows joined and lifted in the middle, clearly distraught.
“Is she…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, or to sign.
Alek shook his head and then signed,She’s alive.
