Page 41 of Perfectly Leashed
Darcy sank onto a nearby bench, his whole body shaking with adrenaline. The woman with the phone sat beside him, her expression kind but concerned.
“Are you okay, honey? Do you know those men?”
“No,” Darcy said, which was technically true. “Just... wrong place, wrong time, I guess.”
The distant roar of a motorcycle engine made his head snap up. Relief flooded through him as he spotted Luca’s familiar red Harley tearing through the street, followed by three other bikes.
His wolf had brought backup.
Luca was off his bike before it had fully stopped, his eyes wild as he scanned Darcy for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m okay.” Darcy stood on unsteady legs, letting Luca pull him into a fierce embrace. “The dogs—we have to get the dogs.”
“Raphael and Chopper are already on it,” Luca murmured against his hair. “They’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry,” Darcy whispered. “I should have stayed close to the shop like you asked.”
“No.” Luca pulled back, his hands cupping Darcy’s face. “You did exactly what you should have done. You fought back, you got away, and you called for help. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
The words hit Darcy like a warm wave. Proud. Luca was proud of him.
“But this changes things,” Luca continued, his expression growing serious. “They know about you now. They’ll use you to get to me.”
“So what do we do?”
Luca’s eyes hardened, amber bleeding into the gray. “We end this. Once and for all.”
* * * *
Darkness had settled over the countryside like a heavy blanket, carrying the scent of pine and decay. Fifty yards ahead, light spilled from the windows of a rundown farmhouse where the hyenas had been holed up. Music thumped from inside, bass vibrating through the walls. The acrid stench of drugs mixing with cigarette smoke permeated the air while colored lights flashed against grimy windows.
Alejandro crept along the left flank while Chopper took position on the right. Raphael and Suero took position by the side door. There were a dozen more wolves scattered throughout the pine trees.
Branches creaked overhead in the night breeze, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted its mournful call. Grass whispered against their boots as the pack moved in perfect synchronization, years of hunting together allowing them to flow through the shadows like liquid violence.
Matias raised his fist, signaling the pack to halt.
Luca crouched behind a cluster of oak trees, his wolf prowling restlessly beneath his skin, hungry for blood after what those bastards had tried to do to Darcy. That crossed every line that mattered.
Matias gestured with quick, precise hand signals. Luca read them easily—surround the house, wait for his signal, no survivors.
Good. Luca wanted them all dead.
His wolf snarled low in his chest, hungry for blood.
Movement on the front porch caught his attention. A brawny guy in a tight tank top pushed through the screen door, already reaching for a cigarette. He flicked his lighter, the flame illuminating soulless eyes. One deep drag then he exhaled slowly, scanning the darkness like he sensed something was wrong.
He did. Just not fast enough.
Luca moved, closing the distance in three silent steps. His hands found the man’s neck. One quick twist and the guy dropped like a stone, cigarette tumbling from slack lips. Luca caught the body, lowered the corpse to the wooden boards, then dragged it behind a stack of empty beer crates.
One down.
Moving as one unit, the pack surrounded the house. Luca watched Santiago slip around the corner while Chopper scaled the back fence. Within minutes, every exit was covered. No one would escape this time.
Matias held up three fingers, then two, then one.
All hell broke loose.
