Page 23 of Tossed into the Mob
But we didn’t kill him. I’d maimed him and my wolf mauled him, but we didn’t cause his death.
Dread slithered around my throat, trying to throttle me. It wasn’t so much that there was a dead wolf bleeding out on the floor, though that was horrific. My mate had witnessed my beast and not in a “this is who I am,” way. Nope. I shifted and my wolf attacked and fought another wolf.
And then the cherry on the top of this F-ed cake was Brock, who’d already suffered enough trauma to last a lifetime, shot the guy’s beast. Yeah, that other shifter was a bad dude, but it was F-ed up that my human mate had ended his life. If I’d been a better shot, his death would have been on me.
The storage unit was quiet except for our staccato breathing, and on full display was that gunman’s wolf splayed on the floor, blood spurting out of the bullet wound, along with the bite marks and deep gouges made by my beast’s claws.
I took my skin and shivered in the cold space. My hands and chest were riddled with blood spatter, but my mind was saying, “We have to get out of here.”
But I had to attend to my mate and make sure the blood on his face wasn’this.
“Brock.” His eyes were fixed on the dead wolf. “Brock.” He wasn’t even blinking. Placing a palm on his cheek, I sensed warmth rippling through his body, and he stared at me.
“You’re you.”
“Yes, but we have to move.”
Clothes. Shit. I yanked open the first of Brock’s father’s boxes and pulled out a suit. I’d rarely worn one except to graduations and formal family events, but I pulled on the pants, picked up a shirt, shoes, and jacket and shoved them in the pack before taking Brock’s hand.
My phone was on the floor, as it’d been in my back pocket. I snapped a pic of the wolf in case I had to identify him, and grabbed Brock's gun. I left the shifter’s weapon, and we ran but in the opposite direction to where we’d entered. Ignoring the cameras that would have captured our faces, I dragged Brock around the corner while booking a ride share.
“We’ll go back to the trailer, but we need to get my car from Rudy’s.” I could have gone to my place, but I figured Brock needed to be somewhere familiar and not another new environment. Besides, that’d be the first place Flint’s people would look. The trailer was small and almost cozy, whereas my place was tiny and had nothing to recommend it.
I’d paid for the trailer for a week, and we might get a few hours before the family found us. Not that I was scared about Flint’s reaction, because I’d protected my mate against a killer. But he’d be peeved about tricking his men at the apartment. I had to get my head on straight before facing my Alpha, and even before I did that, I had to console Brock. He’d killed a killer. An eye for an eye didn’t protect the person from overwhelming guilt.
I kept my mate’s hand in mine. This wasn’t the time or place for an explanation, but I hoped our connection might soothe him. His hand heated up, and he nodded.
The cab driver was the chatty type. Lucky us. I ran my eyes over Brock. I’d missed blood spatter on his hands and shirt, and the glances the driver was giving me suggested I had blood on my face.
The suit covered my injuries, but they were healing as I sat in the back seat, gripping Brock, fearing that if I didn’t, he might ask the guy to stop, saying he never wanted to see me again.
"You guys okay back there?" the driver asked as we turned onto the rural road that led to Uncle Rudy's place. "You seem pretty quiet."
"We're fine.” My voice was sharper than I'd intended. My throat was still raw from the growls and snarls, and my body ached from the fight. Shifting always left me drained, but now every muscle had been stretched beyond its limits.
Brock hadn't said a word since we'd left the storage facility. But there was a heaviness in the car. Gods, I hoped he didn’t hate me.
He’s upset, my wolf noted.
Very.
Letting a stranger drive us to Rudy’s was unacceptable, so Brock would have to walk the last mile. I had the guy let us out at a farmer’s market, and instead of buying anything, we took a shortcut through the woods. Rudy had cameras and bodyguards, so they’d see us approaching, but I was hoping he and Grandpa were out and we could get in the car and go.
“I wanted to kill the man who murdered my dad.” Brock removed his hand from mine and stopped walking. “But did I?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t put off theI’m not humanconversation much longer, but I didn’t want to have it until we were in the car and heading away from Rudy’s.
“Good. I’m glad he’s dead and that I was one who did it.”
That was how he felt now, but PTSD might bite him on the butt later on.
“He was a wolf, and you were a wolf.” He brushed his fingertips over my cheek as if checking I was flesh and blood.
“Yes.” What I wanted was irrelevant. Brock needed answers now.
“Anyone else?”
“My family.” Shit, I’d have to point out his alpha father was a wolf.
