Page 41 of Chasing Secrets
He’d come to “scare” Derek. That had been the agreement Jalen could live with. What Chase carried in his chest wasn’t something he could lay at Jalen’s feet. The pack understood what needed doing when it came to mates.
Wade caught his eye through the leaves and pointed two fingers to the back. Kitchen door.
Before Chase could move, Zeppelin touched his ear then pointed to the street.
A front door across the way opened, and a minivan chirped. Headlights blinked.
Chase went flat so fast he ate grit. Wade belly-crawled under the kitchen window box like a commando in an action movie. Zeppelin melted behind the old maple at the property line, which was an impressive trick for a man built like a refrigerator. Lian stayed hidden behind the grill.
Neighbor in yoga pants and a messy bun shuffled out, phone cradled under her chin. She popped the minivan’s hatch and leaned in, digging around like the fate of the world depended on unearthing a reusable grocery bag. Plastic rustled. A stray can rolled and clunked. Chase pressed closer to the house, nose full of spiderwebs and old mulch.
Ten seconds stretched. Yoga Pants found whatever life-saving object she needed and closed the hatch with a whump that felt like a gunshot to his nerves. She shuffled inside again, porch light clicked off.
Everyone moved.
At the kitchen, the doorknob didn’t give. Wade fished a pick from his pocket and worked the lock with the kind of patience that would’ve made a saint jealous.
A soft snick, and the door eased inward. Cold air whispered out, carrying the concentrated scent of dish soap and damp sponge. They slipped in single file, stepping over a pair of women’s flats left neatly on a mat that said “Welcome” with daisies around the edges. Chase had to fight the urge to flip it over.
Coils in the fridge kicked on with a hum. Someone had left a plate of brownies wrapped in foil on the counter. Chase imagined Jalen at this sink, young and cornered by a smile that meant danger. His nails tingled. Chase flexed his hands to keep the claws where they belonged a little longer.
Wade slid left, covering the hallway. Family photos lined the wall—smiles at graduations, a birthday cake with too many candles, Jalen small and skinny, eyes wary even then. Derek appeared in a few shots with an arm around someone’s shoulders that didn’t look like affection so much as possession.
Scare him into leaving me alone.
The urge to rip frames down almost won.
They reached the archway to the living room and fanned out. Liam slipped in from the sliding glass door off the patio, a shadow with a knife and a grin that said he’d been dying for a good reason to use it. He set up to the right of the arch, ready to flank.
Four wolves could end a man without raising a sweat. That wasn’t the problem. The problem slept twenty feet away and had no idea she might wake to a horror show.
On the couch, Derek sat with his feet on the table, TV painting his face the cold blue of late-night sports. He had a gut that had known too many drive-thru dinners and a posture that said he owned this room as much as he thought he owned the people in it.
The pistol now lay on the cushion by his thigh, muzzle aimed at the wall. Safety off. Finger already resting wrong.
Chase moved first. Fast, quiet, a line straight for the gun because you removed the loud obstacle before you had a meaningful conversation. A shifter could heal from most things, but a bullet to the brain wasn’t survivable.
He’d gotten three steps in when Derek lunged for the pistol, his hand slapping at it. The barrel swung.
Finger tightened where it shouldn’t have.
The report cracked the room open. Heat and cordite slammed into Chase’s nose. Liam staggered like someone had clipped his knee from behind, then folded, both hands flying to his belly.
The uncle hadn’t just sealed his fate. He’d gift-wrapped it, put a bow on it, and handed it to a pack of enraged wolf shifters.
Zeppelin wrenched the end table aside, dragged Liam by the belt and shoulder into the kitchen, and pressed a hand hard to Liam’s abdomen, where red spilled through his fingers.
“Keep pressure,” Wade hissed, which was code for “don’t pass out, asshole,” in pack-speak.
“I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch,” Liam gritted out. “Where’s my goddamn knife?”
Derek jerked the gun again. Wild. Hands sloppy. Another shot buried into drywall, spraying plaster. Every haphazard shot just screamed, “coward with power he never deserved.”
Chase slammed into him. They hit the recliner, the wooden frame groaning. He wrenched Derek’s wrist until bone cracked, yanked the gun free, and flung it under the couch, where Derek’s little hands couldn’t find it.
The pills make it stop. They make me forget. They make everything numb.
Chase’s chest cracked open. Because this wasn’t just violence. It was justice. He wasn’t fighting one man. He was fighting every ghost that ever sunk its teeth into Jalen.
