Page 119 of Pack Me Up
Saint crawls out, dragging Fox behind him. He’s got blood down his face, but his eyes are clear.
“Check the side,” he orders. “She was on the right. Find her, Colton.”
The night air is cold against my skin, shocking after the inside-oven heat, and I bleed into the gravel, hands torn open, left arm hanging like a broken wing. Every breath is knives. The crash is over, but my head’s still full of the white noise of it, the memory of impact replaying on a loop.
I see them as shapes first, dark against the dust. Then the beams cut on, sharp as razors, and a handful of men step out, slow and organized. Boots, jeans, flannels with the sleeves ripped off. One guy’s wearing mirrored aviators even though it’s night.
They line up, easy as you please, like this was a party and they’re early.
My vision tunnels, but I see Cody, arms pinned behind him by a guy with shoulders like a refrigerator. Brittney is barely on her feet, held up by the hair, her head lolled forward, blood dark on her face.
Saint stumbles from the other side of the car, dragging Fox and Hunter behind, hobbling, cradling his ribs. We look like the world’s shittiest security.
The men converge, circling. I recognize them instantly as the Loomer Pack, who tried to buy Brittney. Their leader grins when he sees us, teeth white as bones.
Cody
PHOENIX PACK SECURITY BRIEF #140
REPORTS FROM TEAM HART AND TURNER
May 26th
The pain is the first thing. Not the sharp, knife-under-the-ribs kind, but the cosmic, world-ending throb behind my eyes, like someone poured concrete into my skull and shook it for good measure. I try to move my head—bad plan, the world tilts, and the only thing holding me steady is the cold press of a gun barrel against my temple.
I can’t smell her.
Brittney is always first in my brain, always a whisper behind my heartbeat but her bond is full of static.
The absence is a black hole, all-consuming, and I have to bite my tongue just to keep from howling. My mouth fills with the copper rush of blood, thick and slick, mixing with the grit of shattered glass.
I force my eyes open.
I turn, slow. The alpha holding the gun is a pretty boy who looks like he’s never worked a day in his life. I know his face from his profile in our security workup.
None of them are watching me closely, not even the guy with the gun at my head. He’s bored, already sure I’m no threat.
Mistake number one, buddy.
Beyond him, it’s chaos. My brothers are standing there, frozen in shock. I follow their gaze to see my mate, unconscious with a gun pressed against her head and my soul shatters.
Her head is lolling, blood slicked across her cheek, arms pinioned behind her.
The leader of the Loomer Pack steps into the spill of headlights. He’s got a clean shave, a show-muscled body, and a suit on. He smiles when he sees us, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
“Phoenixes,” he says, like it’s a joke only he gets. “Didn’t think you’d come so far just to get your bitch handed over.”
Saint growls, a low note of contempt. “Let them go.”
The Loomer laughs, shakes his head. “No deal. You took what was mine. This is just business.”
The alpha holding Brittney laughs, shaking her until her head falls forward. Her shirt is ripped, exposing the bond mark at her throat, and when the Loomer alpha holding her sees it, his face twists in pure, volcanic rage.
“You let another pack mark what was ours?” he spits, shaking her so hard her teeth rattle. “You ruined her.”
Brittney’s eyes flutter, half-conscious. My whole body tenses. I want to run, to tear the world apart to get to her, but the gun is still at my skull and my pack is down.
Colton’s eyes find mine again and we talk through our faces alone.
