Page 87 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
He was worth it. Every sleepless night. Every moment of doubt.
“You look like a natural,” Felix said as he approached, Logan dangling from his arm like a monkey.
Dane shrugged, but a small smile tugged at his lips, “He makes it easy.”
“Enjoy the peace while it lasts,” Nicolas said, joining them with Max now secured in one of the little camping chairs. “Thea just dared Gracie to eat a beetle.”
“Oh God,” Rick muttered, eyes darting to where Eva was coloring in with small, measured movements, entirely polite and well-behaved.
Felix’s phone buzzed.
It was faint. A subtle chime.
But the change in Felix’s posture was immediate. He straightened, eyes dropping to the screen.
And then his face changed.
All humor drained from his features.
“What is it?” Nicolas asked.
Felix didn’t look up.
His thumb slid across the screen. He growled, low and sharp.
“Security at the club is down,” he said. “Cameras went dark ten minutes ago.”
The warmth died.
Dane’s body went rigid.
The Pine Shadow Club.
Lola.
Chapter 19 - Lola
The Pine Shadow Club was dead quiet.
Not the quiet of late-night drinks or soft music echoing in empty glasses, but the kind of quiet that came after violence that settled thick and suffocating, like ash after a fire.
Lola sat pressed against a cracked leather booth, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. Her breath came in shallow pulls as she tried to keep her heartbeat steady. Across from her, Daisy sat similarly curled, eyes wide and glassy. Cassie was crouched beside the bar, jaw tight, scanning the room like she might still find a way out if she looked hard enough. Poppy and Bree sat on the floor near the back wall, huddled together.
And in the middle of it all, looming, unmoving, washim.
Red Teeth.
He hadn’t spoken more than a few words since storming the club with half a dozen alphas in tow. They came fast, the lights cut out, and the front doors slammed open before any of them could scream and were blown to smithereens behind them. Red Teeth led the way, tall, massive, his hulking frame wrapped in rough dark fabric, face obscured by a cracked bone mask that covered most of his features. What little skin showed beneath was weathered, scarred. The mask itself wasn’t decorative; it waswarped,jagged, as if it had been torn from something still living.
His presence said more than words ever could.
The detonator sat loosely in his hand, the thumb resting casually against the trigger. Explosives had been strapped to support beams. Wires taped to corners. Everyone had seen them. Everyone understood the threat.
He’d already blown up the entrance.
He hadn’t offered a single explanation. Hadn’t minced about with words. Just said in a gravelly voice, “You try anything, you die. You try to run, youalldie.”
That was it. No speeches. No posturing.
