Page 83 of Rogue Wolf Hunter

“And you ran to the very room we were in?” Damon barked, wild with frustration.

But Jace was already army-crawling his way into the tightened space. Fuck, he was not built for stealth. Damon and then Trent followed a moment later. He heard Trent replacing the vent just as the office door caved in.

Jace waited a moment, holding his breath as he waited for the sound of bullets, for the holes to pepper the metal sheet beneath him, before slowly, silently, they eventually heard someone close the door. They made their way through the enclosed space, not bothering to question it. But it wasn’t until all three of them had dropped down onto the floor in an adjacent office space down the hall that Jace allowed himself to breathe.

“Couldn’t they have at least pulled some badass Die Hard shit?” Trent faked a frown, before he smiled impishly.

“Fuck you, and your movie loving bullshit,” Damon snarled.

Jace could scarcely believe that for once,hewas the voice of reason. “Can it,” he said, mimicking Damon. His eyes flashed to his wolf, and to his surprise, the sight seemed to spark some sense in his friends, because the other hunters fell silent then.

Together, the three of them made their way out into the hall again, nearly making it to the edge of the facility without incident, before Ash rounded a corner and collided with them.

Jace had never seen the ghost hunter move so fast.

“Chet,” he panted. “Following.”

“Shit.” Jace shoved his friends toward the facility door ahead of him. “I’ll handle it. Leave that asshole to me.” No way was he letting them take the fall for this. Thankfully, the side-entrance had already closed behind them by the time Chet rounded the corner, his eyes darting straight to where Jace lay in wait in the hall of the old lab facility.

Anything to buy his friends time.

He was already up to his eyeballs in all this Headquarters shit.

What was one offense more?

Chet’s dark eyes practically glimmered with unfettered hatred. In his own sick way, the bastard enjoyed this. “I thought I warned you that you’re dead, McCannon.” The region lead lifted his nine-millimeter, aiming it toward Jace, as Jace drew simultaneously drew the Mateba.

To think, he’d spent years out west but he’d had to haul his ass all the way back to the east coast to finally have a full on western shoot-out. Only Quinn Harper, his division lead back in Montana, would have found the humor in it.

Jace stepped forward, aim locked on Chet and unafraid. No way was this bastard getting to him again. “You see, Chet, the thing about threats is...you have to actually follow through with it.” Jace fired at Chet without warning, causing the hunter to duck once more, but Jace surged forward, drawing again only once he was standing point-blank, barrel to the man’s forehead.

“Give me your gun,” he commanded.

Chet snarled, but a moment later, he handed the weapon to him.

Jace kept the Mateba steady, staring Chet down as he refused to move. His eyes flashed to his wolf. He wasn’t about to kill a fellow hunter at point-blank range, but Chet didn’t know that. Hell, if he knew why, but he couldn’t do it.

Not when he’d once considered them on the same team.

Jace wasn’t a monster. Not like his old man.

He never would be.

“Come at me or mine again and next time, I’ll kill you for it.”

“Is that a threat?” Chet sneered.

“No.” Jace shook his head. “That’s a promise.”

Slowly, he backed toward the side-door. Chet’s gun still in his hand. He lifted the nine-millimeter and gave it a little wave as he slipped out the door. “Thanks for this.”

Before the door even shut behind him, Jace beat feet, running into the woods so fast his peripheral vision was a blur. He didn’t stop moving until he was safely in the van. The sounds of the guards and the other hunters pouring from the facility in search of him followed.

“Drive!” he shouted, once David had slammed the van door behind him.

“Pleasetell us you offed Chet?” Trent made a set of praying hands like he was pleading.

Jace shook his head.

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