The mess of papers littered the room, caught my eye. They needed more than information. They needed me to lead, even when my mind was already halfway back to Texas and a fucking broken bond.
“Wrecker,” I barked. “You know he’s in Central America. You said he can’t move the operation, and I don’t give a damn what trail you think we’re on, but I know you wouldn’t fuck it up.” My words came fierce, harsh. I trusted little outside the circle I’d built, but Wrecker had always been solid. And he wasn’t the one who failed Juliet. “Keep at it. Any update at all?”
The room held its breath as his fingers flew across his keyboard. Then he finally spoke, all quiet calculation behind his glasses and the stubble he always let grow too long. “Panama City. Chatter says his plane was there yesterday.”
My eyes narrowed, seeing only what mattered, blind to everything else. My voice rose to a snarl. “That means he’s gotta be close to there.”
A low murmur from the group, passing in looks and not words. A reluctant acceptance. They knew I wouldn’t let this rest until it rested in Harrison’s grave. “Wrecker. Arsenal. Papa. Doc. Anyone got a problem stayin’ the course?”
Arsenal, quiet and easy, locked eyes with me. “You good to do this, Bronc? ’Cause we’d follow you straight into the pits of hell.”
They looked at me again, measuring. I felt their strength filling me, lifting me.
Menace was next to me first, his scarred hand gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise a human. “Alpha,” he said quietly—not Bronc, not Liam—using the title like an anchor thrown into stormwater. “Talk.”
“It’s gone,” I rasped, staring at my splayed fingers as if they might hold answers. “The bond.”
Silence pooled thick as jungle humidity around us until Doc swore under his breath and kicked a chair aside to kneel beforeme. His medic’s gaze flickered over my face like he was assessing battle damage. “Severed or suppressed?”
“Does it matter?” I snarled with a growl that vibrated in my throat. Juliet was gone—her light snuffed out or stolen away, and every instinct screamed that it was Hastings’ doing. That bastard had carved his claim over her like rot sinking into wood…
Arsenal stepped forward then, his boots crunching gravel as he blocked the tent flap against prying eyes outside. “It matters because we need intel,” he said evenly, though his jaw flexed like he was biting back fury of his own. “If they hid her somehow—”
“They didn’t hide her.” Wrecker slammed a satellite image onto the table—blurry shots of the Costa Rican coastline taken three days prior. “They broke her.”
The words hung there for half a heartbeat before Menace wheeled on him with claws out and fangs bared—only to freeze when Big Papa stepped between them effortlessly, all 6’5” of muscle wrapped in calm authority that even other Alphas couldn’t ignore. “Enough.” His gaze swept over us all like rainwater rinsing ash from stone. “Battling each other won’t bring our Luna home.”
OurLuna. Theirs, not just mine. Always theirs. The pack bond shivered around me then—not Juliet’s delicate thread, but dozens of others entwined with mine: rage and worry and resolve pumping through every connection until my teeth ached with it. Their faith, their strength flooded into the hollow space she left behind.
Wrecker exhaled sharply through his nose and stabbed a finger at the map. “Heads-up came from Fort Meade an hour ago: encrypted chatter on Hastings Pharma servers flagged keywords tied to shifter bloodwork trials. Lab location still unconfirmed, but—”
“But we track it,” Arsenal finished for him, thumb brushing his sidearm holster reflexively. “Same way we tracked Al-Qaeda supply routes. Grid sectors, sat sweeps, local bribes. Sooner or later, they slip.”
Doc snorted, pulling a flask from his vest to toss at me. “Hastings isn’t insurgent-grade smart. Rich boys cut corners everywhere.”
The bourbon burned going down, but I welcomed it. Let it fuel the fire spreading through my chest as I stood, the Alpha voice rumbling low: “Then we make him bleed for those cuts.”
Menace crossed arms over his chest, mirroring my stance. “Pack moves as one. Your orders?”
Orders. Not pleas, not doubts—just pure certainty radiating from every man in that tent: They believed. In me. In her. In bonds, no knife could truly sever.
I met each of their stares: Wrecker with his tech-filed glare, Arsenal sharp as sniper focus, Doc steady-handed even now, Big Papa grounding us all like bedrock… and finally Menace: my brother, riding shotgun through hell since Kandahar days.
“We head out,” I said at last, palming Wrecker’s satellite images. “Shadow teams comb grid sectors here, to Panama City.”
I shrugged, already striding toward the exit. “Let them bitch. We collect debts tonight. Move out in twelve.”
As they dispersed, Big Papa lingered by my side, voice dropping below human hearing range: “She’s alive, Alpha. You know that.” Not a question-a statement woven with faith deeper than marrow.
I doI thought, watching dawn bleed gold over mist-choked treetops ahead. Because Juliet wasn’t just mine now, she was pack. And Hastings had no idea what hell looked like when you stole from wolves.
Chapter 27
Harrison
Ifound her perched on the edge of the bed like a wounded bird, wrapped in a towel. “JULIET.” My voice cracked through the room like a whip as I loomed over her trembling form. She’d deliberately ignored my instructions, left her hair dripping wet after her shower, no makeup staining that blank canvas of a face. Her defiance tasted bitter on my tongue, but oh, how I’d savor crushing it.
“I gave you instructions for when you exited the shower.”
