Oh.
“Just hurry up. That idiot is going to go after Trevor.”
A moment later, his chains were unlocked and he was dropping into the arms of someone he never expected to see in the pits of hell. It took him a few moments to gain his footing and be able to look into the face of the man helping him.
“What in the fuck are you doing here, Boston?”
“Saving your ass,” Boston replied as he slid his arm around Boone’s waist. “Can you make it?”
“I need to shift.”
“Well, be quick about it. We need to get out of here before they figure out what we’ve done.”
“Speak for yourself. I didn’t do a thing. I was just hanging there. You’re the one who put a poker through Jughead over there.”
“Just shift already.”
Boone dropped to his hands and knees. As he shifted, he watched Boston chain Karl up just as he had been chained up. It wouldn’t fool people for long, but it might give them the time they needed to escape.
Boone breathed a sigh of relief when he shifted back. There were still a few places he was tender, but for the most part, he was healed. He was pretty sure he’d shifted in time not to have any lasting damage.
“Come on, we need to get out of here. I have a car waiting for us down the road.” Boston pulled his flannel shirt off, leaving him in just a T-shirt. “Here, put this on. People are going to ask questions if you’re walking around with no shirt on.”
Made sense.
Boone quickly pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up, grimacing as the extra-large shirt hung on him. “I look like I’m playing dress-up.”
“Well, it’s either that or Karl’s shirt.”
“Yeah, no.” Damn thing had a hole in it the size of a fireplace poker. It was also a little creepy to wear the shirt of a dead man. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Stay close, keep your head down, and do exactly what I tell you to do. You’re deep in the bowels of hell. We have a few assholes to go through before we reach freedom.”
“I don’t suppose you have another one of those?” Boone asked when Boston pulled out a handgun.
Boston rolled his eyes as he reached into the back of his pants and pulled out another pistol, then handed it over. “Try not to shoot me.”
“I’ll try,” Boone replied as he checked the magazine and then slapped it back into place, “but I make no promises.”
Boston just shook his head before opening the door and stepping out. Boone made sure he stayed on Boston’s heels. He wasn’t sure a gun was going to be all that useful if they were surrounded by shifters, but it might slow one or two of them down.
“Where in the hell are we?” he whispered.
“It’s an old warehouse about an hour outside of Potter’s Creek. I think your uncle was using it as a base of operations because the road out front leads to the Potter’s Creek Pride, the Mihos Pride, the Marshall Pride, and the de Luca Pride.”
“Fuck.”
That wasn’t good.
“He’s been pretty determined on finding the rat bastard,” Boston said.
“He seemed disappointed when I told him the good news.”
Boston grinned. “Wish I’d been here for that part.”
“We need to put a warning out and call the Feline Council. They need to know this asshole is on the loose.”
“They know,” Boston replied. “I reported in yesterday, before he took you.”
