My heart stopped for one beat.
He knew me too.
He rushed forward, faster than the first man.
Our arms locked, muscles straining, breath hot between us as he drove me back.
“You don’t remember us,” he rasped.
“I never knew you,” I growled.
He pressed the blade harder, forcing me down toward the steel desk edge.
“But she does.”
A cold bolt of fear shot through me.
“Don’t talk about her,” I snarled.
“She remembers us,” he whispered. “Somewhere in that little head of hers. And she remembers what she was supposed to be.”
Rage shot through me with blinding force.
I shoved forward with everything I had, slamming him backward into the pillar. His skull cracked hard against concrete.
He staggered.
I didn’t.
I grabbed his wrist, jammed my shoulder into his ribs, twisted, and sent the blade skittering across the floor.
Trigger dove for it.
Havoc barreled back into the fight.
Sheriff Tate fired, forcing the attacker to retreat toward the maintenance hatch.
He slipped through the gap — disappearing into the ventilation shaft.
But not before turning, meeting my eyes, and saying:
“You can’t protect her, Wolf. She belongs to us.”
I lunged —
but he vanished into the darkness like smoke pulled by a draft.
I slammed my fist into the wall.
“Damn it!”
Trigger panted. “Two men inside the sheriff’s office. One in the vents. One vanished. They’re everywhere.”
Saint said quietly, “This wasn’t an attack.”
Havoc wiped blood from his nose. “You kidding? Felt like an attack.”
Saint shook his head. “No. It was a demonstration.”
