It was a werewolf, and not one John was familiar with. He was huge—as tall as Carter—and he looked practically unhinged. John reached for his gun but before he could get it out of his holster the werewolf was on him.
He slammed John up against the elevator doors, wrenching his arms behind his back and nearly twisting them both out of their sockets.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened, and John’s attacker pushed him inside.
“You stink,” the werewolf growled, gathering both of John’s wrists in one hand and using the grip to keep him pinned to the wall. He pressed the number for Carter’s floor, growling when the light flashed red and a voice rang out, “This is a restricted floor. Please scan your keycard.”
“Where is the keycard?”
Carter didn’t say anything. This had to be Grayson, but what the fuck was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to know the location of Carter’s apartment.
“I will rip off your dick if you don’t answer me in five seconds, you filthy whore.” Grayson pushed John’s wrists even further up his back, making him cry out, and reached between his legs to cup his crotch.
John had never felt so violated in his life.
“Carter isn’t here. He’s at work,” John said, earning himself a swift and completely unexpected punch to the head. The impact of Grayson’s fist against his ear was like a thunderclap, and then everything was silent. John felt dizzy, his head throbbing, and he thought he might have passed out for a second.
“That’s not what I asked, now was it?” Grayson reached into John’s jacket pocket, finding his wallet and flipping it open without ever taking his hand away from John’s wrist.
The keycard to Carter’s elevator—nondescript and shaped like a credit card—was in the outer slot of John’s wallet.
Grayson didn’t ask which card was which. He just held the whole wallet up over the scanner, and when he pressed the number for Carter’s floor a second time, the light turned green and the elevator moved up.
“I’m going to take your balls for that,” Grayson said, his voice hard and mean. John kept silent, the absolute sincerity and surety of Grayson’s words terrifying him.
He’d never been so scared in his life.
The elevator doors opened and Grayson pushed him down the hall, stopping outside the door to Carter’s apartment.
Again, John wondered how he knew which apartment belonged to Carter. There was no hesitation in the alpha’s steps. He knew exactly where he was going.
Grayson rang the doorbell, and John wanted to scream out—to warn Elijah not to open the door—but his fear won out and he stayed quiet.
Elijah opened the door and John had never felt more ashamed.
“You little fucker!” Grayson growled, dropping John’s wrists and attacking his son like a madman. In seconds Elijah was on the floor, curled into the fetal position, Grayson standing over him and kicking him with all his might. “You thought I wouldn’t find out what you were planning? What did you offer Tiller to come challenge me? Your whore ass? Were you planning on letting him tie you up and beat you like the cunt you are?”
Grayson was screaming, each question accompanied by a kick that had Elijah’s whole body moving across the floor.
“You know why Tiller is sending his brother away, don’t you? He’s a fucking pervert. He’s going to fuck you up so bad you’ll wish you were dead.”
John stood there, shocked by the violence Grayson was inflicting on his son. He’d never seen anything like it.
Then he remembered that Grayson hadn’t taken his gun. The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. Hands shaking, John unholstered his weapon and aimed it at Grayson. Grayson saw the movement, and John managed to fire a single shot before the alpha was on him.
He was no match for a werewolf, even with a weapon in his hand.
John thought that his shot had hit its mark, but Grayson didn’t slow down. He took John down with a fist to his face, and John’s world went black. When he came to he was on the floor, slumped down and head pounding like he couldn’t believe, and there was a fight going on just a few feet away from him.
Forcing his eyes open John saw Grayson on his stomach, Elijah on top of him, the smaller wolf trying his best to choke his father out. Looking for his gun, John saw that it had been thrown to the other side of the room.
He didn’t think he could make it all the way over there.
“You evil shit-stain,” Elijah roared, squeezing down on his father’s throat and making his face turn red. “I fucking hate you!”
John watched as Grayson sputtered, hands grasping weakly at his son’s arm as he slowly lost consciousness. Looking down he noticed that there was a sizable pool of blood on the floor, probably the result of Grayson getting shot.
Elijah kept squeezing his father’s throat long after it was clear that the alpha was dead, tears running down his face as a litany ofI hate youspilled from his mouth.
