Bastard thought he could roll up and threaten Logan’s mate? Over his dead body.
“Come on,” Logan said softly for Nick’s ears only. “You did good. Kept your cool. I’m proud of you.”
Nick managed a smile, but he clung to Logan’s arm, a clammy desperation to the grip.
They got back to the table long enough to grab the half-eaten ice cream cups then beelined for the parking lot.
He helped Nick into the truck and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Then he slid behind the wheel, his hands trembling on the gearshift.
Nick stared out the window, his eyes huge. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to draw attention.”
Logan barked a laugh, short and mean. “Nothing to do with you, sweetheart. Trouble’s always been drawn to this bloodline. Let me handle it.”
He eased the truck out of the parking lot, keeping Nick close, one hand gripping the guy’s thigh. With each block they put between themselves and Mack, Logan felt the knot inside him loosen. But his wolf wanted all-out war.
The drive home wound up the mountain switchbacks. Not many cars, just trees and curves and the occasional deer darting out of the brush.
Logan kept eyes locked on the mirror, checking every car behind them. Old habits. You didn’t survive being part of this pack without learning to look over your shoulder.
“Almost home,” Logan said, not liking the silence.
Nick grunted. He glanced over, his face drawn. “You think Mack’s gonna make trouble?”
Logan didn’t sugarcoat it. “He’s never been able to leave shit alone. I’ve warned him. But next time, I finish it.” He reached over, his thumb brushing the inside of Nick’s wrist. “You’re safe. I’ll keep you that way if it kills me.”
Nick nodded, but Logan could tell the encounter had rattled him. He flexed his grip, needing the contact as much as Nick did.
They rounded a hairpin curve, gravel popping under the tires. That was when it happened.
A truck behind them, black and fast, coming up hot. Logan tensed, instantly alert. Bastard wasn’t even trying to hide.
Nick sucked in a breath. “He’s tailgating.”
Logan smiled, no humor in it. “He wants a show. We’ll give him one.”
The black truck swung wide, trying to pass on a double yellow. Logan floored the gas, the engine roaring as he took the curve.
Mack tried to run him off the road, slamming the front bumper into the rear quarter panel. The whole truck jerked, the tires sliding toward the guardrail.
Nick screamed, his hands grabbing the dash.
Logan held steady, muscles flexed, refusing to let Mack shove him off the edge. “Hold on, baby.”
Another slam from behind. Logan worked the wheel, leaning into the curve, using weight and speed to stay ahead.
He grabbed his phone with one hand, never letting up on the gas. He pressed Sloane’s speed dial, speaker on.
“Yo,” Sloane answered, cool as ever.
“Mack’s trying to run us off Kingsridge.”
For once, Sloane dropped the sarcasm. “On your tail. Keep him on the road.”
Logan laughed. “Oh, I plan on it.”
Mack gunned the engine, drawing up alongside. For a second, they were bumper to bumper, nothing but steel between them and a two-hundred-foot drop.
It was an empty threat. Logan knew how Mack drove. Predictable.
