Martinez and Delaney had squared off against Connor Malone and the newest member of the team, Max Lowry. Their claws were out, their canines were extended, and their eyes gleamed gold. All they’d done so far was slash each other up, but their faces and jaws were changing shape even now, which meant bites would be coming next, and they were much tougher to recover from. Worse, Malone’s back was already starting to bunch up in that way it did before a full shift. And if Malone shifted into his two-hundred-and-forty-pound wolf form, someone was probably going to get killed.
Gage let out a deep growl and waded into the midst of the brawl, letting his fangs slide out in a partial shift as he started laying backhanded swings that sent people flying. The moment he had them separated, he grabbed Malone by the shoulders and yanked him off his feet, then slammed him against the remaining mirror hard enough to shatter it like the others. Then he bared his teeth and let loose a snarl loud enough to be heard well outside the compound. He didn’t care who heard—he wanted their full attention and he wanted it now.
Malone immediately relaxed in his grip while Martinez, Delaney, and Lowry took a few steps back.
Gage held on to his lead sniper until the man had completely shed any vestige of his wolf form. By the time he turned to look at the other three, they had shifted back, too. There was no evidence of the werewolves they’d been—except for the bloody claw marks covering their bodies and shredding their uniforms. Gage didn’t shift back. He wanted them to get a good look at his yellow-gold eyes and gleaming fangs.
“What the hell is wrong with the four of you?” he demanded. “I walk in here expecting to find a team of professional cops, and instead I find you acting like a bunch of freaking out-of-control Chihuahuas.” He pointedly looked around the room at the broken mirrors, crushed weight benches, and torn mats. “We paid to renovate this weight room out of our own pockets and you’ve wrecked it with your bullshit. Somebody here better start talking fast or I’m going to give in to my first instinct and have you all transferred to bicycle patrol handing out parking tickets downtown.”
“They started it, Sarg.” To his credit, Delaney actually looked a little chagrinned at all the damage they’d done. “Martinez and I were talking about him getting shot in the arm, and Lowry said it happened because we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.”
Gage stared menacingly at Delaney. “The four of you tore up pack property because the new guy was trying to get under your skin?”
“That’s not the way it went down, Sarg,” Lowry protested.
“No?” Gage hoped like hell this new pup wasn’t about to say something that was going to get him buried. “So, how did it go down? Please tell me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gage saw Brooks and Nelson exchange a worried look. Like they thought he might snap someone’s neck. He’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d never do it, of course.
Unfortunately, these kinds of brawls happened a lot. Regardless of the formal rank structure placed on them by the Dallas PD, his wolves were constantly challenging the pecking order within the Pack as each cop tried to outperform the other and each squad tried to make its group look better. With all the new guys he’d brought in over the years, he shouldn’t be surprised the issue had come to a head again. Well, he was going to nip this competition shit in the bud right now. His team would be one, well-oiled unit, or he’d tear it down and start over.
“So?” he prompted Lowry again.
Lowry swallowed hard. Gage knew the man wasn’t actually afraid of him, but he was the unchallenged alpha of the Pack, and whether the younger guys knew it or not, that position came with a certain amount of inherent control over the other pack members. Standing this close to his pissed-off lead alpha, Lowry probably felt seriously uneasy for the first time in his life. Gage hated making any of his men feel that way, but he’d learned he had to either lead them by force of will or learn to live with chaos.
Gage didn’t like chaos.
“It’s was nothing, Sarg,” Lowry finally conceded. “We were just messing around and things got out of hand. It won’t happen again.”
Gage held him there until he was sure all four of them had firmly received the message. Then he lowered Delaney to the floor.
“No, it won’t happen again,” he agreed. “Because I’m breaking up your teams. Lowry, when Mike gets back, let him know you’ve been reassigned to Xander’s team, and that Delaney’s going to be your entry buddy. I want him to put you two shoulder-to-shoulder on every mission from this day forward.”
Gage ignored the look of shock on Lowry’s face and turned to look at Martinez. “I assume you got that arm looked at before you decided to get in a fight?”
The stocky man flexed his injured arm. “Yeah. Trevino fixed me up the moment we got back. It’s fine.”
“Good,” Gage said. “Because you’ll be taking Lowry’s spot on Mike’s team. Same thing applies—you’ll be tied to Malone every time the two of you walk through a hostile doorway.”
Martinez opened his mouth to argue, but Gage silenced him with a glare. Malone, on the other hand, was too fuzzy from his recent near-shift to keep his trap shut.
“But, Sarg, I’m your best sniper. I don’t usually go through doors.”
“You do now,” Gage told him. “So, I suggest you spend a lot of time with your new entry buddy and learn real fast.”
“Sarg, you can’t do this,” Delaney said. “We know we screwed up and we’ll fix everything, I swear. But you can’t break up Martinez and me—we’ve been on the same team for more than three years.”
“Then you’ll be able to bring Lowry up to speed on Xander’s tactics.”
“But Sarg—”
“Have you ever seen how tight the shorts are on those bike cops?” Gage asked.
Delaney snapped his mouth shut.
Gage looked at Brooks and Nelson. “Next time I expect you two to get in the middle of a fight and break it up—or you’ll be wearing the bike shorts. And I’m not sure they make any in your size, Brooks.”
The big African American shifted from one foot to the other. The ex–college fullback was probably envisioning himself in tight blue shorts and perched on a bicycle. Apparently, it wasn’t a very pretty image.
