Rolling down the driver’s side window, Colter shouted, “Get in.” He shot a surprised glance at Dante, but said nothing else.
Murphy leaped over the hood, landing gracefully on the other side. He all but ripped the passenger door open, climbing inside on unsteady legs.
“We need to get to Nessa’s teahouse. As soon as fucking possible,” Murphy explained, barely remembering to click his seatbelt into place as the others climbed into the back seat. Just because he was hard to kill that didn’t mean a bad enough car wreck wouldn’t end his life prematurely.
“I gathered that.” The doors clicked shut and Colter threw the SUV into drive, slamming down on the gas pedal and flooring it. “Can someone explain along the way?”
Panic and fear.
That was all Murphy felt as Colter pulled into the parking spot outside Nessa’s Teahouse. The lights inside the establishment were turned off aside from one dim lamp set beside the register, illuminating the lobby as he stepped from the SUV and ran to the store’s front door.
Jasper met him as soon as he stepped inside, his shirt littered with bloody holes. Deep red stains covered his entire torso and the front of his jeans, the sight causing Murphy’s heart to constrict with worry.
Noticing the pinched look on Murphy’s face, Jasper murmured, “I’m fine. My bear shifted as I was coming to, so the gunshot wounds are all healed.”
He ran a hand through his light brown hair, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Murph. I didn’t realize the danger until it was too late. I thought I could fight them off, but one guy shot me while I was fighting the rest. I was afraid he’d hit Nessa, so I didn’t move and blocked the other shots.” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s all my fault—”
“No,” Murphy cut off angrily. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have been more transparent about the danger. I should have been here.”
Fuck!He’d never forgive himself for this.
Murphy slid a shaky hand down his face, the scent of his brother’s blood and his mate’s lingering fear stinging his nose. Other scents were prevalent, too. Specifically, the four unknown human males, each with differing colognes and odors that made his nostrils burn.
Dante kneeled, leaning over low to the ground, Marcus following suit as they inspected the lobby floor. They both inhaled, drawing the scents into their lungs. While normal shifters could draw in each scent and, with concentration, figure out approximate details, trackers could isolate their quarry instantly, determining which scent belonged to who in a matter of seconds.
Once they learned a scent, they never lost it, never confused it with another, even if it was coated in something foul or barely perceptible in the air. For trackers, a scent was easy to pick up on the wind, or from even miles away, as long as the one they searched for spent more than a minute or two outside.
“Dante, you’re here …” Jasper trailed off, noticing the other male, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“He’s helping,” Murphy said simply.
“Noticed cameras outside. Gonna check the office for any security footage.” Colter pushed away from the lobby and headed into Nessa’s office.
“How much of a head start do they have?” Murphy asked his younger brother, forcing his voice to remain steady and calm. His rising panic wouldn’t help the situation, but a level head could make all the difference in finding his Nessa.
“I think I was only out for a few minutes before my bear forced the shift. I reached out to you as soon as I could. Add in the time it took you to get here … A little over an hour,” Jasper guessed.
Too long,his bear whined pitifully.He’s had her for too long.What if he’s—
Murphy cut that thought off abruptly, refusing to let it finish. Bile rose in his throat though, a new fear setting in that he hadn’t allowed himself to ponder until now.
Tony was a sick son of a bitch. If he hurt Nessa … If hetouchedher …
“Got something!” Colter shouted from the office.
Murphy stalked into the room, making a beeline to where the other male stood behind the computer.
He turned his attention to the monitor, staring at the recording of the surveillance footage from Nessa’s abduction.
Two males carried Murphy’s limp mate from the teahouse, not even trying to be discreet as they tucked her body into the trunk of a gunmetal gray car. She had duct tape wrapped around her wrists and ankles and another piece covering her mouth. Her eyes were shut, her chest rising and falling steadily.
She didn’t look harmed, not from the grainy image, but they’d rendered her unconscious somehow.
Trailing after Nessa’s captors were two more males, one walking with a pronounced limp and the other with a busted lip, the latter appearing far more angry than the first.
“That’s their leader,” Jasper pointed to the male with the split lip. “He was giving the orders and the others followed like puppets. He wanted Nessa alive.”
“Tony,” Murphy snarled. “He’s a gang leader. Nessa’s ex-fiancé,” he supplied, his vision turning a hazy sheen of red the longer he stared at the male responsible for his mate’s abuse.
