“Might want to cool it a little,” Ryker warned.
Heath’s hands clenched. If the asshole claimed Anya one more time like that, he’d lose all his teeth. “We’re not going to ask you again. How did you track Anya?” Heath knew without a doubt that nobody had followed them. Neither he nor Carl was leaving the alley until the truth came out.
Carl wiped blood from his chin and set his feet on the ice. His chest puffed out, and his smooth blond hair was matted to his head. Fury and an odd gleam lit his eyes. “You’re temporary, you know that? We share a connection based on psychology and the human mind. You’re all sorts of screwed up, and she knows it. We all know your violence is a mask, whack-job.” He turned toward Anya. “I’m sorry about what happened, but you have to claim some responsibility. There was a reason I turned elsewhere.”
Anya snorted and moved forward. “You’re such an idiot. Now go home.” She turned for the restaurant.
“No.” Carl grabbed her arm and jerked.
She yelped, her arms windmilling as her boots slipped on the ice. Landing with a crunch of ice, she winced and shoved to her feet.
The pained look on her face snapped the leash Heath had kept on his control. Drums sounded in his head, and his vision went black. He moved then, all muscle, no thought.
Sounds barely permeated his punches, his kicks, until strong arms wrapped around him from behind and threw him to the side. He grunted and pivoted back to his goal—a predator with no conscious. Images of battered and bloody women flashed through his head, from his mother to Loretta to others he’d tried to save over the years, adding a desperate strength to his hits. His fist plowed into Carl’s gut, and he felt a rib break across his knuckles.
Even then, he couldn’t stop.
“Heath!” Denver grabbed him again and yanked him away, while Ryker stepped in front of him, hands out, gaze concerned.
Heath growled and struggled against his brother.
“Stop,” Denver murmured into his ear, dragging him across the icy alley. “You need to stop now. Focus and breathe.”
Heath blinked. Pain exploded in his hand suddenly, and he glanced down at his battered knuckles. Blood flowed over his fist . . . most of it not his. He shook his head. Jesus. He’d lost his mind for a moment.
Ryker still faced him, blocking Carl, who was on the ground breathing heavily. “Get Heath out of here,” Ryker ordered Denver.
Heath froze. “Anya?” Slowly, he turned his head to see her next to Zara, her eyes wide and her face paler than the snow around them. Her lips quivered, and Zara put an arm around her shoulders to draw her away from the alley.
Oh God. What had he done? His body started to shake, and Denver loosened his hold.
Carl spit blood to the side and shoved to his feet using the brick building behind him. His face was already swelling, and blood flowed from his nose. A cut above his eye also bled profusely. “I hope you enjoy jail, dickhead,” he slurred through purpling lips.
Heath settled. What the hell had he just done to his entire family? If Carl turned him in, Sheriff Cobb would certainly find him. He partially turned toward Denver, his mind spinning. They barely had enough time to get free. This was his fault, and he’d deal with it. “Phoenix.”
Denver’s head jerked.
Ryker snarled. “We’re not to that point yet.”
“Yes, we are.” Heath shook his head. “You guys go, and I’ll wait for the cops with Carl.” His brothers had only minutes to get out of town, but they could do it. It was the first time he’d given the code word to run and now, and he meant it. He’d take the fall for this, even if it meant facing Cobb and Dr. Madison on his own. Hopefully the psychos had enough pull to get him out of jail before killing him. “Go ahead and call the cops, Carl.”
Anya shrugged off Zara and moved forward.
Heath pivoted to halt her. “I’m sorry, Anya. I really am.” He’d give almost anything for her not to have seen him in a violent rage. Carl wasn’t even that dangerous. This was on Heath. Only Heath. The pressure had been building since he’d found Loretta’s bruised and battered body, and now it had just exploded. In front of Anya. “This is rare. I promise I don’t lose it like this often.”
“Not ever,” Denver said grimly. He reached out and awkwardly patted Anya’s arm. “Honest. He’s usually the one in control around here. Smooth and smart.”
Ryker nodded, his alert gaze sweeping the alley. “This is new.” Apparently seeing no additional threats, he focused on Anya. “It won’t happen again. Heath won’t ever lose his control like this again.”
Man. His brothers sounded like they were covering for him with a school principal. Even now, after Heath had put their lives in jeopardy, they had his back. God, he’d miss them, but they had to go. His only options were to kill Carl or let the moron call the cops. “You’re lucky I’m not a killer, Carl,” he muttered.
Denver shrugged. “I’d be okay with it.”
Carl sucked in air.
Heath fought a grin. Denver let spiders go if he caught them inside. Yet the man gave a good bluff. “I guess we could consider it,” he said amenably.
Apparently Heath didn’t bluff as well.
