Trying not to, arsehole.
Car doors slam, and there’s a whispered, “Oh fuck,” from beside me. I think it’s my mystery-van friend.
Footsteps sound, getting closer and closer, but I keep my eyes closed and don’t bother to try and lift my head.
“What the fuck happened to him?”
I recognise that voice.
My head feels like cotton wool. There’s too much pain in my system to think clearly. To remember why it sounds so familiar.
“We ran into a bit of trouble,” Birch answers.
“How, exactly? You had the element of surprise. Kill the others and take Webb. It was that fucking simple.”
His name’s on the tip of my tongue.
Silence.
“Didyou kill the others?” the same guy asks.
“No.”
“For fuck’s sake, Birch.”
A low growl fills the air around us, and I snap my eyes open to see a knife pressed against Birch’s throat. Before I can laugh at the karma playing out in front of me, I see the face of the voice I couldn’t name.
Fucking hell.
Evan Fox.
Birch and the FBsareworking with the hunters. I need to tell Lynx. I need to?—
Fox’s gaze snaps to mine like he read the thoughts running through my head. Then he looks down, eyes narrowing. “You fuckingbithim?”
He whirls on Birch again, and two other hunters I hadn’t noticed before step up beside him. “I only wanted toscarehim, you fucking idiot.”
Birch growls again, and I’m expecting him to attack Fox any second for speaking to him like that, but he doesn’t move an inch.
“Jesus Christ.” Fox runs a hand through his hair, knife waving about as he continues to rant at Birch. “I wanted to get him away from Harper and scare the shit out of him so he’d never come back this way.”
I laugh, can’t help it, although it sounds a little unhinged.
“Something funny?” Fox snaps.
“Iwasleaving.”
“What?”
“When Birch kidnapped me, I was leaving the Wild Wolves.”
“But you’re their prospect.” Fox frowns. “You were with the others, riding to see a neighbouring pack.”
“They were escorting me elsewhere. I wasn’t going to the Trenton pack. I was leaving the club for good.”
“Fuck.” Fox stares at me, gaze flicking down to the wound on my neck and back up again. “When did you bite him?” he asks Birch.
“About six hours ago.”
