Page 1 of Broken

Chapter 1

Cole Hunter had a list of things he and his wolf hated, starting with the desert, incompetent leadership, and drunken assholes getting in their face. High up on that list were also: bats, magic, being stuck underground, and brussels sprouts. And rats. If somebody shoots you in a dark damp claustrophobic underground tunnel, you better not go unconscious or run out of ammo, because the fucking rats will eat the living flesh right off your bones.

This was currently a pertinent piece of information, because he was in one of those dark damp tunnels right now. A brick-lined former smugglers’ tunnel running under the city of Louisville, Kentucky, to be exact. It was barely high enough for him to stand up in, with water dripping down the walls and the floor slick with moss, mold, and slimy shit he didn’t want to look at too closely.

And rats. Scuttling in the shadows, or dropping off a ledge with a ripe plop right in front of him, splashing slime on his ankles and making him curse.

But this was the mission, and once he committed to a mission, he always carried it out. Ride or die. Especially if there was an innocent life at stake. Not to mention the chance to take down the one person in the world he most wanted to kill: Thomas Riker—former special forces teammate, former right-hand man of an evil wizard, traitor, murderer, and all-around bastard.

With any luck, once Cole got through this damned tunnel, he’d finally get to do that takedown and make it stick. Every rat-infested cloud had a silver lining.

Riker had broken out of the prison Cole and his team had put him in a few months ago, after they’d killed the aforementioned evil wizard and broken his hold on Cole’s brother’s mate, Karisma. Cole’s boss at Outlaw Ridge, Thanatos, had tracked Riker to Louisville, and found out his purpose here—to locate and steal a powerful magical artifact.

Cole’s job had originally been to stop him, and, if possible, retrieve the artifact.

But Riker, true to his typical MO, had abducted an innocent woman and forced her to help him get what he wanted. Some kind of magic-user—a minor witch or sorceress, probably. Someone with the knowledge and power to get Riker through any magical wards—protective spells—between him and whatever the hell it was he wanted.

So Cole’s job had become more complicated, and mission priorities had shifted: extract the girl, grab the artifact, stop Riker. In that order, unfortunately. Although the third objective was murky as far as optimal execution. Thanatos wanted Riker alive for questioning. Cole wanted him dead.

It remained to be seen which of them was going to get what they wanted.

Cole paused at an intersection in the passage, pulling out his phone to check the tunnel map he’d downloaded. The light from the screen looked faint and futile, barely making a dent in the oppressive darkness of the tunnel. The smell of mold was about to choke him.

He glanced down at the screen—but it wasn’t the map. It was one of the few decent photos of Riker’s captive that the Ridge’s techs had managed to hack off the various traffic and security cams they’d been monitoring. She was looking over her shoulder, fear and uncertainty in her wide blue eyes. Her skin looked soft, creamy, but her mouth had a firmness that hinted at strength, and her red hair hinted at temper. She had unusual slanted eyebrows that gave her a mischievous look, a quirk of humor.

Cole’s stomach clenched, as it always did when he looked at the photo. He didn’t know why; he could usually keep his emotions out of the job. He and the Outlaw Ridge team had rescued dozens of victims over the years, some of them from horrific situations. The only way to help them was to keep a clear head. Emotion clouded judgement, and clouded judgement led to mistakes.

Mistakes ended in dead victims.

But there was something about this particular victim. Maybe the vulnerability in her eyes, caught by the camera when she wasn’t aware of it; maybe because Cole knew what it was like to have someone make you do things you didn’t want to do, so they could get what they wanted.

Maybe it was just Cole’s intimate knowledge of all the evil shit Riker in particular was capable of. Nobody deserved that.

But he couldn’t let her get to him. What she did deserve was his total focus. All business, no sentiment. Angrily, he swiped the photo away and pulled up the map. Time was ticking, and he was getting that prickly feeling across the back of his neck that meant trouble was coming.

He had to find Riker and the girl before it went down.

After studying the map for a moment, he stuck the phone back in the pocket of his combat vest, letting his wolf vision readjust to the darkness. He needed to take the right-hand turn, then the door leading to the hidden sub-basement should be thirty feet down on the right.

He trailed his fingers along the wall as he counted paces. There it was—a barely perceptible vertical break in the brick wall. Crouching down, he ran his fingers over the wall until he felt the worn carving in one of the bricks. A circle, with a flame inside it.

He pressed on the brick, and with a grating sound, part of the wall moved away from him and slid aside.

Another tunnel—this one dry with concrete walls. And pitch dark—not even his wolf vision could see anything in this one. Cole activated the light strapped to his vest. It was a risk, making him a possible target, but he didn’t have time to stumble around in the dark. His instincts said he needed to hurry.

He moved down the passage as silently as possible, counting strides again to measure his distance, alert for sounds or scents of enemies. Nothing.

At sixty feet, he stopped. There was the metal access door, right where it was supposed to be.

He turned off the light, listening again. Behind the door he could hear faint voices, but he couldn’t make out any words.

He sprayed the door hinges with synthetic oil from his utility belt, then used a small wand Thanatos had provided to check for magical wards or traps. There was a faint magical residue, but nothing active. Either Riker and his sorceress had taken down the wards, or someone had beaten them to it.

The prickling in his neck had spread down between his shoulder blades. Like someone was about to knife him in the back.

He eased the door open. The first thing that hit him was a whiff of decay. Something had died in there—probably a long time ago.

A little farther, and he could see into the sub-basement.