Page 53 of Havoc

His next move was for his gun—but I was faster.

One gut punch dropped him hard. He stumbled, and I was on him, snatching the weapon before it hit the ground. He was breathless, clutching his ribs, and I could tell his brain was short-circuiting.

He was panicked. Humiliated.

Then he reached for his boot.

Shit.

A blade flashed, and he charged me like we were in some cheap bar brawl.

We went down hard—rolling in the mud, fists and fury flying. Rain started hammering us from above, thunder cracking loud enough to shake the trees. We were soaked. Filthy. Locked in a brutal fight. And then—he was on me. Knife raised.

I knew that look in his eyes. He meant to end it.

But then something shifted. I heard it before I saw it—a low, bone-deep growl.

Slater heard it too.

His gaze lifted over my shoulder. His face drained of color.

That’s when I saw Nine—charging from the trees like a damn myth. Towering, furious, feral. Right behind him, Mace stormed in, face set with purpose.

Slater staggered back fast, slipping in the mud as Nine stalked forward, lip curled, snarling low and deep.

“What the hell is that?” Slater choked out.

I pushed to my feet, winded, muddy, victorious. I flashed him a vicious grin.

“He’s exactly what he looks like, numb nuts. A predator. And he’s got better instincts than you.”

Slater scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed and filthy, then bolted for his cruiser. Nine lunged after him, a mass of snarling muscle and snapping jaws. Slater cursed a blue streak as he slammed the door and fumbled for the ignition. The patrol car fishtailed in the mud before peeling out, disappearing in a cloud of dust and humiliation.

Nine didn’t give chase for long. He barreled after the car until the tree line stopped him, tail high and triumphant. The predator in him knew—he had won this round.

I pushed to my feet, spitting out blood and wiping my busted lip with the back of my hand. My ribs were bruised, my shirt ripped, and my neck scratched to hell from the tip of Slater’s knife. But I was standing. Which meant I had won.

Mace appeared in front of me, his brows drawn tight. “What the fuck was that? Does Storm know you’re out here throwing fists with a cop?”

I gave him a friendly slap on the back. “You’ve been out of the loop.”

“No kidding,” he muttered. “Had a regional meeting for the tribe. What did I miss?”

“My whole life blew up. That’s the short version.”

But then my eyes found Riley—frozen on the porch, pale and shaking. Her lip trembled, and for a moment, I saw the part of her she tried to hide. The one that was still scared.

I moved fast.

She met me halfway, throwing herself into my arms like she couldn’t hold herself up another second. She was crying—really crying. It gutted me.

“He... he tried to kill you.” Her voice was broken, hoarse. “If Nine hadn’t come, he would’ve stabbed you. He would’ve killed you, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.”

I held her tighter, my hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “You already know, sweetness. I’m hard to kill. Slater wasn’t ready for me.”

She pulled back just enough to touch the scratch on my neck. “He drew blood,” she whispered. “He messed up your tattoo.”

The way she said it—like my bloodshed somehow shamed the art etched into my skin—just about broke me.

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