Page 73 of Broken Wolf Heart
I follow Grey and Dutch out as fast as my injured ribs will allow, my stomach full of both determination and dread.
The driveto the warehouse is quiet; the only sound is the swish of the windshield wipers as they clear away the drizzle that’s falling. We take a navy blue Rolls-Royce Dutch found in Franco’s garage. Any other day, I’d be enjoying my first time in a car like this one, but today I’m distracted by what waits for us at the warehouse. Dutch drives, leaving Grey and me in the backseat. He holds my hand, but his face is turned toward the window, and he looks pensive. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but even without wolf hearing, there’s zero chance for privacy. So, I settle for squeezing his hand and sending as much comfort through our mate bond as I can muster around my own anxiety.
Just before we park, he leans in, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and pressing his lips to mine in a chaste kiss that feels like a promise of love and violence all rolled into one. I try not to overthink the fact that it comforts me more than any words could.
Crow meets us at the warehouse door, his face and knuckles streaked with dirt and blood. His hair is disheveled, and his gaze is wilder than I’ve ever seen it. Somehow raw and closed off at the same time.
He doesn’t speak. Just nods and leads the way.
Inside, the space is dim, barely lit by the overheads. In thelarge open bay, we pass a table stacked with files from the lab records they printed and went through yesterday. Dust swirls in the shafts of light as we make our way through the halls toward the back room where I already know they keep their prisoners.
Sure enough, it’s the same room I visited the night I first arrived in Indigo Hills. The room where Grey questioned and then killed Trucker—a vile man who betrayed his pack and preyed on young women.
I can’t help noting how I view Alvaro as no better than Trucker—and no less deserving of that same fate. How far I’ve come from that shocked and traumatized girl from just a few weeks ago.
When we finally reach the small room, Razor’s standing beside a folding chair placed in the center of the space, sleeves rolled up, blood on his knuckles. Crow slips by and moves to stand on the other side of the chair.
Alvaro is tied to the chair, his white shirt stained brown and red, his face and arms bruised and bleeding. Even so, there’s something smug about his expression that makes my stomach twist. Like he still thinks he’s in control.
“Looks like you’ve already started,” Grey says, toneless. “Learn anything interesting?”
Crow’s voice is low, wrecked. “He didn’t deny any of it.” He finally glances back at us. His eyes are hollow. “If anything, the bastard seemed proud that he served my mom up like a fucking lab rat for Franco’s whims.”
Silence.
My throat tightens. “Was she…? Are you…?” I can’t seem to get the words out, but we all know what I mean.
If Crow has the LAG gene, his wolf could become just as unpredictable as mine.
Crow turns fully now, expression unreadable. “He said the experiments happenedafterI was born. So, I wouldn’t haveinherited whatever the hell gene they were testing. It was just about her. And her wolf.”
“Against her fucking will,” Razor says the words like he’s delivering a verdict.
Alvaro merely snorts.
“He says it caused changes in her wolf. Lack of control. A darkness that—” Crow swallows hard. “That’s probably what drove her to do what she did.”
Horror blooms inside me like an inkblot across my chest. How can a person do something like that and laugh about it all these years later?
I don’t realize I’ve asked the question out loud until Alvaro lets out a ragged laugh, wet with blood. “She knew what she was signing up for when she married into this life.”
“That’s the thing. She wasn’t married,” Crow snarls. “You used her like she was nothing. And then you locked her away so you wouldn’t have to acknowledge what you’d done.”
“Not that your wife had it any better,” Razor puts in darkly.
“Gloria knows her place,” Alvaro mutters, but some of the cruel humor has gone out of his expression.
I don’t know the details of Gloria’s relationship with Alvaro, but judging from the look Razor wears, it’s not good.
“Yes, and you always knew your place, didn’t you?” Crow asks, the words more like a taunt.
“Generals make hard choices for the good of the pack.” Alvaro sneers. “Not that you’d know anything about being one.”
Crow’s fist cracks across Alvaro’s jaw. The general’s head snaps to the side. Blood sprays from his mouth, but he merely laughs then juts his chin at me.
“You gonna let the bitch watch?” he sneers through blood-stained teeth. “Show her how to take a beating like a fuckingwolf? Or was yesterday lesson enough?” When I don’t answer, he says, “You look worse than I do,alpha.”
My title drips with sarcasm.
