Page 16 of Perfectly Leashed
Motorcycles cut through the last stretch of brush. In seconds, chrome surged past the crippled tow truck. Chopper was up, shouting to them about the gunmen. Shoulder on fire, Luca glanced around the front bumper again as Chopper took off to join them. Six pack members were already off their motorcycles, heading into the woods, Matias leading the way.
Easing back to lean against the passenger front tire, Luca’s breath was coming out heavier now. He kept his gun up until Santiago crouched beside him. Finally, Luca could let his body relax, which only made his wound hurt even worse.
“How we doing, hermano?” Santiago asked.
Luca grunted. “Took one, but still breathing.”
“You look like shit.” Santiago gently pulled aside the collar of Luca’s shirt. “So does this wound.”
Gunfire erupted, but Santiago remained steady, grinning down at Luca. “You got someone waiting for you at the tavern. How do you know my pizza guy?”
Pizza guy? “He’s a dog walker.”
“And he works at Furry Friends. That pet store on Fifth,” Santiago added. “I’m surprised he had a day off to hook up with you.”
Three jobs? And he’d chosen to use his one free day to spend with Luca? Damn if that didn’t touch him deeply.
The scuff of boots caught Luca’s attention. Matias rounded the car before crouching next to him. “How we doing?”
“Ready to do cartwheels.” His vision blurred at the edges. Sweat soaked his skin, beads dripping into his eyes, making them burn. “I think I need to pass out now.”
Matias grabbed him just as Luca slumped over.
* * * *
Drek didn’t stop moving until he’d put at least a quarter mile between himself and the shootout, hoofing it through rough brush and spiny undergrowth to where he’d parked his own gleaming SUV. He only slowed when the sounds of gunfire faded. Sweat stung his eyes and soaked the collar of his shirt, but he forced his breathing to steady, refusing to show weakness even alone in the wild.
Too bad he’d lost all five men, but they’d known what they were getting into. Their sacrifice helped Drek get away before those filthy wolves had a chance to end him.
The wolves would think they’d won a victory. Let them savor it for now.
Pausing at the edge of a disused cattle path, he doubled over with a ragged breath, finally letting go of the pain that throbbed along his leg from the bullet Luca had put there. That wolf had damn good aim. Drek spat in the grass and yanked up his pant leg to assess the damage. A gouge torn out in his calf, bleeding but clean enough. He could stitch it up later if need be.
He dug through the glove compartment for napkins or gauze but came up empty. Instead, he ripped off part of his shirt tail, wrapped it tight around his leg above the wound, and knotted it twice for good measure. It pinched hard, made him wince with every flex, but pain kept you alert.
Only after bandaging himself did Drek light a cigarette, striking the match against his teeth like he’d done since he was a juvenile. Smoke filled his lungs and slowed his heart rate to something manageable. Once upon a time he might have enjoyed this—fresh air, freedom—but these days nothing relaxed him other than sex or nicotine.
On an ancient flip-phone, he dialed the cops. No smartphone tracking for him. As it rang, he let himself sag against the SUV’s rear bumper, the tension finally easing.
“Emergency services,” came an operator’s distant voice after three rings.
Drek deepened his tone and added a tremor to sound frightened. “I want to report some shooting.”
He flicked ash into the wind while keeping one eye on the prairie horizon, scanning for movement just in case anything with fur or a badge crept up on him from behind.
“Can you provide your location and name?” the dispatcher asked.
Drek let silence hang just long enough to sell it before answering, “I’m not far from Hawk’s Ridge. I heard a lot of gunshots, really loud, and then engines racing away.” He didn’t bother hiding his contempt as he continued. “There’s been trouble lately with those bikers in town. They’re such a menace.” He coughed softly for effect, imagined himself as an elderly retiree peeking through curtains at hooligans tearing up the country road.
“We’ll send someone right away,” the operator assured him.
“Thank you,” Drek replied sweetly and ended the call before any more questions could be asked.
He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and took another drag from his cigarette as rain began to tick softly against the windshield. He loved storms. Their chaos suited him perfectly.
Last hyena alpha had been too unhinged. Rico had aimed too high, taken too many risks, and gotten himself killed in some filthy warehouse. But Drek knew how to play it smart.
With the wolves distracted by the police, they wouldn’t have time for him.
