Page 155 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
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Angel
Yet another doctoris talking to us; this one assuring us that Mom was simply dehydrated. He’s confident that they’ve returned her fluid levels to normal and for now she is perfectly stable and comfortable.
I nod along, a million questions bustling in my head, my eyes straying anxiously over my mom’s face, when alarm strikes out through my bond.
I wobble on my feet, grabbing to hold on to the nearest wall.
Something’s not right.
The thoughts scrabbling through the bond are desperate, angry, confused. I can’t make sense of them. I can’t understand what the hell is going on. One thing I know though, my pack is in trouble. That knowledge sucker punches me right in the gut.
“Axel!” I yelp. But I can see it in his eyes too. And when I turn to Nate, he’s already pacing towards the door.
“Fuck,” Axel mumbles, grabbing Molly by the shoulders. “Something’s going down. We’ve got to get back to the house.”
“What?” she says, the alarm spreading to her features too.
But there’s no time to stand around and explain, the three of us sprint through the hospital, knocking into trolleys and barging through waiting visitors as we do.
We dive into the car and screech out of the parking lot, breaking every damn speed limit in the city.
“What’s going on?” Axel asks me as he swerves the car around a bend, all three of us lurching sideways in our seats.
“Don’t know. It’s chaos. I can’t make sense of what’s happening. You?”
“Connor’s out cold,” Nate says.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Out cold? That is not fucking good.
As soon as we hit the driveway to the house, we can see just how ‘not good’ the situation really is. The gate is hanging off its hinges as if someone drove straight through it, the gravel’s all torn up to shit and the front door has been knocked in.
Before Axel’s parked up, me and Nate are out of the car and running towards the house, both of us reaching for weapons in our jackets.
As we fly through the open doorway, smoke billows into our faces, making us choke, our eyes streaming.
“Silver!” I yell. “Hardy!”
There’s no answer and holding an arm to my face I run down the hallway. There are bullet holes in the plaster, a man with his skull cracked-in dead at the bottom of the stairs and the lounge is ripped to shreds, furniture knocked over and glass everywhere.
I reach through the bond, searching for my packmates.
“This way!” I yell to Nate, motioning with my elbow and then sprinting further down the hallway to the kitchen.
I hesitate at the closed door, listening. I can hear muffled voices from within. Axel races up to join us and I raise my finger to my lips, my gun ready in the air. The other two copy, and then I swing back the door and storm inside.
I come face to face with the barrels of two guns.
“Fucking Hell!” Hardy yells. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed?!”
Hardy and Silver lower their guns and we lower ours. Connor’s slumped by the table, groaning, but at least he’s fucking conscious and there’s another man, tied to a kitchen chair. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt and on his neck is the tattoo of a hissing snake.
“Where the fuck is Bea?!” I yell.
“They’ve taken her,” Silver says, his bond flooding with pain and his voice quivering ever so slightly.
His right arm hangs from his shoulder at an odd angle and I can tell he’s dislocated it. A fat bruise blooms across Hardy’s cheekbone and dried blood is matted in Connor’s fair hair.
