Page 156 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“What the fuck!!” Nate says, stepping into the room.
“It was an ambush. They took us by surprise. Hardy tried to get her to the nest but …”
Hardy’s eyes drop to the floor, and more agonizing pain spirals through the bond.
“We were outnumbered,” Silver says, more to Hardy than to the rest of us.
I brace myself, expecting Nate to go for Silver’s throat, to blame him for letting Bea go.
But to my surprise he doesn’t, instead he walks up to Silver, cradles his arm in his hands and wrenches his shoulder back into place.
Silver grunts and even more pain flashes over his face.
“Thanks,” he groans with a grimace.
Axel points to the man in the chair, who much to my pleasure looks scared shitless. These weasels always are little hard men when they’re in their gang, but as soon as you get one on their own you discover they’re gutless, spineless creeps. There’s nothing hard about them at all.
“Is he one of them?” Nate asks, not waiting for an answer as he thumps the man in the gut.
“Yeah,” Hardy says. “Snakebites.”
I shake my head. “What the fuck do Snakebites want with Bea?”
“Same thing these scumbags always want with omegas,” Silver says through gritted teeth.
“They wouldn’t risk starting a war with us for that,” Axel says, glaring at the man quivering in the chair. “Not when they could easily groom omegas who don’t have a pack to protect them.”
“Drugs,” Connor mutters from the table, rubbing at his head, his eyes swimming about.
“What?” I say in irritation. We can deal with his fucking headache later.
“It’s like Dr. Clive said.”
I frown but Axel nods. He crouches down in front of the Snakebite. “Is that what it is? They’re hoping to use our omega in their bid to find a way to turn betas into omegas.”
“I don’t know anything.”
Axel grabs the man by the throat and squeezes until the man is choking, his feet scraping along the floor. Then Axel releases him. He gasps for air.
“Did that help loosen your memory?” Axel asks.
“All I know is our mission was to grab the girl and take out as many of you as we could,” the man wheezes.
“Failed there, didn’t you?” Nate says, opening a kitchen drawer and taking out a kitchen knife. He holds it up to his face admiring it, the light glinting off the metal. He shakes his head, returns the knife to the drawer and selects another. When he examines this one, a sinister smile spreads across his face which has the man in the chair leaning away.
Nate walks towards him.
“I like cooking,” he tells the gang member. “But if you want to be a good chef, you have to be good at chopping. Did you know that?”
That man stares at him, stunned. Nate lifts an eyebrow.
“No,” he mutters.
“It’s the first thing they teach you at cooking school apparently – how to chop real fast. I wonder how quickly I could chop up your little finger?”
The man’s eyes widen and he swings his gaze around the rest of us, trying to determine whether to take Nate’s threat seriously.
He’s obviously dumb as fuck. Everyone knows to take Nate’s threats seriously.
