Page 147 of Pack Choice
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“Yes. How are we going to get onboard though?”
I point to the other boats. They’re moored so closely together they form stepping stones across the water.
“Good idea,” Colt says, as River becomes rowdier and a small group of passersby stop and start to take photos. He jumps the gate and sways towards the boat and the door of the cabin flings open, a menacing man emerging out into the sunlight. He meets River at the edge of the boat, bending over the rail to speak to him.
I tug on Colt’s arm and we jump the gate to the boat beside us. The boat, like the others, is all locked up, there’s no gangplank, but I jump the space, grabbing for the rail and pulling myself on board. Colt does the same and we creep along the back of the boat, watching as River shouts in the alpha’s face. The man starts off calm, talking to River quietly, his eyes flicking to the security personnel behind him and the group of onlookers. However, as we reach the rear of the yacht, he loses his temper, skipping over the rail and landing on the harbor’s edge, coming to shout in River’s face. The door opens again and another alpha stumbles out.
“It’s them,” I tell Colt. I recognize them from the files. These were the men I was tracking back in South America, the ones that kept slipping through our fingers. I recognize the scar and tattoos.
“Come on then,” Colt says, leaping from the back of this boat to the front of the one moored behind. We race along the yacht this time, leaping quietly onto the next and then the next and then we’re hovering by the yacht in question. Both alphas are on the shoreline now, arguing with River and two of his security men. I can’t believe they’re this stupid. But Silver says the head of the pack, the one that was killed, was the brains behind the outfit. He’s been amazed they’ve avoided capture for so long.
I glance at Colt.
“Ready?” I ask.
He looks towards River anxiously and for all the bullshit and wise cracks between the two of them, I can see in his eyes how much he cares about the man.
“Yeah,” he says and as quietly as we can, we jump onto the boat. It sways a little as we land, rocking back and forth. We freeze, crouching down low. Nothing happens. The alphas are too distracted and there are no more twitches from the blinds, no opening of the door.
“There’s still their omega in there,” I say. Colt snorts like that isn’t a problem. “She’s clever. Don’t underestimate her.”
“You think she’d hurt Molly?”
“Molly’s brothers’ pack killed her alpha.”
Colt stares towards the cabin door. There are fairytales of omegas driven mad by the loss of their packmates. It seems like Colt himself may have lived through some version of that twisted tale. His jaw hardens.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs, and keeping low, hunched down, we race forward, reaching the cabin door without being seen.
Colt tries the handle. “Locked,” he hisses.
I barge him out the way and smash down on the handle with my gun. The door clicks open. “Old army trick,” I whisper, holding the gun in front of my chest and creeping inside. Almost immediately, I’m hit by two sets of scent, Molly’s and something more muted; a scent that may once have smelled floral but like a rose that has lived too long, has the tinge of rot and decay about it now.
“Lucas, is that you?” a shrill voice calls out from within the cabin.
I rest my forefinger against my lips and motion to Colt for us to move in the direction of the voice. As we creep through the luxury yacht, the scents become stronger and there is no doubt that we’re heading in the right direction.
“Lucas?” the voice shouts out again and when we don’t reply, the tone shifts to something darker and more sinister. “If you come one step closer, I will slit her throat.”
A woman steps into the cabin hallway, pushing Molly in front of her. Molly’s hands are tied behind her back, a rag stuffed into her mouth and the cold blade of a knife pinching the soft skin beneath her chin. Her gaze lands on ours and something flashes in them. Relief? Defiance? A warning? I can’t tell and I curse the fact I didn’t bond this girl the moment I laid eyes on her, because then we could be communicating through that bond, across the distance. I’d understand everything.
“Let her go,” Colt snarls, his gun trained forward.
The woman smiles, a twisted expression that makes her look half-mad. She’s wearing a scarlet halter neck dress. Despite this, I can see the white scars of teeth marks ringing her throat and the tattoo of a snake slithering up her neck.
“I don’t think so.”
“If you hurt one hair on her head,” Colt says.
“You’ll kill me?” The woman shrugs. “I’m half dead inside anyway.” She glares at Molly. “Her brothers killed my alpha.”
“Your alpha kidnapped their omega.”
The woman snorts. “She wasn’t theirs. They hadn’t even bonded her.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I say quietly in the gloom, “a ring, teeth marks. They’re just things. The connection, that’s what matters.” I stare at Molly and she stares right back and in that moment I swear it’s as if somehow the bond already does exist and I can read what she’s feeling, what she’s thinking, and in return she can read me. My message to her: we’re getting you the hell out of here, no matter what.
