Page 30 of Pack Owned
Part of me wants to bare my neck in submission, while another part frantically warns me to resist, to fight their pull. I’m caught in a tug-of-war between instincts, unsure which crazy side to trust.
“And what about those men who shot at us?” I bite my lip, thinking about the Nexus guards after the bus wreck.
“Kayla, it doesn’t matter.” Dane interrupts my worried thoughts, his voice strained, “You’ve gotta know we’d never let anything happen to you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Trust isn’t easily given, especially when every instinct screams to guard my heart against these men—their strength, loyalty, and the dangerous allure of them.
We roll to a stop in front of a huge, two-story mansion that I swear looks like it was pasted from a magazine. White columns, marble statues, and even a freaking water fountain with a wolf in the center howling at the moon as water cascades out of its mouth.
Holy fucking mansion, Batman!
After my initial shock of being shot at, my mind jumps back to Dane and his injury. If it wasn’t for both Dane and Liam blocking the doors, I’d have been out of the Jeep before it fully stopped. The urgency to care for Dane’s wound turns my stomach into a knot.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” I ask.
“Good call,” Liam grins. “He brings that thing with him wherever he goes.”
“Don’t complain, it saved your ass a time or two,” Dane grumbles. “The kit’s in the back.”
I search the back of the Jeep. Finding it, my hands shake as I follow them up the path to the front door.
Ryker grumbles, unpacking the Jeep, but Liam saunters over and unlocks the door, tapping a code on the alarm, and we step inside.
“Follow me to the kitchen.” Liam saunters ahead while I try not to glance up at the massive crystal chandelier overhead.
When the lights blink on, I gasp at the huge space and expensive-looking kitchen, the total opposite of my mom’s tiny, cluttered kitchen back home. This one is a cathedral of stainless steel and granite. Gleaming appliances line the walls, some with functions I can’t even identify. A massive island in the center holds a built-in stovetop and prep space that could feed an army.
Liam and Dane are on either side of me, but Dane pulls out a chair and plops down.
Large windows take up most of the back wall, offering a stunning view of a manicured garden bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The sight is breathtaking, but it does little to ease the knot of worry tightening in my gut.
“Aren’t you guys worried about a drive-by shooting with all these windows?”
“Nah.” Dane leans back in the chair, pulling his bloody shirt off, cringing when the fabric sticks to the drying blood on his shoulder. “We have the gate, security measures, and plus… all the windows are bulletproof.”
The sight of the wound fuels a protective fire inside me.
“You want me to do it?” Liam asks, his voice soft.
I shake my head. “No, I want to try, if that’s okay? It’s because of me he was shot in the first place.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Dane places a hand over mine. “I’ve dug out plenty of bullets from myself.”
“I want to do this.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the first aid kit in my hands, on the warmth of Dane’s hands. “Please.”
Dane nods and pulls his hand from mine.
Opening his medical kit, I pull out one of the disinfecting wipes, my hands shaking slightly. I try not to think about how I’ve never done this before—never had to dig out a bullet in someone.
Every careful dab with the wipe sends a jolt through me.
The scent of cedar and cinnamon from Dane, along with Liam’s sandalwood and sea breeze, is an intoxicating combination that makes my head spin. Both of their Alpha musks highlight every forbidden thought sizzling in my mind.
Thoughts of both of them pressed up against me, kissing me, touching?—
“Jeez, Kayla,” Dane chuckles, a hint of raggedness in the sound. “You disinfect like you’re defusing a bomb. Relax.”
My hands are shaking as I try to grab the stupid tweezers. Fingers clench around the tweezers, frustration warring with the growing anxiety churning in my stomach. This whole “playing doctor” thing is way more nerve-wracking than it looks on TV.
