Page 125 of Nest of Thieves
I have to make sure Vette is okay.
If he’s hurt, the Vipers will pay. I continue along the wall, stopping when I reach the next dead body. This man’s neck and body are coated in blood; his carotid artery must have been shot. A metallic tang spoils the air. I swallow and force my gaze away, listening closely for whoever killed this guy.
There are no sounds, so I continue on. The hair on the nape of my neck rises, and I glance behind me just as a hand clamps over my mouth and another knocks the gun from my hand. The weapon clatters to the ground. I buck and shriek into the hand, but Lark’s jasmine scent blankets me. Even though he’s been avoiding me, his presence is reassuring. With him, I’m safe.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice hard and pissed.
I buck again, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Huffing, I try to speak into his hand, but the words come out muffled.
“It doesn’t matter. You need to leave.”
Like hell. If they’re here, so am I. For better or worse, I’m in deep with this pack, and I can’t stomach the thought of waiting at home for them, hoping they’ll survive. I’d rather be here and die alongside them than wait.
Footsteps pound in our direction.
“Shit,” Lark mutters, dropping into a crouch. I have no choice but to follow him down. “Don’t scream.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I nod to let him know I understand, and his fingers slip away from my mouth. I crane my neck to look at him, but his eyes are hyper-focused on scanning the room, searching for the threat.
A harsh breath comes from a few rows over, toward the exit. Lark shushes me, even though I haven’t said anything. Creeping forward, Lark squat-walks down the wall. I stand and run on quiet feet to retrieve my gun. When I spin around, Lark is glaring at me, but he can stay mad. I refuse to be the helpless omega without a gun, especially in the middle of a gunfight. Meeting him against the wall, I slide into a crouch and lift an eyebrow.
He shakes his head slightly, almost like I’m baffling him, before focusing on whoever is panting around the corner of the next row of pallets. Excitement tremors through me.
What sort of person gets off on this type of shit?
There are at least three dead people in the building, but after what the guys told me about the trafficking ring, I can’t say I feel bad for these assholes. Lark cuts his gaze to me and motions me forward.
I furrow my brow. Me?
He nods.
Fine. These bastards are threatening my pack. I may not be an official member of the pack, but these men are mine. Everything in the room fades except the ragged breathing and my pounding heart. I stand and quietly walk to the front side of a pallet, pressing against it and listening.
“I know you’re there,” a man says. “I can smell you.”
I frown. I shouldn’t smell at all.
“Jasmine. I hate that scent. Reminds me of my grandmother’s perfume.”
Oh. He means Lark.
I glance at the alpha. He gives me a nod of encouragement.
“Would your grandma approve of what you do? Giving people bad drugs. You know six people have died so far, right?” Lark asks in a quiet voice so as not to draw more attention to our location.
“My grandmother wouldn’t give a shit about what I do.”
“What about trafficking? The kids?” Lark presses, and I scrunch my nose.
Why is he drawing this out? His eyes bounce from me to what little of the row he can see. Understanding dawns. He wants me to know who I’m killing and why.
“We were all kids once.” The guy laughs softly. “Everything has a price.”
Motherfucker. He’ll only do more fucked-up shit if he leaves with his life. My mind pictures Mac as a kid, being sold off by his dad. My soul cries at the injustice. He was so young. They’re all so young. This man has to die. I click off the safety and the guy shuffles back.
“Come on, then,” he whispers. “Try and kill me.”
