Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Shafts of light streamed through the roof beams, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. Like with most other sheds, the walls were lined with garden tools, paint cans, toolboxes, and car tires. The shelves were typically stacked with cans, Mason jars, and glues. If it wasn’t for the torturous implements on the worktable, the bloodstains on the floorboards, or the male bound to a sturdy chair, it would have looked perfectly innocuous.
The wooden planks creaked and groaned beneath Bracken’s weight as he walked purposely toward the captive, shoes scraping over the dirty floor, crunching bits of dead grass and pine needles. He sensed Nick, Derren, and Eli step inside and take up positions near the doorway.
Halting just a few feet in front of the hyena, Bracken stared at him, eyes cold and unblinking. Outside, the breeze rustled the grass, and a bee buzzed around the grimy window.
The hyena sat very still, claw marks spiderwebbing across his face, bites marring his flesh, sweat dampening his clothes and glistening on his skin. His eyes darted from person to person, but there was no fear in them. They didn’t even glitter with apprehension. There would be no crying or hysteria from this one—at least not yet.
Bracken could almost hear the hyena telling himself to think, plan, stay calm. And as he stared at the male, smelling his sweat and blood, Bracken’s mind flicked back to another time, another place. Flicked back to the basement of a derelict house where he’d taken each of the extremists he’d tracked and executed.
Unlike the shed, the basement had been dark with shadow and boasted only one window. The cracked walls were as cold as the concrete floor. He’d had a worktable topped with hooks, hammers, pincers, and other implements—all of which the extremists had at first believed were “for show.” They’d soon learned they were wrong.
Bracken remembered how they’d each started off scared but cocky, sure they’d be rescued. Then, realizing the situation might not be so easy to escape, they’d tried to reason with him, tried to build a rapport with him. When they’d finally accepted that no one was coming for them, they’d cursed and raved and provoked him. But once the blood started flowing and the bones started crunching, they’d pled. Wept. Screamed.
The sound of a boot scuffing the dirty floor brought Bracken back to the present. Again, he stared down at the hyena. The claw wounds on his face probably stung like a bitch—especially with the sweat gathering on his skin. They were deep and ugly and gave his wolf a sense of grim satisfaction, but the beast was no less impatient to gut the bastard right there and then.
Bracken unscrewed the cap off his bottle and downed a long swig of water, eyes still locked on the hyena. The guy swallowed, and the movement looked painful. His mouth was probably as dry as a bone.
“I really need to take a piss,” the hyena declared.
Bracken pursed his lips. “Don’t let me stop you.” He took another gulp of water and, keeping his tone conversational, added, “You carjacked my mate. Why?”
The hyena sighed. “Look, nothing I say here is going to calm you down or save my life. So why don’t we just get this whole thing over with, and you kill me right now.”
Bracken tipped his head to the side. “You want me to kill you?” He screwed the cap back on his bottle. “A lot of stories went around about what I did to those extremists. Did you hear any of them?”
For the first time, a hint of apprehension briefly lit the male’s eyes. “I heard.”
“They say it takes a special kind of darkness to be able to skin a person alive.” Bracken rubbed at his jaw. “I didn’t skin them all. Just one. Not his whole body. It was just his arm. I wanted him to see what my sister’s arm looked like after she got burned by the fire from one of his grenades, and that was close enough. I can’t say I enjoyed doing it. But I also can’t say that I didn’t. Which is fucked up, I know. But no one could have called me rational back then.” Bracken put his bottle on the worktable. “I’m not always rational nowadays. But my mate . . . she centers me. Keeps me stable. And you tried to take her away from me. How is that fair?”
The hyena’s jaw flexed. “I didn’t know she was yours.”
Bracken lifted a brow. “Is that so?” he asked, voice skeptical. “Was your plan to shoot her?”
The hyena looked almost offended by the question. “I wouldn’t have hurt her.”
“Your gun was loaded.” Bracken had checked when he’d pulled it out of her car on the way here.
“But I didn’t shoot her. I’m no hit man. I’ll do jobs, sure, but I don’t do hits.”