Page 115 of Found by the Pack

Twenty Minutes Earlier

Traffic is crawling like a wounded animal, every red brake light in front of me another knife in my gut. My hands are gripping the wheel too tight, knuckles pale against the leather, pulse racing like I can will the line of cars to move faster.

She needs me. I left her, and I’ve regretted it every mile since. I tried calling her back but the network coverage is horrid.

I can’t believe she is in heat and all alone.

Up ahead, I spot Elias straddling his motorbike at the shoulder, helmet tucked under one arm. I slam the truck into park and I’m out before I think.

“Elias,” I bark, running toward him, chest heaving. “Trade me. Please. Take my truck, I’ll take the bike.”

He blinks at me, startled. “Boone—what the hell?—”

“Please,” I cut him off, desperation cracking through my voice. “I need to get home. I need to get to Sadie.”

Something in my face convinces him. He tosses me the keys without another word, and in seconds I’m straddling the bike, engine snarling to life beneath me. The air is a whip against my face as I weave through the standstill traffic, heart hammering harder with every mile closer to the apartment building,

By the time I skid into the parking lot, I’m shaking with adrenaline. I take the stairs two at a time, lungs burning.

And then?—

The door cracks open, and the smell slams me.

Not just Sadie. Not just her sweet, citrus-threaded paint scent that’s been driving me half mad since the day she landed in this town. No. This is heavier. Richer. The unmistakable musk of sex, laced thick into the air like it’s seeped into the walls.

My chest seizes.

I push the door open harder, my boots hitting the floor like thunder.

And there he is.

Gabe.

On the couch.

Hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard, chest heaving like an animal caught in the act.

The world narrows to a pinpoint of red.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I roar.

His head snaps up, eyes wide, hand freezing mid-stroke. Shame flashes across his face before he masks it, jaw clenching.

“Boone—”

I don’t let him finish. I lunge, fist flying, and the crack of my knuckles against his jaw is the sweetest, ugliest sound I’ve ever heard. He grunts, staggers, then swings back, his punch slamming into my ribs hard enough to knock the breath from me.

“You fucked her?”

“I didn’t,” he replies, quickly getting dressed.

“You sick bastard,” I snarl, shoving him into the wall, plaster cracking behind his shoulders. “She’s in heat and you’re getting yourself off in the next fucking room?”

“She needed help,” Gabe snaps, shoving me back. His eyes are wild, feral. “You weren’t here. You left her. What the hell did you expect me to do?”

“Not that!” I bellow, fists slamming into his chest again. “You don’t touch her. You don’t even fucking think about her like that. She’s mine!”

“She’s not yours,” he fires back, rage twisting his features. “She’s not anyone’s. She’s hers. You think your claim means shit when she’s falling apart in front of us?”