Page 23 of Nick (The Moonstone Pack #4)

KARLA, VINCENT’S MATE, PERCHED on the edge of the leather couch in their living room. The house was too still, the morning silence echoing off the walls and amplifying her irritation. She had expected Vincent hours ago, and the delay was eating at her.

The door swung open with a creak that grated on her already frayed nerves. She snapped her gaze up, expecting to meet Vincent’s icy stare, but instead, she found Gregory standing in the threshold. His hulking form filled the doorway.

“Where is he?” Karla demanded.

Gregory stepped inside, his boots thudding against the wood. “Not here.”

“No shit.” Karla rose to her feet, her posture rigid. “Where, then?”

“Out,” Gregory replied curtly, his gaze meeting hers head-on, unflinching.

“Out,” she echoed scornfully, her lips curling into a sneer. “How enlightening.”

She moved closer, invading Gregory’s personal space, forcing him to acknowledge the power she wielded even when Vincent wasn’t by her side.

Her nostrils flared, picking up the scent of sweat clinging to Gregory’s skin. But beneath it, there was something else, a hint of blood.

“Something went wrong?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Then why do I get the distinct impression you’re omitting details?”

“Because you always look for trouble.”

“Trouble finds us. It’s what keeps life interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t always good.”

“Good is a matter of perspective.” Karla’s desire for control over the situation—and over Gregory—burned bright inside her.

“Vincent will be back soon. You can take it up with him.”

“Where is he?” she demanded again, her voice echoing off the high ceiling of the living room.

Gregory’s broad shoulders tensed as if he was bracing for a blow. “We just left the Last Strike Mine.”

Karla’s nostrils flared slightly, showing a flash of the wolf inside as she processed the information. The Last Strike Mine was Vincent’s personal den of horrors, a place where enemies became prey. “And who,” she asked slowly, “is Vincent entertaining in his little torture chamber this time?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Liberty?” A cruel laugh escaped Karla’s lips. “You forget your place, Gregory. I am Vincent’s mate, his equal. Your silence is an affront not just to me but to him.”

Gregory’s posture shifted, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that Karla caught immediately. She knew that stance—it was the one of a man who had given up on keeping his mouth shut.

“Vincent and I dealt with Sarah Sanchez,” he said. “We’ve left her…in Percy’s care.”

Karla felt a twinge of satisfaction at the confirmation.

“And the boy?”

“What boy?”

“Her son, you idiot.”

“Her son?” Gregory seemed momentarily thrown, his brow furrowing.

“Where is Sarah’s son?” she asked. She took a step forward, the soft click of her boots echoing ominously in the quiet room.

Karla could see it—the flicker of uncertainty in Gregory’s eyes.

“Sarah’s son,” she repeated, leaning closer, her tone laced with a dangerous calm.

“I—I don’t know.” Gregory’s admission hung in the air. “I don’t know where the kid is.”

Karla’s lip curled in disdain. How could Vincent depend on such incompetence?

“Useless,” she muttered under her breath. “Men are idiots.” She turned her back on Gregory, dismissing him and heading toward the door.

Gregory watched her leave, his figure shrinking in her peripheral vision. She didn’t bother to look back—there was nothing behind her worth seeing.

Karla’s black sedan devoured the distance to Sarah’s trailer house, dust plumes trailing behind her.

She parked, then stepped out into the scorching heat, the desert air wrapping around her. Squinting against the harsh light, she approached the weathered trailer and rapped sharply on the door, the sound echoing hollowly.

The door swung open, revealing Una, her gentle eyes wide with surprise. “Karla. What brings you here?”

Karla didn’t miss the protective stance Una took, shielding the young boy, who peeked out from behind her.

Javier—Sarah’s little secret keeper.

“Expecting someone else?” Karla allowed her impatience to seep into her tone. Her gaze flickered to Javier, assessing him coldly. He was the key, whether he knew it or not.

Una didn’t reply to her question.

“Is Sarah not home?” she asked, feigning casual interest.

“Sarah’s…out,” Una answered.

Karla dropped to one knee, eyes softening as she addressed Javier. “Hey there, champ.” Her voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, every syllable a calculated step toward disarming the boy. She flashed a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“Hi,” Javier replied cautiously, his brow furrowed in a mirror of adult skepticism. His gaze flickered between Karla and Una.

“Your mom has been helping us with some important pack business,” Karla continued. “I came to see if you wanted to come and play while she’s busy.”

Javier shuffled closer to Una, his small hand gripping the hem of her shirt—a lifeline to the familiar. “I should wait for Mama.”

“Oh, but she might be a while,” Karla cooed, trying to weave enchantment into her words. “We could have so much fun.”

Una’s body angled to shield the child. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But Karla was done playing nice. With a swift motion, she reached past Una, her fingers closing around Javier’s sturdy little arm with an iron grip. “Come now, Javier. Let’s not keep your mother waiting any longer.”

Javier’s eyes widened in sudden fear. He looked up at Una, who lunged forward, her fingers clawing at Karla’s hand in an attempt to pry it open.

“Let him go!”

Javier’s small body squirmed against Karla’s grasp, his tiny fist beating a frantic rhythm on her arm.

“Enough,” Karla snapped. With a forceful yank, she freed herself from Una’s hold and hoisted Javier up, his legs kicking futilely.

“Stop it, Javi,” Karla growled low, a warning laced with menace. She tightened her grip on the struggling child, feeling the tremble of his muscles under her fingers as she turned and strode back toward her car.

Una’s voice, thick with desperation, called out once more, “Karla, please!”

But Karla’s ears were deaf to Una’s pleas. She reached the vehicle and wrenched the passenger door open, then deposited Javier onto the seat.

“Stay,” she ordered as she fastened the seatbelt over him, securing him in place.

His breath came in ragged sobs.

“Quiet now,” she said, sliding into the driver’s seat. She slammed her door shut. “Vincent needs us,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, as she pulled away from the trailer house.

“My daddy will come get me,” he said fiercely. “He’s a hero. You’ll see.”

The car ate up the miles, while inside, Karla’s words sliced through the tense silence. “Listen to me, Javier. Your daddy might’ve been a hero once, but that’s all done with now.” She watched as the boy’s features tighten.

“Mama says—” he began, but Karla cut him off with a harsh laugh.

“Your mother doesn’t understand how the world works.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “But you… You’re the key.”

Javier furrowed his brows, his small hands clutching at the seatbelt that held him captive. “Key for what?”

Karla’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “To controlling the pack rebels.”

She could see his confusion, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need understanding from him, but compliance.

“The rebels are bad?” His voice was barely audible over the engine.

“Very bad,” she said. “They threaten our pack, our way of life. And Vincent—our alpha—will stop them, with your help.”

For the remainder of the drive, Karla ignored the boy’s sniffles and questions.

She was the mate of an alpha, and tonight, she would prove her worth by delivering the unwitting linchpin in Vincent’s plan to crush the opposition.

This morning, she had secured a victory, not with fangs or claws, but with cunning and cold calculation.

Karla parked the car in the driveway, and with one final glance at the boy, she prepared herself for the praise she would receive from Vincent.