Page 24

CHAPTER 24

C hristophe

“You’ll never be able to look at that bitch!” Lawrence Jr. yells at me before that sick, sinister laughter spills out.

I don’t even think before I land a right cross against the left side of his face. Blood flies out of his mouth. A few drops land on my face, but it doesn’t soothe the heated anger coursing through my veins.

This time when I go to hit him with my left hand, a tight grip on my arm stops me.

That same anger forces me to growl as I look up, my gaze clashing with Chance’s. Even when he shakes his head, I don’t lower my arm.

“We need information from him,” he reminds me.

It’s been a few weeks since we brought Lawrence back to the Nightwolf compound. Chance has been keeping him in one of the homes on the outskirts of the commune that most pack members aren’t allowed to approach.

I didn’t even know these homes existed or what they’re used for before now. Apparently, this isn’t the first time Chance or Chael has had to do a private interrogation of sorts.

Chance’s hold on my arm loosens as I lower it. He’s right. This son of a bitch still hasn’t given us much information. This is the first time I’m seeing him since the confrontation in the parking lot of his father’s diner.

“My father will be looking for me!” Junior declares. “Both of you will be prosecuted by the Alliance.”

I snort.

“You think so?” Chance’s tone is bored and not the least intimidated. “Your father finally knows what a piece of shit you really are,” Chance growls.

This comes as a surprise to Junior.

Chance leans in Junior’s face. “Your daddy can’t help you here. And the Alliance has already granted me permission to do whatever I need to do with you if you don’t give me the information I need.”

My wolf growls inside of me, agreeing with the vengeance we hear in Chance’s voice. I assume that must’ve been why Chance waited so long to confront Lawrence. He wanted approval from the Alliance before we did anything with him.

“I’m not telling you shit!” Junior claims, right before Chance’s open palm slaps him so hard that his head snaps to the side. The sound of the hit echoes around the concrete room.

“You will talk,” Chance says, moving toward the mobile closet that sits in the corner. He pulls open the door, exposing an array of instruments and tools.

A sense of dread mixed with excitement overcomes me when I see the silver chains, a sledgehammer, regular hammer, and pliers.

Chance picks up the larger pair of pliers. I don’t need to imagine what he’s going to do when he strolls back over to Junior and squats down, quickly pulling off one of his boots.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Lawrence asks warily, sudden fear infusing itself in his voice.

“What the hell does it look like he’s doing?” I counter.

Typically, my wolf doesn’t like being a witness to this type of stuff, but we have no pity for this piece of garbage.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Chance says. “Who the fuck hired you to work at that prison?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” he yells as Chance places his pinky toe in between the pliers.

“Our wolves are strong, but even they won’t be able to regrow you another limb,” I tell him.

“What? No! Okay, okay,” he says. “Please, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Talk,” Chance demands, keeping his toe between the pliers’ teeth.

“Th-This guy I used to buy my drugs from,” he confesses, his chest still heaving in obvious fear.

“What drugs?” I scream at him.

“That herb shit mixed with that drug the humans use.” He looks off to the side as if thinking. “Fentanyl, I think it’s called. They mix it. It stops my wolf from being so damn loud,” he says through gritted teeth.

“He told you about this secret prison for no reason?” Chance says.

Junior shakes his head. “I-I owed him some money. Couldn’t pay, and he told me I had a choice. I could either be a prisoner in that fucking place or fill one of their openings for a guard.”

“Obviously, you chose to become a guard.”

Junior shrugs. “Obviously. I didn’t give a fuck. There were a bunch of loser shifters in there. What the hell did I care what those scientists did with th— Ahh!” he cries out when another one of my fists slams into his eye socket.

I follow that punch up by ripping the pliers out of Chance’s hand and using them to slam across his face. Only the satisfying sound of his jawbone breaking calms me down.

By then, Junior has fallen to the floor, chair and all.

“Give me some names,” Chance says.

Junior shakes his head, heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “We were never given anyone’s name.”

“That’s bullshit,” Chance says. In a flash, he plucks the pliers from my hand and uses them on Junior’s pinky toe.

I have zero empathy for his pain. The same way he lacked any for mine, Ashley’s, or anyone else who was locked up in that hellhole.

“Nine more toes left,” Chance says. “And we’ve got plenty of shit to keep you awake if you try to pass out from the pain. Tell me more.” He slaps Junior’s face as if waking him up.

Junior grunts and breathes heavily. “Ken. Ken, that’s his name.”

“Whose name?” I ask.

“My dealer. He’s the one who told me about the prison.”

“Ken what?”

“Jack-Jackson,” he pushes out.

Chance looks back at me, a wrinkle between his forehead appearing. I know what he’s thinking, too.

“He’s not a shifter?” It’s me that asks this question.

Lawrence shakes his head. “N-No, he’s human.”

A memory from the jail comes back to mind. I’d tried hard to suppress most of the ugliest memories, but I do remember noting that many of the guards and those involved in the torture sessions weren’t wolves.

At the time I realized it, but I wasn’t sure I was taking everything in correctly. They kept us doped up on drugs so much that it became so damn hard to distinguish between reality and the false.

Just like they did with Ashley, my subconscious reminds me. I shake my head, pushing that thought away.

“Where can we find him?” Chance asks, pulling me back to what’s in front of me.

“I-I don’t know where he lives,” he says.

“I don’t believe you,” Chance tells him before using the pliers again.

I don’t flinch from Junior’s screams.

“Eight more,” Chance growls out. “Where does he live?”

“H-He used to live out West, but he tr-travels around.”

“Do you have his contact information? A phone number, address, something?” The calmness in Chance’s voice would frighten me if I didn’t know him any better. There’s a slight undertone, a quiver that probably wouldn’t even be evident to anyone else.

He doesn’t like doing any of this. It’s his only resort to getting answers.

I know what it sounds like when someone takes pleasure in torture. The echoes of the voices who imprisoned us go off in my mind. Those bastards, all of them, took a sick pleasure in our fear and terror.

“He was in Colorado, the last time I checked,” Junior answers. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Ever since …” He breathes hard, his crazed gaze moving to me.

“Since the prison got raided and shut down,” I finish for him.

He nods. “Yeah. Please. I’m bleeding.”

My eyes narrow at the way he begs.

“Pleading for someone to help?” I say, my tone low but seething. “You want someone to help you? To have mercy on you?”

Again, my thinking isn’t clear when I snatch the pliers from Chance and slam them across the side of his head. Tossing the pliers aside, I send a booted kick to the soft part of his stomach.

Though I notice when he begins throwing up, I send another kick to his ribs. My wolf growls with indignation and anger.

The memories of my imprisonment and torture send me into a spiral of ugliness and borderline hate. I want to rip his flesh from his bones for what he did to Ashley and the others.

Yet, I know that he’s not even the worst of our imprisoners. He was just one of their lackeys. A guard they used to carry out their evil plans all while supplying him with enough drugs to keep him coming back.

But this sick bastard is evil enough all on his own. Between what his father finally admitted he was accused of with his old pack, and the evil I saw in his eyes, I know he’s the type to enjoy others’ pain. He gets off on it.

The reminder that he got off on Ashley’s pain makes me want to kill him.

My wolf pushes forward, and I feel my incisors descend.

When I go to bring down the pliers on his skull, a vice grip ensnares my arm, stopping me.

I somewhat come out of my haze to meet Chance’s stern glare.

He gives me a slight shake of his head.

I try to pull my arm away from his hold. I have every intention of completing what I started.

“No,” Chance growls.

“Let me go,” I demand.

His hold on my arm tightens. “I won’t,” he replies. “I won’t allow you to go down this road. Not yet.”

More fury rolls through me. Before I can ask Chance what the hell he’s talking about, he explains, “This isn’t who you are. You’re not a killer.”

My grip on the pliers tightens. His gaze remains unflinching as he stares into my eyes.

“This would change you,” he says after a beat of silence. “I’ll handle this, Christophe.”

My attention moves back to the pile of shit on the floor. He’s unconscious, but the way his chest moves up and down tells me he’s still alive.

Pulling away from Chance, I turn my back on him.

“Mike is waiting for you outside,” he says.

I don’t turn or look his way as I start for the exit.

“Weak! Weak! Weak!” the voice in my head taunts.

The recriminations from my subconscious clash with my wolf’s true nature. The thought of killing someone never occurred to me before all of this.

Even when Rufus Dalton convinced me to turn on my pack, I agreed to go along with his plan under the strict confirmation that he wouldn’t kill anyone.

It was a lie, of course.

One that I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for.

I burst through the door into the sunlight of the mid-afternoon. My chest heaves up and down as sordid memories pass through my mind. Regret, shame, and vengeance all still pulse through my veins, each emotion fighting for dominance.

“Want to go for a run?”

I peer up, seeing Mike staring down at me. I didn’t even realize I stood there, bent over, hands gripping my knees for dear life. A war rages inside of me. On one side my natural being who sides with empathy and fairness, the omega in me. While the other side wants revenge for what those crazy fuckers did to us.

Did to her.

“Yeah, it looks like you could go for a run,” Mike says. “Chance says it’s alright.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Chance standing in the doorway. He stands there, body nearly taking up the entirety of the doorframe while his long braid hangs over his left shoulder.

The blood splattered on his light-colored shirt serves to make him look like the warrior he is.

Perhaps that’s why it’s his mate who never had to endure such harsh torture. Not like mi ? —

I cut off my line of thinking.

“Yes,” I tell Mike, looking away from Chance.

Mike doesn’t say anything as he spins and heads for the trail that cuts around the back of the house. Unlike him, I don’t bother taking off my clothes before shifting.

My shift causes the jeans and T-shirt I’m wearing to shred to pieces, but I don’t give a damn at this point. Pure disgust with myself roils with the anguish and turmoil inside of the pit of my stomach.

The beating I’d given Junior wasn’t enough. I want more. And yet, Chance is right. I’m not made like that.

I’m too weak to serve up the type of justice Ashley truly deserves.

Which means I’m not deserving of calling her my mate.

Taking her sister’s advice and letting her go by not responding to her messages is the least of what I can do for her at this point.