“Uh, Riley,” Mary Ann called, her voice cracking.
His back was to her, but he could sense her fear. He jackknifed to a stand and turned toward her, only to freeze, his breath icing over in his lungs.
“Mary Ann. Walk to me. Slowly.”
A strangling sound slipped from her. “Can’t.”
“You don’t issue orders, little boy. I do,” said the man standing behind her. The man pointing a gun at her head.
He was tall, blond and lean. He wore a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up halfway on his arms to reveal several tattoos. Wards. Against what, Riley couldn’t tell. Yet. He needed a closer look. What he did know? Anger pulsed from the guy in dark, agitated waves. He’d shoot, and he wouldn’t care about the dead bodies he left behind.
Riley cursed himself for not teaching Mary Ann how to react in this type of situation. “You hurt her,” he said just as calmly, “and I’ll kill you.” That was not an empty boast.
Throughout his life, he’d done that and more. He’d never been one to strike without cause, but he’d never been one to sit back and take whatever was being served, either.
“That’ll be a little hard for you to do if you’re dead, now won’t it.” A statement when it should have been a question. “But don’t you worry. I’ll make it fast.”
The sad thing was, Riley had no argument. No real defense. Had he not lost his wolf, he would have heard the man enter the house. Failing that, he would have smelled him. Instead, he’d allowed his ex-girlfriend to be terrorized. He kinda deserved what he got.
Not Mary Ann, though, she didn’t deserve any of this. Not…his ex. Only then did he realize he’d just thought of her in past tense, rather than present. Something he’d never done before, not with her.
The man pushed the gun into her scalp, which pushed her forward. She stumbled into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. “He snuck up on me, and I—”
“Shut up, girl. I’ve heard enough from you.”
When she was finally within reach, Riley latched onto her arm and jerked her behind him. She was trembling, her fingers clutching at his. There was no time to comfort her. To act as her shield, he had to release her completely. Her palms flattened on his back, then fisted in his T-shirt. Then she released him as he had done to her—and stepped beside him.
He stepped in front of her and glared over at the gun-wielding human, who’d watched the entire scene with a hard, seen-it-all-before expression. They were about the same height, which put the guy at about six foot three.
“Are you Joe Stone?”
There was a flash of surprise in the guy’s eyes, but he ignored the question to ask one of his own. “Are you the kids who busted my neighbor’s window and left blood everywhere?”
“Yeah,” Riley answered. “So?”
“So?” Such blatant honesty left the guy reeling but only for a moment. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
Should he give the truth or a lie this time? Who
The man’s face was rough, his nose slightly crooked, as if it had been broken a time or ten, and there were tiny scars crisscrossing on his cheeks. Aden had an angel’s face, no suggestion of roughness.
“I asked you a question, boy.”
“And I didn’t answer it.”
A new concept for Riley. On paper, he was older than this man. Used to be stronger—on paper and in a ring. A lot stronger. And a lot meaner. Now what was he? Pathetic, that’s what.
“We know your son,” Mary Ann said with a calm, even tone. “Aden. Haden, I mean. Everyone calls him Aden.”
No expression change from Stonehenge over there. Worse, his grip on the gun was steady, proving his strength. Anyone else would have already grown tired of its weight. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I thought…you should have…maybe we were…this isn’t happening!” she cried. “What if we’re in the wrong house?”
“We aren’t,” Riley said.
She spoke over him. “Sir, I’m sorry. Very sorry. We shouldn’t have…”
A primitive part of Riley wanted to punish the man for crushing her fighting spirit. And maybe her recent brush with death was partly to blame, too, having dulled her brave streak and—hey. She’d just inched her way in front of him again. For the love of—she was trying to act as
So much for a crushed spirit.
He could have taken that as a sign she still maybe kinda sorta loved him. But all he could think was that she no longer viewed him as strong enough to take care of her. Why would she? He didn’t.
Joe Possible cocked the gun, getting serious. “You got five seconds to start talking, boy, or your brains will paint my walls.”
“Are you going to count out loud so I can spew all my secrets at the last possible moment?” There was no need to wait for Joe’s reply. And he planned to treat the man like he was Joe from then on. Otherwise, Riley would flounder. “You know exactly who Aden is. He’s your son.” As he spoke, he shoved Mary Ann behind him. One step, two, he backed her up, trying to get her to the window. She could jump through and run, and he could deal with the situation without fear of casualties.
“I don’t have a son.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t care. Why would you think I was this Joe?”
“News flash. Answering a question with another question doesn’t make you smart or mysterious.”
Those dark eyes narrowed farther, becoming tiny slits. “Watch the attitude, kid. I’m the one with the gun.”
Another backward step. Almost there…
“I know what you’re doing, so don’t you dare move another inch.” Joe advanced until the barrel of the gun was pressing into Riley’s chest. “You’re not leaving here. Not until I get some answers.”
“Like yours is the first gun I’ve had pointed my way. You want me scared, do something original. You want answers, let the girl go.”
“No,” Mary Ann said, and he reached back to squeeze her arm, a silent command to shut the hell up. “I’m staying.”
“Don’t listen to her.”
“Too late,” Joe said. “I listened. She stays.”
Oh, hell, no. They weren’t playing that game. “You’ll regret that decision.” Riley put his hands up, palms out, as if he were submitting.
“Actually, I don’t think I will.”
Moving swiftly, Riley grabbed the gun and pushed down, hard. Joe fired off a shot, but the bullet slammed into the floor.
Riley didn’t release him but held him like that and punched him once, twice, with his other hand. Then, while Joe was dazed, he used both hands to twist the gun, breaking Joe’s trigger finger in the process. He could have fired off a shot himself, but he didn’t. He just pulled the weapon from the now-loosened grip and aimed.
“Told you.”
Cursing under his breath, grimacing, Joe held up his hands, palms out. Unlike Riley, he meant it. His broken finger lay at an odd angle, the rest of the appendage useless.
Riley kept the gun trained on him, certain he had other weapons stashed in other places. “Move, and it’ll be the last thing you do. Mary Ann, call Aden.”
“What? Why?”
“He needs to be here.”
