pointed in her direction.
Frankie’s eyes shot to Jace. “You know this guy?”
Jace lowered his gun and clipped the piece back in place, but he ignored her and answered the man’s question instead. “She’s none of your business. What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, David?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for your sorry ass. Damon’s been blowin’ up your phone nonstop for the past hour with no answer.”
Frankie eyed the man from head to large leather boots. With buzz-cut dark black hair, a coat that could hide a load of heavy artillery and a silver Star of David around his neck, there was only one thing this man could be: a hunter. He had to be another hunter. Her head spun. She remembered Jace mentioning others before, but she’d passed it off as a bluff. Two hunters in her territory, while she was already chasing after a rogue werewolf. She wasn’t quite sure how much more she could handle.
“I never got a call.” Jace patted his pockets in search of the wayward phone. “Damn it. I must’ve dropped it.”
“Well, losing that phone has got you in some deep shit.” The hunter named David gestured to the blood on his clothing. “There’s been a double killing.”
Jace groaned. “You gotta be shitting me.”
David shook his head. “No B.S. involved. The bodies were dumped less than a mile from the warehouse. Damon’s gone ape-shit looking for you. I came by here to warn you.”
Jace frowned. “I don’t need any warning about Damon. He can kiss my ass. And what does he want me for? He took me off the case, remember?”
David lowered his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat. “Your name was carved into their forearms, J.”
FRANKIE STEPPED BACK and placed her hand on the kitchen counter, gripping the edge for support. The anger rolling off Jace triggered all her primal instincts. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and even though he was directing his rage elsewhere, her body urged her to shift into defense mode. His hands shook at his sides, and his jaw clenched.
David cleared his throat. “Damon thinks there’s a possibility you may be involved. He put out the word that any hunter who encounters you is supposed to bring you in for questioning. And you don’t need any extra attention from HQ or the risk of your bloodline being revealed.”
Jace practically growled. His rage made her jittery. She wanted to help him, but she suspected that her help was the last thing he wanted.
David sighed. “Look, man, I’m sorry but—”
The door burst open, and the bang as it hit the wall echoed through the small apartment. She jumped. Screws and wooden splinters from the shattered wood scattered across the floor. The man who stepped through sent chills down her spine. She backed away before she could stop herself. Cold blue eyes seared into Jace’s, and she was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of that stare. Her stomach churned.
Two other men stepped in behind the latest intruder, one with golden-blond hair, the second with his face shadowed by a Mets cap—the muscle to back up Mr. Ice Eyes. Frankie eyed Ice up and down. Not that he needed any backup muscle with his massive biceps and natural scare tactics.
“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you? Every time I turn around you’ve fucked up again, and now I’ve got no choice but to hand you over to HQ as a suspect. You’re a disgrace to the division.”
Jace let out a harsh snarl, unable to control his anger. His eyes burned with a golden fire and he flashed his canines.
“Holy motherfucker,” Blondie said in a slow, Southern drawl.
The Mets fan’s jaw dropped. “Damn it, Jace. You’re a fucking shifter?” he said, and she heard traces of a Jersey accent in his voice.
David stepped forward. “Look, Damon, it’s not what you think.”
“Shut up, David, and move out of my way or you’re going down with him as a traitor.” The muscles in Ice’s throat strained and his fists clenched as he stared Jace down. “I didn’t want to believe it, but you haven’t left me any choice, you sadistic, woman-beating whoreson. You just signed your own death warrant, you werewolf piece of shit. Those dead girls can all trace back to you, and now I find out you’ve got the same mutation as the killer you’ve supposedly been hunting.”
Frankie yelled before she could stop herself. “Stop!”
Ice turned toward her. The power pulsating off him was staggering. Her breath caught. She fought not to step back and show her weakness. There was no backing down now. She shoved her fear aside and concentrated on absorbing the anger that hung thick in the crowded apartment air. It would make it easier for her to shift.
She willed herself to stand straight and stare him in the face. She told herself she could take him. “You can’t kill him. He didn’t murder those women.”
“Who the hell is
Frankie shot him a glare. “You shouldn’t be asking
“Just perfect. A piece-of-shit half-breed and his loyal bitch.” Ice’s jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might shatter.
She let out a low, feral growl. “He may be a half-breed, but I’m full-blooded, and you’ll be screaming like a girl when I rip out your jugular.”
Jace straightened to his full height and pointed a single finger at Ice. “Go on. Give me an excuse to tear you limb from limb.” His voice was disturbingly calm, but rage flew off him like darts, with Ice as the bull’s-eye.
Ice turned to Jersey. “Take the dog outside while I deal with this.”
Frankie swallowed her anxiety in one large gulp. She knew the drill. “Bring it. We’ll see who the real bitch is.”
“Take care of her, Trent.”
“Don’t make me do this, Damon,” Jace said to Ice. “We’re on the same side.”
Ice—Damon—ripped a gun from inside his coat. Hooking his finger around the trigger, he aimed straight for Jace’s head. “You lied about your identity from the very start. You were never on our side.”
Before Damon could fire his first shot, Jace grabbed hold of his wrist. He twisted the other, then swept him to the ground. The gun fell to the floor as the two men battled. Damon kicked Jace in the stomach, knocking him off balance. He stumbled back as Damon crawled toward the gun.
Jace drew his knife and threw the weapon across the room with the accuracy of a well-aimed bullet. The blade pierced Damon’s flesh between his collarbone and his shoulder. A wet stain blossomed across his black shirt, and several drops of blood hit the floor as he clutched the wound. Frankie’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive.
“I don’t beat women,” Jace said through clenched teeth. “And no one calls my mother a whore.” He threw himself forward at the other hunter.
As Frankie stared, she felt a large, iron-tight hand grab her elbow. She tore her eyes from Jace to find she was staring into Jersey’s pissed-off face. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her, and she flung her head back, using the momentum to head-butt him full-force. Pain shot through her skull, but the bruise would disappear within the hour or, if she shifted, even sooner. Jersey stumbled back and bumped into the wall. His cap fell off his head and onto the floor. She crushed it under her tennis shoe. “This is Yankee country, asshole.”
“You bitch!”
“Mind your manners.”
Deep inside her chest, her inner animal shifted as it fed off the adrenaline. She had to do something fast or Jersey would charge her. She might have him in the brains department, but even with her wolf strength, he was
