There was a single light on in the back of the house. Probably where the security guard, or guards, stayed. Gage would hit that first. He’d do anything to protect his pack—and now Mackenzie. He didn’t want to kill Hardy in cold blood, but if that was the only way to stop the man and keep the people close to him safe, he’d do it without hesitation.
He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Gage moved along the fence until he was in a dead spot between the cameras. He still didn’t see any guards, but he could pick up their scent. It was blanketed by the stronger smell of gasoline, which made him think they probably patrolled the property in a golf cart at night. Since both odors lingered heavily in the air, that meant they’d been through here recently.
He found a place where the fence was screened by the low-hanging limbs of a big tree and placed his hand close to the chain link, but not quite touching. He didn’t feel anything that indicated it was electrified.
Gage looked around one more time, then let the claws on his right hand extend to their full length. God, that felt good. He hadn’t done it in a while. There wasn’t a lot of call for it in his day-to-day work. But he missed being able to let go and shift like that.
He slashed at the fence, sending pieces of chain link flying and opening a gap large enough for him to step through. Once he was on the other side, he listened carefully, but there still weren’t any sounds coming from the house.
As he crept slowly through the trees along the rear of the property, he considered what he knew about Walter Hardy.
He owned three different houses in the Dallas area, the other two being penthouse apartments downtown. He used one mostly for business meetings and for those times he stayed in the city. He’d given the other to his twenty-six-year-old son, Ryan, the presumptive heir to the Hardy name, fortune, and business.
There was no Mrs. Hardy so Gage didn’t have to worry about that. Ryan’s mother had divorced Walter and disappeared back to someplace in Eastern Europe years ago.
Gage kept moving toward the back door of the house, pulling on gloves as he went. He still had no idea what he was going to do once he got inside, but he didn’t want to leave fingerprints regardless.
He was about fifteen feet away from the back door of the house when it opened and a big man in dress pants, a white shirt, and a military buzz cut walked out.
Shit.
Gage thought for sure the guy had seen him, but one look at the man’s face changed his mind. He had that sleepy-eyed look of someone who’d just gotten out of bed. Probably a guard starting his shift.
Gage closed the distance between them, landing a solid right cross to the man’s jaw before he even knew what hit him. Gage caught the man and lowered him to the ground, then dragged him into the shadows of the trees. It wasn’t until he checked for a pulse that he realized the guy was one of the goons who’d come to the restaurant the other day. He didn’t bother zip-tying the man or stuffing something in his mouth. He’d be in and out of the house before the guy even woke up.
Gage darted a quick look around, then jogged over to the house. He tried the doorknob just to see if he’d get lucky. Well, damn, it was unlocked.
He quietly closed the door behind him, then soundlessly made his way through the darkened kitchen and down the hallway toward the room he’d seen with the light on—the one where the security guards hung out.
Their scent hit him before he even reached the partially opened door. Gage paused outside the room to do a quick recon. Two men sat on the couch, their backs to the door, their attention focused on the video game they were playing. They were so busy annihilating pretend monsters with their pretend weapons that Gage could have shot both of them and they never would have seen it coming.
Instead, he moved up behind them and punched one in the temple, bouncing his head off the other guard’s. Before the second guy could figure out what the hell happened, Gage hit him with a ridge hand strike to the side of the neck that knocked him as unconscious as his buddy.
This might take even less time than he thought.
Gage was heading for the steps when he almost walked into someone coming out of the bathroom. He recognized Roscoe Patterson’s ugly mug at the same time Hardy’s enforcer recognized him.
Patterson reacted faster than the other goons. Instead of reaching for a weapon he had no prayer of getting a hand on, he lashed out with a quick jab straight at Gage’s face.
If Gage hadn’t been a werewolf, the punch would have landed and probably made him see stars long enough for Patterson to go for his weapon. But Gage brought up his forearm, blocking the blow and connecting with the other man’s wrist hard enough to break something. Patterson didn’t even flinch. He merely shifted his stance and whipped out a knife with his other hand.
Gage jerked back, easily avoiding the blade, then caught Patterson’s arm just as he went in for another strike. The man’s eyes widened. That’s right, asshole. I’m faster, stronger, and a hell of a lot more dangerous than you are.
Gage delivered a jab to Patterson’s chin, following it up with an uppercut under the jaw, then a roundhouse kick that sent the man tumbling back ten feet to crash against the wall. Patterson slid to the floor, the knife slipping from his hand to land on the wood with a horrendous clatter. If the noise hadn’t
