Jordan rested his back against a tree as he waited for the sirens to come closer. He wasn’t sure if the pursuer was still close by and he wasn’t chancing anything. Twice he had gotten lucky—one when the lawyer had held a gun to him, the second time when he was poisoned.
The bastard was right. Jordan’s luck wasn’t going to hold out much longer. He needed to find out who it was and end the man’s life. Until then he needed to shift and heal. Jordan wasn’t going to be able to do that until he got to the garage.
He sure as hell didn’t need the cops finding a black panther passed out cold in the woods.
When the sirens stopped, Jordan knew they were by his destroyed truck. He cautiously walked from the woods, his eyes scanning his surroundings the entire time as he finally made it to the road.
There were two cop cars, their lights swirling as they talked with a guy Jordan assumed was the truck driver. That ruled that guy out. The truck driver pointed over toward Jordan.
The cops turned and then two of the uniformed officers began to hurry over to him. “Are you hurt, son?” one of them asked. Concern was etched in the deep lines of his face. He reached out to put a hand on Jordan’s shoulder, but Jordan moved out of the way in time. If the cop touched him right now, he just might crumble in pain.
Jordan knew that if he told them he had a broken arm, they would insist he go to the hospital. He couldn’t go to the hospital. There was a fifty-fifty chance he wouldn’t be seen by Dr. Sheehan and anyone else looking at him wouldn’t be good. He was a shifter, after all. “I’m fine.”
“Mind telling us what happened?” the second cop asked.
Jordan glanced over to his truck and felt his blood run cold. The whole frontend was gone. It lay on the side of the road in a twisted mangle. If he hadn’t jumped… “My brakes failed.”
“Then what were you doing in the woods?” the first one asked, his light-grey eyes filled with concern.
Jordan didn’t have a ready answer.
“I think he’s concussed,” the second cop said. “He looks a little disoriented.”
If Jordan said he wasn’t, they would badger him about the accident. If he used that excuse to get out of explaining things, he would end up at the hospital. It was a no win situation.
Relief flooded him when Mark pulled up and got out of his truck. He’d never been so happy to see anyone at the moment. The large tattooed man walked over to him, his eyes gazing over at the accident and then at Jordan, knowledge of what could have been Jordan’s fate glimmering in his eyes. “Jordan, are you all right?”
No. He felt like passing out on the ground. His entire left side was killing him. He still didn’t know who had been after him and Jordan wasn’t sure if the guy was still in the vicinity, watching him. It was an eerie feeling. “I’m fine.”
He was tempted to cradle his arm but managed to make his stance look casual. It wasn’t easy and Jordan wanted to shout out in agony, but he didn’t.
Mark studied him for a moment and a light shone in the man’s eyes, understanding that Jordan wasn’t okay but needed to get somewhere private to shift.
As much as he wanted to leave, Jordan stood there in pain and told the cops what happened. He had no choice. Mark called for a tow—Caden, Mark’s mate, said he would tow Jordan’s truck. Jordan apologized to the truck driver and then let Mark put him in the front seat of his vehicle after the cops were done taking down what happened.
He was never so glad to get away from somewhere.
Mark started the truck. “I’ll have you back at the garage in no time. What hurts on you?”
“Everything,” he said as he tried to find a comfortable position. There wasn’t one. “I think my left arm is broken.”
A grim line formed Mark’s mouth, his expression full of anger. “From what you explained to the cops, it sounds like your brakes were cut.”
Jordan nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
Mark drove away from the accident and headed toward town. “As soon as I have your truck in my garage, I’ll check it from bumper to bumper.”
“Do I still have a bumper?” Jordan asked, trying at levity but failing. He was in too much pain to even crack a smile.
“Probably not,” Mark answered solemnly. “Your truck is totaled.”
Jordan tried to sit perfectly still, but that wasn’t helping the pain. Nothing would until he could shift. “If I hadn’t jumped, I would be as well.” And that thought made Jordan light-headed.
If he hadn’t jumped, he would be a part of the twisted metal.
As soon as Mark pulled into his garage, Bailey was hurrying toward the truck. He wasn’t sure how his mate found out so quickly but was glad to see him.
“Oh my god!” Bailey said as Jordan eased from the truck. “What the hell happened? Bear told me you were in an accident, but he didn’t know anything else.”
Jordan wasn’t sure he should tell his mate his brakes were cut. He didn’t want to send Bailey over the edge with worry, but he couldn’t lie to the man either. Mark showed him to a comfortable-looking sofa in his office. It looked like it had seen better days, but it also looked well broken in.
As he eased down, Jordan gritted his teeth in order not to shout. “I–I—” Goddamn, his pain had escalated and it hurt to even talk now.
“He needs to rest, Bailey,” Mark said. “Let him shift so he can heal. I’ll fill you in on the details.”
Bailey knelt in front of Jordan, his sage-green eyes shimmering with worry. “What can I do for you?” His mate’s hands hovered
