The moment Viper showed up at the docks, Peter knew something was wrong. The crates were there to keep up appearances, but the usual package they kept out for inspection hadn’t been unwrapped, and Viper himself was putting off nervous energy Peter didn’t trust from the get go.

He already knew where the other Alpha’s brother was. There was only one building tall enough to use as a sniper’s vantage point. He also knew that Lake wasn’t going to show. The man was punctual to the point of dysfunction and if he was ever late, even by a minute, he wasn’t coming.

“Running kind of late, isn’t he?” Peter asked casually, leaning against his car. He reached down to adjust the side mirror just enough to allow him a view of the building Viper had taken great care to keep at his back.

That was it. He caught a glimpse of the sniper’s head above the lip of the rooftop. He didn’t have anything close to a clean shot, especially not a pistol, but there was a gas tank on the rooftop that was bulky enough to be a reasonable target.

Dumb piece of shit. What were they teaching these days?

“Guess so,” Viper grunted, clearly impatient. In addition to being piss poor at picking a safe vantage point, his brother had a shy trigger finger.

“Just out of curiosity, what’d you do to piss Lake off?”

Viper smiled, but only on the one side. Half his face was paralyzed from the venom of a poisonous snake one of his enemies had deposited in his bed, hence the nickname. “He was in jail. Figured he wouldn’t notice a few grand off every shipment.”

Peter laughed in understanding. “Yeah. Lake always did have an eye for detail. That’s why I’m surprised he was willing to put up with your bullshit, but I guess he wants to fuck me over even more.”

The confusion on Viper’s face only lasted until the first bullet hit his gut. Before he dropped to the ground, Peter fired up at the tank and the rooftop explosion sent the sniper flying in a burning heap. Peter heard the crunch of his neck, or maybe his back snapping as soon as he hit the ground.

Whoops.

Good thing he hadn’t gone for a vital area with Viper. He reached down and grabbed the other Alpha by the shirt, ignoring his groans of protest as he hauled him up. “Where the fuck is Lake?”

Sweat beaded down Viper’s face as he wheezed and clutched his bleeding stomach. “H—he said he’d forgive my debt if I took you out, man, I’m sorry!”

“That was awful fucking dumb of you,” Peter muttered, shoving him onto the ground. He raised his gun, taking aim at the bastard’s forehead, which was a far cry better than the death a double crosser deserved. Peter would know. “If there’s one thing you should know by now, it’s that Lake Kristoff never forgives anything. We have that in common.”

“No —!”

Viper’s scream was cut short as Peter fired. The life left his body in an instant and the Alpha holstered his gun before getting back into his car.

“Sorry, baby,” Peter muttered. “Next to last one, I promise.”

* * *

Peter pulled up in front of the house and when he saw the shed door open out back, he knew something was off. Had John tried to follow him? He wouldn’t be surprised, but he trusted that Jayce would have put a stop to that before he could get himself hurt.

The front door was open a crack and his heart sank. He turned on the lights and found no sign of a struggle, but if Lake had been there, that meant nothing. The Alpha was known for killing without a trace.

Peter rushed through the house, searching every room and calling John’s name even though his gut told him he wasn’t going to find his lover anywhere.

He fucking hated being right.

When he saw the number flashing on the answering machine, dread coated the surface of his skin like frost. He forced himself to walk over and play the voicemail. No one had this number. Jayce had promised him.

“Hello, bratan,” Lake’s raspy voice filled the room. Peter could hear the muffled sounds of John struggling on the message and they brought him pain that physical torture had never come close to. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I must say, I understand now why this beta has caught your eye so. He is…” He paused to hiss air in through his teeth. “So spirited.”

John’s guttural screams of pain distorted the speaker and Peter flinched, his whole body shaken with the vibrations. He had never felt so helpless. So enraged. All his life, he’d been a killer, but in that moment, he became the spirit of murder.

John’s screams were stifled to dull, breathless moans as he recovered from whatever Lake had done to him. “I will enjoy breaking him,” the Alpha said in a tone of ecstasy, like he was savoring some delicacy born of the beta’s pain. “But do not worry. As you know, I take my time to savor life as well as its extinguishing. And I will even give you the chance to save him. After all, are we not brothers?”

Peter was trembling with rage as the message played, waiting for the thread of hope Lake would dangle in front of him to start the game. And it would work.

“You know my methods by now. Normally, I would send you an ear, perhaps a finger… something to ease the pang of separation. But this is, after all, your lover—the cherished mate for whom you would put a knife in your own brother’s back—therefore, normal will not suffice. Instead, we will play a game. If you follow the rules, I will return him to you and all will be forgiven. For this, I give my word.”

Peter’s fists tightened, his nails cutting into his skin. The cruelest part was that it was true. Lake was a man of his word, and in all their years together, Peter had never once herd him tell so much as a little white lie. Cut off a man’s limbs one by one and make him beg for his life before shooting him point blank, yes. Lie? Never.

Peter already knew this game well, because he had played it once as the game master. Lake would make his “rules” all but impossible to follow, but feasible still. He would drag out Peter’s hope till the very last moment, leaving that sliver of a chance that he really could save his mate, making it all the more brutal when he failed.

Except he wouldn’t fail. No matter how well Lake played this game, Peter had a motivation he lacked. One he would never understand for all of his wretched ways and soullessness.

He had John. That was a cost too high to pay, a purpose too important to fail.

“First round, Pyotr,” Lake purred, using the Russian version of the man’s name. “Raul Filbert. He will be in Los Angeles tomorrow evening. Give him my regards and I will let you give yours to John. Fail this round and he will not be around for the next.”

The phone went dead and Peter grabbed the set, punching the button to make sure there were no newer messages. He was shaking so violently with anger that he nearly grabbed the phone and ripped it out of the wall, but he had the restraint to put a hole in the plaster instead. Letting out a scream of frustration, he forced himself to reel it in and save the bloodlust for his next target.

It looked like he was going to be breaking that promise to John. Before he could put an end to Lake for good, he would have to become the man he’d promised his mate he would leave behind.