It had taken a week for Peter to plan everything perfectly. To choose a team that he was certain he could trust, at least for the mission. To track down Lake’s every upcoming shipment and find a weak link in his supply chain that could be threatened and bribed into talking.

There was a mass shipment due in an abandoned warehouse on the water that night, and Peter was among those who were loading the giant crates filled with drugs onto the trucks that would be used to deliver the goods. Lake wasn’t due at the site, of course. He was too smart to actually show up anywhere he might be expected.

Unless he had reason. Ten tons of powdered cash seemed like a pretty damn good reason to Peter, and he knew the moment word of the warehouse fire spread, Lake would be there.

So would his window of opportunity, and perhaps the only one. It was the only way to smoke Lake out of hiding without immediately arousing his suspicion. He’d taken out the latest target in the Alpha’s game that night, so he had an alibi. By the time Lake realized he was walking into a trap, it would be too late.

All went as it was supposed to for the first few hours. When the time came, Peter nodded to his plant and the man disappeared up into the rafters. Five minutes later, just long enough to make sure the sprinkler systems were disabled, Peter lit the match and stepped back. The packages had already been doused with kerosine before the unloading process had begun, and he might have felt bad for the panicked workers who started screaming and rushing around in an attempt to put out the flames that engulfed all their efforts, if they weren’t scumbags working for an even worse scumbag.

Killing was one thing. Out of all of Peter’s problems, a guilty conscience had never been one of them, but at least when his head hit the pillow at night, he knew he hadn’t earned his living selling shit that ruined lives. Families. He still wasn’t sure what his own parents had been doing before they were killed, but based on what little he knew, it hadn’t been a case of an innocent couple going for a drive in the country. Their car had been run off the road for a reason, according to the police, while Peter was in the backseat. If it hadn’t been for this shit, who knew how differently his life would have gone?

He felt no sympathy as he watched them all run around, finally abandoning ship when they realized the fire had spread out of control. Peter waited. He wasn’t afraid of the flames. There was something homey about them. After all, they didn’t call him the Hellhound for nothing.

There was a slim chance that the fire department would show up before Lake did. The warehouse was part of an old factory designed to contain smoke, and while there hadn’t been any legitimate activities going on within it for a few months’ time, the locals were used to seeing black smoke pouring out of the building. Certainly none of Lake’s men were going to call the fire department. Peter had made sure every extinguisher within a mile’s radius was conveniently missing, too.

He listened through the roars of the flame by the back door as a small envoy pulled up outside. He heard shouting, Lake’s voice rising up over the flame to shout orders and berate his men for their mishandling of the fire.

“Your ability to delegate isn’t what it used to be,” Peter remarked as the Alpha appeared on the other side of the flames. The doors slid shut behind Lake and the look on his face was priceless. Peter drew the door behind him closed and pulled his gun at the same time. “Looks like you’re not as good at choosing loyal employees, either.”

Lake drew his gun and Peter fired, shooting it out of his hand. The flames roared as he stepped closer. The smoke filled the warehouse, rising up into the rafters and coiling as it searched for a path of escape. Peter felt it filling his lungs, but if Lake wanted out, he was going to have to get past him.

“And you always said I was the one with a taste for the theatrical,” Lake said flatly.

Peter held his gun up high, aiming for the other Alpha’s heart. “And you said I was a copycat.”

“He means this much to you?” Lake asked casually, as if he wasn’t trapped in a burning building moments away from his death.

“He means everything,” Peter seethed. His finger squeezed the trigger but he didn’t plan to shoot. Not yet. Lake deserved so much more. His death would be slow. Painful. He would know the fear he’d instilled in John, the torment he had put Peter through. A burning beam broke from the roof, falling toward them, and Peter fired blindly into the flames. Lake’s cry of pain told him he’d hit his unintentional mark, but the beam collapsed on top of Peter and he blacked out before he could tell if it was a fatal shot.

Moments later, he felt himself being dragged outside. He saw the night sky and the moon glaring down at him, taunting him. Something hit his face, warm and bitter. Blood. He opened his eyes and it mingled with the tears from the smoke. His vision was clouded, but he could see Lake standing over him, clutching his chest.

“Bastard,” he choked, the smoke still making it impossible to breathe even though they were outside now. He could hear the sirens.

He blacked out again, only for a second, but the sirens were closer. Lake was gone. If Peter didn’t follow suit, he would be caught in the middle of ten tons of burning coke and any chance he had of tracking Lake would burn up with it.

He dragged himself to his feet, lumbered toward the car he’d left parked by the water, and caught his breath as the trucks surrounded the burning building. He coughed, more black smoke in his lungs than air, but all he could think about was how he’d failed. How Lake had saved his life only to torment him further.

To play with him.