Kent Markes paced the warped floor of the grubby cabin. The only light in the room came from the screen of his cell phone, which was in danger of being crushed in his grip. He didn’t care if the male on the other end of the line was paying him. He didn’t bother trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “You said the bomb would destroy the helicopter. It looked pretty good to me.”
The answering growl sounded tinny coming through the phone. “Dodd should have lost all maneuverability. They should be nothing but a greasy smear on the side of the mountain. There is no way they should have been able to land that aircraft.”
“Should, should, should. Obviously, they could fly it and did. They set down in a little clearing, like they hopped through a hole in the trees. Everyone survived the crash. Are you sure you did it right?”
“I placed the bomb myself.”
The unjustified arrogance in the other male’s tone rubbed Markes’s fur the wrong way. “Color me impressed.”
Static filled several seconds of silence. “You blew your cover. No one was supposed to know about you guys yet.”
Cover. He snorted. He’d like to slam his fist through the wall, but they had to live in this shit hole a while longer. For weeks they’d been cooped up, biding their time. When the moment came to act, they did, and they’d paid for it. The phone’s plastic casing creaked.
Oh, how they’d paid.
He swallowed back the roar building in his chest. “Did you want Branson dead or not?”
“That was the whole point of this little exercise. But thanks to you and your brother, Wyland now knows the crash wasn’t an accident, and that he has outsiders in his territory.”
Markes’s snarl rattled the lone, filthy window. The cabin’s other occupant, a literal bear of a man, didn’t take his eyes off the rifle he was carefully cleaning. LeBlanc curled a lip at the disrespect he could hear coming from Markes’s caller.
“Be careful what you say about my brother,” Markes said. His voice, filled with his beast, came out in a guttural growl. He could barely comprehend the loss he’d suffered. How would he go on without Curt?
A female voice whispered on the other end of the line, too low for Markes to make out.
“Of course, your brother’s death is a terrible loss,” the caller said with fake sincerity.
Markes might be muscle-for-hire, but he was no fool. He knew his caller and the bastard’s bosses thought he, his brother, and LeBlanc were nothing but vicious, disposable tools, loaded weapons they only had to point in the right direction.
“I want Curt’s body,” he said. This point was non-negotiable.
“We’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better.”
Their contact sighed. “This tragedy could have been avoided. You were only supposed to make sure Branson was dead. The others are meaningless.”
He prowled the room, his cougar itching to be let out to hunt. “You said Dodd had to die, too.”
Another bad-tempered growl echoed through the cell. “Dodd is Rissa’s ultimate stupidity. She’s contaminating the pack with that human.”
Markes couldn’t have cared less about Freddie Dodd. He was a human, weak and easily broken. But the little bastard had brought that female here. “His bitch sister killed my brother.”
And for that, they would both pay.
Painfully.
Another sigh. “Again, our deepest sympathies. Be thankful Izzy Meyers has Wyland tied up into so many knots he doesn’t know which end is up. Instead of hunting rogues in his territory, he’s holding vigil at his injured mate’s bedside. That won’t last long, though. Once they complete the mating bond, he’ll be back on the hunt. He’s not some horny kid, easily distracted by his dick. Mate or no mate.”
“He’ll be distracted if she dies.”
A laugh chuffed over the line. “Yes, he would be. Confirming Wyland’s suspicions about rogues acting within the territory rearranges our timetable a bit. I have no problem getting rid of the scrawny bitch if the opportunity presents itself, but we have to proceed with caution.”
A cold smile formed on Markes’s face. “Oh, trust me, the opportunity will definitely present itself.” He’d make sure of it. “Meyers is mine. Anyone else thinks of touching her, I’ll skin ’em and feed ’em their own tongue. Don’t like it? Take it up with Caine. He’s given me vengeance rights.”
The male sucked in an audible breath. “You spoke with Caine?” Markes almost laughed. No one wanted to go up against a male like that. Too bad Caine hadn’t been in charge of the sabotage plan. Not only would all their targets be dead without anyone realizing it wasn’t an accident, but Curt would still be alive. “I wasn’t aware you were reporting to him now.”
“Seemed like the thing to do, since Caine and his boss are the ones who’re really calling the shots around here.”
Another intake of air and another murmur from the female.
“We all have to do what we think is right to honor our families,” the caller said. “But remember, Izzy Meyers is not important to our plan.”
“Yeah? Well, plans change.”