Two months later...
She couldn’t pull the trigger. The fucker deserved to die, and yet she couldn’t do it.
Looking down at her husband’s sleeping form on the bed, the small, black gun shaking with a violent tremble, Nikki Calhoun inched closer to the king size bed—a bed that had seen more blood than pleasure. Barely able to stand on her unstable legs, she lifted the gun another inch.
His face turned in her direction, she stared down at him, the bile of hatred in her throat threatening to bring up what little acid coated her stomach. With each punch of his fist, she had already heaved what little bit she had managed to eat at dinner.
Raising the gun even more, she quivered with the knowledge that it would only take one bullet and she would be free. Free from the abuse and pain of what he called love.
Love wasn't supposed to be painful. Love wasn’t supposed to be punching and hitting. Love wasn't standing over the other’s sleeping body and craving the peace and relief that only death would bring.
The shaking worsened as her finger tightened on the trigger, on the small mechanical part of the deadly weapon that would solve all of her problems.
A gold-framed mirror hung on the wall, on the other side of the bed, and her gaze caught the woman within the glass, the shaking gun clutched between her hands. The wild mane of brown hair framed a pale face, and the deadly glint in her blue eyes revealed the pain, the battle of finishing what lay before her.
The problems in their marriage were evident in the bruises, the fresh discolorations still dark and sharp around the edges. He had slipped that night. Before, he had never touched her face, and when her face had caught his fist, his rage had grown. Now she could barely move, barely lift the small one-pound gun in her shaking hand, the pain overwhelming her broken body.
Her resolve steadied her hand slightly as her eyes left the battered woman in the mirror and lowered to the bed, to the sleeping man’s naked form.
So easy. Just pull the trigger, Nikki. The world will be a better place. He’ll never hurt another woman ever again.
Tears burned her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. The mirror caught the glittering pain of their depths. That was the thing with mirrors; they caught everything, even what a person wanted desperately to hide.
A loud snore caught her attention, and she froze, the gun poised, almost even with his temple as he shifted on the bed, a small dribble of drool on his thin lips she had once thought sexy.
Disgust curled her stomach as the tempting thought crossed her mind.
She wouldn’t miss at this distance.
Pull the fucking trigger!
Just then, a distance sound broke the silence, and she heard her cell phone go off in the kitchen down the hall. Her eyes narrowed down at her husband, her hand tightening again, but the ringing continued, the insistent country blare of Chris Stapleton filling the silence of their large house.
The six bedroom, four bath house sat on a small private island, outside of Portland, Oregon. The large house contained just the two of them, sitting on two acres with a wall around the main house. Cameras and motion sensors hidden throughout the property made escaping almost impossible, but that night, Edward had given the entire staff the night off. Even his bodyguards were nowhere to be seen, and she knew why. Her husband wanted complete privacy for what he had planned for her. If she didn’t escape now while she had the chance, there would be more to come—more blood spilled.
And she wouldn’t last the night.
Lowering the gun to her side, the tears fell faster, unnoticed, streaming down her face and falling to the brown carpet. The mirror again caught the movement as ragged sob shook her shoulders.
Nikki turned away from that blasted piece of glass, from the broken reflection of what she couldn't hide. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pull the trigger.
Turning away, every motion of the walk down the hall felt like fire. She could barely move without groaning, and the tears seemed to fall faster the farther she walked from the man behind her, walked farther from the opportunity to bring what little peace she could with one simple act.
The Crescent Ice Vineyard
Crescent Ice Pack Enforcer Bret Axel stared out the window of his office overlooking the vineyard, sighing deeply as a slight smile upturned his lips at the sight. Fields of grapes and vines went on for miles, seeming to have a random path of growth to them but were in fact placed perfectly and intentionally in a certain way to culture the best wine in not only the valley but the state of Oregon. The Crescent Ice Pack’s territory was outside of Portland. Dipping into the valley, it was the ideal location, as the trees surrounding the land gave the pack the perfect amount of privacy for their activities of running and hunting without dealing with a bunch of nosy humans.
Bret, however, was different from the rest. He wasn’t a wolf. Bret Axel, best friend to the Alpha of Crescent Ice, Travis Kameron, was a bear shifter and proud of it.
His phone vibrated on his desk behind him, and he answered it, his voice rough from tossing and turning the night before. He didn’t know what his problem was, but the feeling of restlessness was back, even stronger than before he had left the military.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, Bret. It’s Zach.”
Zach O’Neal was his cousin and the only one he trusted to run his nightclub in Seattle while he stayed at the pack house. Bret was an enforcer, and unless something big came up, he stayed close to his Alpha. Zach, on the other hand, was different. He preferred to live a lone life and enjoyed running the club.
Bret stilled, the hesitation coming through the line unlike his cousin. His eyes narrowed as he stared out the window, not really seeing the beauty he had been admiring moments before. “What’s up, man? What’s going on?”
“I’m not really sure. There’s been a lot of activity lately around the area, and I don’t like what I’m seeing,” he finally said grimly. “I think you need to come up here for a few days. Besides, the damn books aren’t matching, and you know how I hate the books,” he added lightly. But Bret wasn’t fooled. The concern was still there, buried beneath the weak humor.
“Let me talk to Travis, and I’ll be out in a few days. Keep an eye out. If anything happens, call Jackson. He should be back in town after his latest disappearing act.”
Jackson Maddox was ex-military, like Bret, and a doctor, always disappearing and reappearing in different ways. He was a hard man to read and get to know, typically keeping to himself, but he was a man anyone could count on, including the pack.
“Will do.”
With that, he snapped his phone closed, but his eyes remained fixed outside, his thoughts racing, analyzing what the call could mean. If Zach had called him, then he was really worried. His cousin wasn’t one to cry wolf, or in this case bear, and run scared, regardless of his gene pool. Increased activity around the dock area where the nightclub was located was suspicious enough and cause for raised eyebrows.
He glanced down at his watch. The pack meeting would start in forty-five minutes, so the timing was perfect.
Twenty minutes later, he knocked on his Alpha’s office door and walked in, the other man standing by his window, talking to Noah, the other enforcer. The two men looked up from their conversation with smiles of welcome.
“Hey, Bret. What’s up?” Travis asked.
Bret closed the door behind him and approached the two men. Suddenly, it hit him.
Silence.
Ever since Travis’s daughter had been born, silence was a thing of the past, as the little girl was always racing from one end of her domain to the other.
“Where is everyone? It’s too quiet.”
Travis laughed, his blue eyes softening as he thought of his daughter. “Vanessa and Mom took her shopping for a new outfit before we head out of town for the weekend. She’s growing like a damn weed!”
Vanessa was his new wife, and her daughter was actually Travis’s step-daughter, but mention that technicality to his Alpha, and the man wasn’t afraid to hand the offender a piece of his own ass. Ava was his—end of story—and the little girl adored her father.
But Bret was kind of shocked that Travis had let them leave the safety of the pack house, considering what had happened a year ago.
Vanessa had fought hard to move on and heal from the six months she was forced to fight as a wolf in an underground fighting ring. The memories still unnerved Travis, thinking back to his time there as well, forced against his will to fight and kill other wolf shifters. Before they could escape, Vanessa was raped as a wolf by the leader of the link, Dominic. Refusing to let him win, she fought to stay a wolf and safely delivered her daughter, Ava. She had her revenge when Dominic dared to take her and her daughter; she ended the bastard’s life herself.
The pack soon realized he was only a small piece of the puzzle. The shifter fighting ring was a lot bigger than they had anticipated, and they were all tracking the links within the council. So far, they hadn’t had any luck beyond a few tips leaking in that hadn’t led to shit.
Travis must have read his mind because his smile disappeared and blue eyes hardened.
“Two men are trailing them. They’re safe.”
Bret grinned at the fierce look on his Alpha’s tanned face. “Vanessa hates that.”
Travis raised a brow and shrugged. “She’s not dumb. She knows they’re there, but it’s either that or I lock them all up. She’s taken this route.”
Bret chuckled, already knowing the two of them had probably had rounds with this argument. After being kidnapped and caged for so long, Vanessa loathed any type of restriction or chains, even the invisible kind, but she also happened to be completely in love with Travis, so that tipped the scale in the Alpha’s favor.
“So what’s up? The meeting doesn’t start for another twenty-five minutes. Unless I’m off?” With that question came furrowed brows and a quick glance down at his wrist watch.
Reminded of the reason he was there, Bret ran his fingers through his black hair. He hated to ask to leave, but for Zach to call him…
“Zach called. Something’s going on around the club, activity that isn’t normal.”
“Go. Take a few days. Hell, take a few weeks to find out what’s going on. You know if you need help, all you have to do is call.”
Bret breathed a sigh of relief. His Alpha was a good man, regardless of the violence that simmered just below the surface, but with Travis leaving town, now wasn’t the best time to be taking off. Bret loathed the idea of selling the club due to his responsibilities and job within the pack, and his Alpha knew it, hence his understanding now.
Bret hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Travis shot him a look that spoke volumes, but Noah interrupted for the first time, speaking up from behind Travis.
“I’m here too, man,” he said quietly. “And so is Patrick. We’ve got this together. Go. Find out what’s going on. I’ll take care of everything for a while. Besides, you never take time off for the club. It’s about time you checked in on everything anyways, in detail,” he added, an eyebrow raised.
Travis nodded and slapped Bret on the back. A lesser man would have toppled over, but Bret didn’t move, his large frame planted firmly in place. “I’ll see you when you get back. The meeting is just an update on the vineyard and a chore list a mile long for everyone, so you are getting out of that! Anna will be home in a week, so let’s get everything straightened up before that little brat returns. Traffic will be a bitch in a few hours, so get a head start. I know I will be.”
Neither man noticed Noah stiffen, a bout of emotion flashing in his eyes at the mention of the youngest sister.
Bret nodded, and within an hour, he was on the road, headed to find out what was going on around his club.