Page 36 of Stolen

He was too far gone to lead a pack, to run a business—even one as twisted and evil as the cartel.

He would bring them all down, simply because he was no longer able to count the cost of getting what he wanted—even the cost to himself.

And she, in her own arrogance, had vastly underestimated how far gone he was. Perhaps how far gone he always had been.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I see that now. That’s why I came back, because I realized I made a mistake. I’m glad you came for me. I just want you to take me home.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was too little, too late.

Rico said, “Take you home?” He burst out laughing—a horrible, evil, crazy laugh. He gestured to his men. “Get her.”

They came forward, surrounding her. He said, “Strip her naked.”

What? Ariana froze inside. “Rico—”

He strode forward and backhanded her across the face. “I’m going to give you to my wolves, you bitch whore. You like fucking my men so much, you can fuck them all. After I watch you do that, I’m going to find that lying, traitor scum who thinks he can take one of my women, and make you watch him die slowly. And then I’m going to burn this town to ash.”

He turned to one of the men. “What are you waiting for? Get out your knife and cut off her hair.” He tangled his hand in it, yanking her head back painfully. “Then strip her down and teach her a lesson.”

There was a howl from down the road. “Nooo!” Gregor burst out of the truck and ran down the road, Changing to wolf as he came. One of the men raised his rifle and fired, knocking the wolf to the ground.

Almost at the same moment, there was a huge explosion at the back of the convoy, and one of the trucks went up in flames.

Rico let out a roar of fury. The men let go of Ariana and instinctively went for their weapons. Ariana ducked between them and began to run, back toward the truck.

Rico raised his automatic weapon and began to fire at her.

Ariana dodged and weaved, but she knew she couldn’t escape him long. He was running after her now, howling, and he could run faster than she.

She would never get away.

Through the woods she heard the whining roar of a motorcycle. Moments later, a dirt bike flew out of the forest, jumping the underbrush at the edge of the road.

It hurtled through the air, Hawk holding the handlebars with one hand, a machine gun tucked under the other arm, already firing. A hail of bullets went over her head, and Ricardo’s men dove for cover.

Hawk landed in the road twenty feet in front of her, fishtailing into a skid. He brought the bike under control and came back around, sliding to a stop nearly at her feet.

“Get on!” he yelled.

She leaped for the dirt bike, slinging her leg over the seat. He was away almost before she could grab onto him.

Warm, solid, beloved.

She held on, and they roared off down the road, leaving Rico cursing behind them.