Tate ran his gaze along everyone as he said, “Okay, this is how it’s gonna go down. Havana, you and your girls deal with the shifter upstairs. Detain him, don’t kill him. And Bailey, don’t bite him. Luke, Alex—you come with me; we’ll subdue our good friend Enrique. I want people outside just in case they make a run for it or receive some visitors. Chen, JP—you two cover the front. If anyone turns up, give us the signal. Farrell, Dad—you cover the rear. When the bastards are secured, I’ll call you both inside. Now, is everyone clear on what they’re doing and where they should be?”
Each of them answered in the affirmative.
“Good, then let’s get the fuck on with this,” said Tate. He gave Havana a brief kiss. “Be careful.”
“You, too.” She, Aspen, and Bailey then melted into the shadows.
As the others took up position, Tate, Luke, and Alex crossed to the back door. The wolverine effortlessly picked the lock, and then the three of them were inside a somewhat small but stylish kitchen. Mostly white, it had an off-putting clinical feel.
Tate stood still, listening for sounds. All he could hear was the crunching of chips, the occasional deep chuckle, and a gameshow playing on the TV—all of which seemed to be coming from the other side of the house. He followed the sounds into the living room and, yeah, there was Enrique.
Sensing he wasn’t alone, the jaguar shot his gaze to the doorway. He stilled, a chip halfway to his mouth. “The fuck?” He jumped to his feet, knocking the bowl of chips onto the floor. His eyes slid to the phone on the coffee table.
“Don’t,” said Tate, his voice pitched low and deep. “This isn’t the time to do anything stupid, Enrique.”
His nostrils flaring, the jaguar clenched his fists. “Get out of my fucking house,” he spat, his voice unnecessarily loud, clearly trying to get his friend’s attention.
Tate shook his head. “He’s not coming to help you. No one is.” Tate
Tate signaled at his brother and Alex, who then quickly subdued the jaguar. “Tie him up. The dining chairs looked pretty sturdy.”
Telling himself that the silence upstairs was a good thing, Tate headed up there and made a beeline for the back bedroom. Inside, the other jaguar was gagged, out cold, and bound with zip ties.
Havana smiled at Tate and held up a wallet. “According to our boy’s ID, his name is Gavin Wheeler. I interrogated a Gavin once. He was very chatty.”
“I’m not so sure this guy will be,” said Tate. “Not if he and Enrique have served Gideon for many years.”
“You need to identify which of the jaguars is the weakest. Then you put the majority of your focus onto the strongest of the two. You make him hurt, make him bleed, put him through the kind of pain that will scare the weakest into confessing whatever he knows.” When Tate stared at her, she lifted her shoulders. “What?”
His lips twitching, Tate said, “I like how ruthless you are. Now let’s get Gavin downstairs.”
Soon, both jaguars were securely bound to dining chairs. They’d been injected with shifter-suppressing serum, just as a precaution.
Enrique glared at Tate, his body very still, his dark eyes glinting with defiance. Gavin was breathing hard and fast, sweat beading his forehead.
“I think poor Gavin is struggling to breathe,” said Havana, sounding as though she truly cared. “I’ll remove the gags. Aspen, I could use your help with that.”
Enrique and Gavin eyed them warily. Both males turned to stone when they noticed the black mamba slithering along the floor.
The moment the gags were gone, the jaguars flexed their jaws and licked their lips. They couldn’t seem to decide whether to focus on Tate or whether to keep an eye on Havana and Aspen. Apparently, the cats were smart enough to sense that they didn’t have harmless young women at their backs.
“Ooh, look at all this hair, Vana. So pretty.” Aspen none too gently yanked out Enrique’s hair tie, causing his brown hair to tumble free. She speared her fingers through it. “I wish my hair was so thick.”
Enrique jerked his head to the side, trying to avoid her hand. He glared at Tate again. “We’ll never tell you anything, no matter what you do.”
Luke smiled. “Now he’s just daring you to do your worst, Tate.”
“It would seem so.” Taking a seat at the table opposite the duo, Tate glanced from one to the other. Gavin was now trembling, eyeing the mamba slithering over his feet. And Enrique, well, he was grinding his teeth because Aspen and Havana had begun to put intricate, girly braids into his hair. Tate’s cat probably would have been amused if he wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of vengeance.
It was clear that Enrique was the more dominant personality. Gavin possessed none of his friend’s bravado. With the right amount of pushing, he’d crumble.
Tate would do just as Havana advised; he’d focus mostly on Enrique and let Gavin witness just what lay ahead for him if he didn’t talk. “You can’t save your boss from me.”
Enrique sneered. “You’ll never find him.”
“I found you.”
Enrique’s smirk faltered.
“I’m guessing you both escaped the compound with Gideon years ago. You must both be very loyal to him, considering he allowed you to live. Unlike the rest of your ‘kin.’ He killed them without blinking.”
“He didn’t take them with us because he wasn’t sure of their loyalty,” Enrique defended.
“He didn’t take them because he didn’t give a sliver of a fuck about them. They’d served their purpose. They’d helped him wipe out his pack. But he needed a few people to aid him in carrying out certain things while he laid low, didn’t he? And that’s where you both came in. All these years later, you still serve him.”
“Yeah, we do. And we won’t tell you shit about him.”
Tate idly stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his arms. “You know, I’ve heard it said … that there’s nothing more dangerous than an Alpha shifter whose mate has been threatened. It’s correct. I suppose the reason for that is twofold, really. One, our primal protectiveness is enhanced by our innate need to shield those under our care, and that primal protectiveness is a live wire when it comes to our mates. Two, our inherent instinct to take charge—not just of others, but of ourselves—pushes us to pursue the things we want, and that means our prey drive is so much more intense.
“Your patriarch became my prey when he targeted my mate. I’ll never stop hunting him. Never. And I will find him, even if it takes years. So you see, you really can’t save him from me. But you can save yourselves from a night of pure and utter agony by simply being cooperative. Tell me where he is.”
Enrique let out a long breath. “All right, fine. He lives on Hampton Road. Or is it Chancellor Street? Hmm, it could even be Cleaver Avenue. You know, I really can’t be sure.” His head jerked as he hissed.
“Sorry,” said Aspen. “Didn’t mean to pull your hair so hard. It was a total accident.”
Alex sidled up to Tate, his eyes on their captives. “Gideon’s worth going through hours of excruciating pain? To him, you’re nothing but a couple of easily replaceable employees. Loyal, sure, but still replaceable. Your deaths will be no more than a minor hindrance to him, if that.”