Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Because it’s not your business, White Fang.”
Ryan stood in front of her, meeting her bold “I fucking dare you to push me” gaze that for some perverse reason, caused his body to tighten. “I’m making it my business.”
Bristling, she cocked a brow. “Oh, is that fucking so?”
It was fucking so. “No pack has the right to cast out a pup. They should pay for it.”
Her suspicions were right, reflected Makenna. Protecting and defending were imprinted in his bones. “They will. Karma will see to that.”
Yeah, he’d be the karma she was referring to. “Just give me the name of your pack.”
“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” she said without heat. With anyone else, she might have thought he was pushing this merely because—like most dominant males—he didn’t like to be told no. But she sensed it was more than that. It was almost like he had this need inside him to be productive, to be useful, like he had something to prove to either himself or others.
“Just concentrate on Zac,” she told him. “Right now, he needs you.” A long moment of silence passed, but there was no way to tell what was going through his head. She’d never before met anyone who was such an expert at controlling their emotions. There was little of it in his voice, eyes, words, or outward demeanor. His body language was reserved; he never fidgeted, never evaded eye contact, never rambled or stammered. Hell, she had more success understanding his grunts.
Sensing that she wasn’t going to budge, Ryan decided to bide his time. He’d get his answers eventually. “Remember to call me if there’s a problem.” With that, he left.
CHAPTER SIX
The crack of a whip on his back. Rope abrading his wrists. White-hot pain as claws stabbed deep in his side. Rage and hatred pumping through his veins. The burn of the hot iron rod. Voices questioning, laughing, taunting. Ice-cold water hosing him down. The drill going through his hand. The sting and burn of salt and red pepper being rubbed into his wounds. The smell of sweat, blood, anger, corruption, and—
Ryan bolted upright in bed, panting and caught up in the fury that had clouded his thoughts all those years ago. His wolf, who had woken with a bestial growl, finally settled in his pacing as he realized it had been no more than a nightmare. Ryan didn’t have them often anymore. Once every six months, at most. They were always the same: broken, distorted snapshots of memory.
After Trey had gotten into an argument with the Alpha of a rival pack, Ryan had been kidnapped, kept prisoner, and tortured by them for information that he didn’t give.
Although the Linton Pack had plenty of questions, Ryan didn’t believe their need for information had been the primary reason for the torture they had inflicted on him. They had done it because they got off on it. The Alpha, in particular, had been a sadistic bastard.
It hadn’t been just the torture that pushed Ryan so near to the end of his endurance. It had been the sense of helplessness, of being out of control and unable to defend himself. His wolf had been chomping at the bit, furious that he’d been injected with drugs that prevented him from shifting and tearing his captors apart.
Ryan had known that his only chance of escaping would be to cross over the knife edge of feral, giving his animal total control. He’d known that the extra speed and strength would enable him to fight the fuckers. But he’d also known that if he did that while he was so enraged and no more than an animal in mind and heart, he could possibly turn rogue.
As such, he’d hesitated for over two weeks, hating the idea that going rogue would force his pack to track and kill him. But the more the Linton Pack had hurt him, the more they’d fed his need for freedom and vengeance.
Drugged, tired, hungry, enraged, and in utter agony, Ryan had finally given in. Completely feral and out of control, his wolf had lunged to the surface in spite of the drugs—and had escaped and ripped apart his captors. Ryan didn’t remember much about it; there had been so little left of him that felt human.
After that, his wolf had fled to his territory. By then, he’d calmed enough that Trey and Dante were able to call him back from the edge. The only words Ryan had spoken had been to say that the small Linton Pack had caught him, and they were now dead. They hadn’t pushed him for more information—maybe sensing there would be no point. He’d been so emotionally numb, yet so close to the edge.
Time around his pack had helped him heal, and he was about as functional as could be expected. Being a member of a tight, supportive, loyal pack could heal many wounds. That was why he believed his pack would be good for Zac. He just needed the kid to figure that out for himself.