Scout lifted the duffle bag and swung it over his shoulder while Brock collected the heavy duty black trash bag filled with the rest of their supplies. Leaving the house, Brock used his shirt to wipe of their prints before closing the door. He followed Scout to his truck, dumping everything into the back.
“Thanks for your help, man. And thanks for not asking any questions.”
“I wasn’t here.” Scout exhaled gravely before he walked away.
Brock watched him disappear before climbing into his truck and starting the engine. Looking around, he made sure nobody had seen them. In the early morning hours, the street was completely black. Putting the truck in gear, Brock cautiously drove away from the curb. He sat ramrod straight, looking out each of the windows and studying the rearview mirror closely. He stayed five miles under the speed limit and tried to appear not guilty, even though he was.
He’d just committed a huge crime, a paranormal no-no. Killing humans was strictly forbidden under any circumstance, and if he was discovered, someone from the FPA would be searching for his ass. He didn’t want any unwanted attention drawn to him or the rest of his pack.
Brock pointed his truck toward the swamps of Louisiana and hoped that some of the wild beasts out there might help him permanently dispose of Paul’s remains.
It took Brock about thirty minutes to reach the Barataria Preserve. Although the preserve attracted a lot of tourists, Brock thought it would make a good hiding spot since people weren’t granted access to every part of the preserve. At twenty-three thousand acres, he was confident in his ability to dispose of Paul’s body in the wild wetlands.
Brock shut off his headlights as soon as he was out of the city and closer to his destination. With his shifter senses, he didn’t need the light to see where he was going.
Hiding his truck in the brush, Brock shut the engine off and climbed out of his truck. The sounds of the bayou instantly surrounded him—crickets chirping, frogs croaking, bugs singing, water bubbling and flowing, and an owl in the distance. He shut the door and reached into the back, pulling the black duffle bag out. Swinging the heavy bag over his shoulder, Brock started hiking through the thick grass.
* * * *
By the time Brock dragged his ass back to The Castle, he was exhausted. The sun was already making its way past the horizon. Yawning, Brock rubbed his eyes as he walked up each step leading to the front door.
Brock could hear laughter and chatter as he made his way into the house. He didn’t bother to stop and say hi to his friends or check in on Tucker and Sloan. He was dead on his feet as it was. Traipsing through the bayou with a dead body wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.
It took a huge amount of effort to climb the stairs and make it to his bedroom, but he managed it.
Shutting the door behind him, Brock leaned against the wall and took off his shoes before removing the rest of his clothing. What would’ve normally taken him seconds to accomplish took him several minutes of uncoordinated attempts. When he was finally naked, he pushed himself off the wall and forced his legs to carry him into the bathroom. Reaching into the shower stall, Brock turned on the water and climbed under the spray.
He leaned against the wall, trying to conserve the rest of his strength so that he could make it to bed. Reaching out, he grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it up and down his body. Brock knew he wasn’t doing a good enough job, but he wanted to at least remove the scent of the bayou off his skin. After a few minutes, he shut the water off. Brock stepped out of the glass enclosure, grabbed a towel, and proceeded to dry off on his way back into his bedroom.
When Brock reached his bed, he dropped the towel and fell forward. He low crawled up the mattress until his head made contact with his favorite pillow. Sighing in relief, he closed his eyes and let himself get pulled into dream land.
The sound of glass shattering had Brock jolting up in bed.
He looked around, his heart pounding frantically. Covering his chest with his right hand, Brock took a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what had happened.
What the hell was that?
He listened closely, waiting for more. When it became obvious that The Castle wasn’t under attack, he lay back down.
Someone else can deal with it.
Ignoring the urge to get up and investigate, Brock yawned and went back to sleep.
Chapter 2
Brock stretched and yawned. Climbing out of bed, he shuffled toward the bathroom and took care of his morning ritual. When he was done and his breath fresh and minty, Brock went to the dresser and grabbed a clean pair of clothes. He pulled a T-shirt on over his head before stepping into a soft pair of denim jeans.
Walking down the stairs, Brock stopped dead in his tracks when a ball of fur ran through the foyer, followed by Lawson.