Secretly Mated(33)

“Here’s the deal,” Rigor called over his shoulder to the cats. “For every minute I don’t have Gash in my custody, this cat loses a finger.”

With his announcement, the air grew heavy. Rage swirled, tension so thick a chainsaw wouldn’t touch it.

“Hear me, Gash? Your brother wants you back, and if we have to hurt a few kitties to make it happen… well,” he shrugged, “…that’s what we’ll do.”

“Fuck you,” Owyn spat. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Rigor pursed his lips. “We’ll see about that. Time’s ticking, Gash.”

Owyn met Magic’s furious gaze with a slight shake of his head before catching Gash’s and giving him the same signal. He could lose a couple fingers. It would fucking suck, especially since he used his hands for a living. But Gash belonged here, with Bailey and the possibility of a happily ever after. And these assholes weren’t going to bully him away.

Besides, he had Doc to help with the pain.

Doc. He let his eyes creep back to the dining room window. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her, and he knew she was watching from behind the glass. He hated the idea that she’d be witness to this.

Fuck.

“Thirty seconds. Timer,” Rigor called.

“Yeah, boss?” A deep voice bellowed from the cab of the wrecker behind Owyn.

“Tell me when the clock ticks out.”

“My pleasure, boss.” Owyn could hear the grin in the guy’s voice.

“Shit,” Gash muttered, shifting from one foot to the other, clenching his fists. “Magic, I—”

“Stay where you are,” Magic roared, freezing Gash in place with the command.

Owyn focused on his clan. Eagan, Layna, Renner, Mason, and Ryan. They were ready for this kind of battle. They’d been preparing since Christmas, and the righteous anger and determination rolling off them gave Owyn all the confirmation he needed. It might get bloody, but no one was breaking what they had built here.

A whistle sounded from the cab.

“Time’s up,” Rigor murmured, and Owyn didn’t miss the wave of dread in his voice. “What’ll it be, Gash?”

Owyn met his friend’s tortured gaze. Gash’s jaw was clenched tight, his face giving nothing away, but he was close to caving. Owyn could read it in his eyes.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he growled at Gash, and the male threw his shoulders back, standing tall to honor Owyn’s command.

Rigor looked back and forth between the two of them, his whole countenance changing. He went from taunting bully, pushing his weight around to calm fury.

“Very well.” The resignation in his tone had Owyn’s heart beating double time. “Which hand do you use?” he growled, gripping the bolt cutters in both hands to open them. “And I suggest you give it to me straight.”

Shit. The panther bucked inside, desperate to be let out.

Mohawk was breathing down his neck, and Owyn had the urge to lie, but at the last minute, told the truth. “Right.”

Rigor looked up at Mohawk. “Hold him.”

The wolf grabbed Owyn’s left hand, holding it steady for Rigor’s cut. The two wolves shared a look, and Rigor nodded.

“Deep breath, cat. This is gonna hurt.” With that, he positioned the cutters over Owyn’s left pinkie, and jerked the handles closed with a snap.

There was a second of nothing, and then pain like fire lit him up, his hand bleeding lava as the amputated digit flew into the shadows somewhere.

He let out a roar of pain, battling with the panther not to shift.

“You fucking bastard,” Magic hissed, hands clenched, barely holding his ground.

Panting through the agony, Owyn was aware of the noise coming from inside the lodge. Doc. Fuck, it sounded like she was going batshit crazy.

“Another minute on the clock,” Rigor called. His voice was solid, but Owyn could see the way his hands trembled where they gripped the bloody cutters.

The doors to the lodge burst open and Doc ran out, looking crazed and furious.

“You monster!” she screamed at Rigor, running forward only to get snagged in Magic’s grasp. “You fucking monster!” She struggled against Magic, slapping him with her claws and leaving blood. But he lifted her backward off her feet to keep her from getting any closer to the wolves.

Thank you, brother. If Owyn could’ve spoken he would’ve said it out loud. But Mohawk was wrapping a towel around the bleeding stump where his pinkie used to live.

Rigor stared wide-eyed at Doc, frozen, with the cutters hanging limp from his hand. “Doctor? Doctor Davis?”

Doc froze, forgetting the fight with Magic. Recognition dawned in her expression, turning her face into a mask of disbelief.