Megan opened her eyes and looked straight at Jayna. She was obviously weak and in a lot of pain, but it was clear that Megan knew exactly what was about to happen.
A sudden howl of pain came from the barn, and Liam chuckled.
“Doesn’t sound like it’s going too well for your cop boyfriend. Maybe we should wait for Kos to finish Eric off so he can drag him out here for you. Then you can see two of the most important people in your miserable little world die before you go out. Or should I just go ahead and pop Megan before she bleeds out on me?”
Jayna knew she should beg some more, say anything to give Megan another minute to live. But she knew Liam would never grant that minute.
“You’re a complete piece of crap, Liam, you know that?” she growled, her fangs extending farther than they ever had. The nearly uncontrollable anger coursing through her made her muscles vibrate and twist so much she was trembling. “And you were always a worthless alpha.”
Liam laughed. “I guess that answers my question—Megan it is.” He cocked the hammer on the pistol still pressed against Megan’s head. “Say good-bye, Megan.”
* * *
Becker was hit more times than he could count, but he ignored the pain and threw himself into the Albanians’ midst as well as his screwed-up leg would let him. They hadn’t been expecting that and it limited their ability to shoot out of fear of hitting each other.
He tore into them with claws and fangs, letting himself slip further into his wolf form than he’d ever been. His claws ripped into clothing and flesh alike, shredding material and spraying blood. Their shouts of terror and panic mixed with his snarls as he fought for his life—and Jayna’s. He couldn’t let any of these men leave that barn, no matter what it cost him.
As tightly packed in the small barn as they were, the men still kept shooting. He ignored the stabs of pain as one bullet after another tore into him. He pushed the pain down deeper, thought about Jayna, and kept fighting, ripping out a throat here, breaking an arm or leg there. He even grabbed one of the men and tossed him into a stall with one of the fear-maddened horses, smiling to himself as the horse stomped the man to death.
Becker wasn’t sure how long the fight took—everything blurred together—but at some point, he realized there weren’t any more men to fight. And that he was bleeding a lot.
He dropped to his knees as a wave of weakness hit him and his broken leg gave out. Oh shit. He hadn’t been hit in the heart, but it really felt like he was on the verge of bleeding out.
A sharp sound made his head snap up and he saw Kostandin leaning against the wall just inside the doorway, clapping his hands.
“That was impressive, Eric,” Kos said. “I don’t believe any of those omegas that Liam brought in, or even Liam himself, could have done that. It’s a pity you had to be a cop. You could have been very useful to me.”
Becker slowly pushed himself to his feet. He was unsteady as hell, but this wasn’t over. Kostandin had to die, or the Albanian would hunt down Jayna and her pack purely out of revenge.
Kos regarded the forty-five in his hand, tossing it aside with a shrug. Then he reached behind his back and pulled out that big-ass knife he always carried. He held it so the blade caught the light, giving Becker a wicked smile. “Shooting you would be too easy. This is way more satisfying, for me at least.”
Becker growled low in his throat and started forward, but the sound of voices outside the barn froze him in his tracks. It was Jayna. He’d thought she and her pack would already be far away from here. What was she doing outside the barn? Then he heard Liam saying he was going to shoot her and Megan.
Like hell.
Becker roared and lunged at Kos. The impact hurt so badly, Becker’s vision went dark for a moment. But he fought off the wave of unconsciousness that threatened him and focused on finishing off Kostandin.
That wasn’t nearly as easy as it should have been. If he hadn’t been so beat up, it wouldn’t even have been close, despite how big and muscular the Albanian was. But in Becker’s current condition, Kos was on equal footing with him.
Becker caught Kostandin’s right wrist just as the wickedly sharp knife came at his chest. At the same time, Kos grabbed Becker’s right wrist, fighting to keep his claws away from his throat. Becker tried to bring his right knee up into Kostandin’s balls, but the broken leg refused to cooperate, turning what he had hoped would be a vicious strike into barely more than a stumble.
Kos took advantage of Becker’s poor balance and slammed him into the wall of the barn so hard Becker heard the wood crack—at least he hoped it was the wood. Either way, another wave of blackness rushed over him as his head bounced off the wall like a Ping-Pong ball.