Gage kept moving toward the back door of the house, pulling on gloves as he went. He still had no idea what he was going to do once he got inside, but he didn’t want to leave fingerprints regardless.
He was about fifteen feet away from the back door of the house when it opened and a big man in dress pants, a white shirt, and a military buzz cut walked out.
Shit.
Gage thought for sure the guy had seen him, but one look at the man’s face changed his mind. He had that sleepy-eyed look of someone who’d just gotten out of bed. Probably a guard starting his shift.
Gage closed the distance between them, landing a solid right cross to the man’s jaw before he even knew what hit him. Gage caught the man and lowered him to the ground, then dragged him into the shadows of the trees. It wasn’t until he checked for a pulse that he realized the guy was one of the goons who’d come to the restaurant the other day. He didn’t bother zip-tying the man or stuffing something in his mouth. He’d be in and out of the house before the guy even woke up.
Gage darted a quick look around, then jogged over to the house. He tried the doorknob just to see if he’d get lucky. Well, damn, it was unlocked.
He quietly closed the door behind him, then soundlessly made his way through the darkened kitchen and down the hallway toward the room he’d seen with the light on—the one where the security guards hung out.
Their scent hit him before he even reached the partially opened door. Gage paused outside the room to do a quick recon. Two men sat on the couch, their backs to the door, their attention focused on the video game they were playing. They were so busy annihilating pretend monsters with their pretend weapons that Gage could have shot both of them and they never would have seen it coming.
Instead, he moved up behind them and punched one in the temple, bouncing his head off the other guard’s. Before the second guy could figure out what the hell happened, Gage hit him with a ridge hand strike to the side of the neck that knocked him as unconscious as his buddy.
This might take even less time than he thought.
Gage was heading for the steps when he almost walked into someone coming out of the bathroom. He recognized Roscoe Patterson’s ugly mug at the same time Hardy’s enforcer recognized him.
Patterson reacted faster than the other goons. Instead of reaching for a weapon he had no prayer of getting a hand on, he lashed out with a quick jab straight at Gage’s face.
If Gage hadn’t been a werewolf, the punch would have landed and probably made him see stars long enough for Patterson to go for his weapon. But Gage brought up his forearm, blocking the blow and connecting with the other man’s wrist hard enough to break something. Patterson didn’t even flinch. He merely shifted his stance and whipped out a knife with his other hand.
Gage jerked back, easily avoiding the blade, then caught Patterson’s arm just as he went in for another strike. The man’s eyes widened. That’s right, asshole. I’m faster, stronger, and a hell of a lot more dangerous than you are.
Gage delivered a jab to Patterson’s chin, following it up with an uppercut under the jaw, then a roundhouse kick that sent the man tumbling back ten feet to crash against the wall. Patterson slid to the floor, the knife slipping from his hand to land on the wood with a horrendous clatter. If the noise hadn’t been enough to wake up Hardy, nothing would.
Shit.
Gage bounded for the stairs, taking them four at a time. Hardy was probably on the phone to the cops even now. Wouldn’t that be ironic? A murdering scumbag calling the cops to protect him from another cop.
But when he reached the top of the stairs, it was to find Hardy bursting out of his bedroom, a gold-finished automatic in his hands. Before Hardy could pull the trigger, Gage closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around the pistol, ripping it out of the man’s grasp. He shoved Hardy back into the bedroom with a growl.
Gage followed as the man stumbled back, continuing to push and shove until he’d moved Hardy all the way back to his bed and knocked him across it.
“You!” Hardy shouted. “I’ll have your fucking badge for this.”
He tried to get to his feet, but Gage pushed him back down. “That might be a bit difficult since I’m not wearing a badge at the moment.”
Hardy’s heart sped up as he suddenly realized there weren’t any other cops there shouting orders or waving warrants. There was just Gage—and the gun he’d taken from Hardy.
The fastest way to make his problems go away was to kill Hardy. And if Gage was smart, that’s what he’d do.
Hardy slowly inched toward the head of the bed. Did he have another gun in the nightstand? Gage hoped so. Because he couldn’t kill a defenseless man in cold blood. It just wasn’t in him.