She pretends not to notice. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he says, already looking her up and down like she’s on a menu. “It’s dangerous for a girl like you to be out here alone.” His tone warps the words into filth.
Ronan’s breath hisses. “I’m going to cut his goddamn hands off.”
Emerson adds, “Start with the tongue. I can’t hear that voice anymore. The innuendos.”
I don’t answer. I’m too focused on the telltale shift in Berk’s tone—light, airy, clueless. Her scampering-lost-girl persona. She’s luring him deeper into her trap.
“How long have you lived here?” she asks sweetly.
“A few years,” he says, moving closer. “Quiet neighborhood. Good for keeping to myself.”
Yeah. Predators love quiet.
From our distance, I can see just enough to confirm she’s guiding him exactly where she wants him—deeper into the house, far away from the front windows, where any neighbors might notice.
Just a few more steps.
Her voice dips half an octave, still soft but deliberate. “You’re being so nice. When I struck out at the first house, I was scared no one would answer.”
He chuckles, the sound rough and ugly. “I always answer for a pretty girl.”
That’s it.
Ronan inhales sharply. “Rowan—”
“I’m ready,” I growl under my breath, muscles coiling.
Berk’s voice whispers through the comm, feather-soft but firm.
“Three… two… one…”
Our cue.
We surge forward.
Riker thinks he dragged a helpless girl into his den. He has no idea she wasn’t alone—that three wolves followed her scent straight to his doorstep. Rage rakes through my chest, demanding a fast, brutal answer. Kick the door. Shatter the hinges. End the threat. But we need silence more than blood. Precision over noise. I force one steady breath, then test the knob.
Locked.
Ronan’s growl vibrates the wood. “Motherfucker locked it after letting her in.”
We all understand exactly what that means. He wanted her sealed in. Wanted privacy. Power.
My pulse spikes so sharply that I see flashes at the edge of my vision.
Emerson, the only one of us keeping his brain above rage-level right now, steps forward and slips a thin black swiper from his pocket. He works it into the seam of the frame with the calm of someone who’s broken into far too many places.
A soft click.
The world tilts.
The door swings open without a sound.
We move inside like predators slipping beneath an unguarded fence—silent, fast, lethal.
Berk is already facing the doorway when we enter. Her eyes snapping to ours. She sees everything in half a second. The murderous fury, the protective instinct, the blood-deep promise that Riker will not leave this house breathing if he touches her.