"Your right eye is fucked, Rex. You've got a blind spot on this side and I'm covering it, so deal with it."
His jaw clenches. The exposed tendons on the destroyed side flex and shift and the growl that rolls through his chest is pure frustrated alpha.
But he doesn't argue.
He lets me stay on his scarred side.
We move through the corridor in tandem. Rex taking point, me glued to his right flank, scanning the shadows and doorways he can't see.
The corridor bends left ahead. Rex slows at the corner, pressing his shoulder against the wall, his chest heaving. Blood is dripping from his fingertips in a steady rhythm now—pat pat pat—and the trail we're leaving behind us is basically a neon sign reading COME FUCKING FIND US.
I peer around the corner at knee height, beneath Rex's line of sight.
Two men.
Not the same caliber as the others.
The guards we've encountered so far were private security. Hired muscle. The kind of guys who wear tactical vests because they think it makes them look competent and shit themselves when a partially feral alpha who looks like Rex does comes barreling toward them.
These two are different.
They're standing shoulder to shoulder in the wider corridor ahead, blocking a service exit. Both are in dark suits rather than tactical gear. Strike one. Both are built like refrigerators. Striketwo. Hell, the refrigerator build might even count for a whole pile of strikes.
Whatreallycinches it is both alphas are standing with the loose, balanced posture of men who know how to fight and have done it for paychecks that don't require tax forms.
Stephen's personal detail.
I recognize the one on the left.
My blood turns to ice water.
I don't know his last name. Never wanted to. What I do know is his name is Keith, and he cornered me in a hallway at an industry party and told me all the things he wanted to do to me whether I wanted him or not.
"Bet you'd cry so pretty."
I drove my knee into his dick and bolted.
I'm sure he'dlovethe opportunity to get revenge for the kids I'm sure he'll never have.
My grip tightens on nothing, because I don't have a weapon, and the fury that floods through me is so fucking intense my vision actually tunnels for a second.
"Stephen's goons," I whisper to Rex. "Real ones."
Something in my voice makes Rex's head turn toward me. That single ice-blue eye finds my face and reads whatever's written there, because Rex has always been able to see through me with frightening accuracy.
His lip curls back from his teeth.
On the good side, it's a snarl. On the destroyed side, where there's no lip to curl, the permanent exposure of teeth and tendon just becomesmore.The jaw muscles flex and pull, the ruined side of his face entering the territory of primal fucking nightmare.
He steps around the corner and walks toward the two alphas with a calm stride that’s somehow even more terrifying than if he was just barreling toward them.
Keith sees him first and takes a step backward with a horrified cry. The other's stance widens and his hand moves to the gun at his hip.
Rex isn't stopping.
"Standdown," the second guard barks, pulling the weapon.
Rex doesn't even acknowledge the gun. He moves forward suddenly and the second guard breaks formation, circling left, trying to flank.