She didn’t have time to even process what happened next. That chop to her wrist. Blinding pain. The knife clattering to the floor. And then she was joining it, flat on her stomach. She reacted, her hands slamming down to propel herself up again, but the second she threw her weight on that injured wrist, it buckled and pain ripped through her. Then she felt a foot on her spine and a hand in her hair, ripping it free of the hastily done twist. Malcolm yanked her head back so far she yelped.
“I can snap your neck and kill you,” he said. “Or break your spine and paralyze you. Choose.”
She reached back with her uninjured hand, her fingers blazing, but he was wise enough to stay clear of her fingers. She had to get her gun—
She couldn’t. His foot pinned her to the floor with her gun crushed beneath her.
You were a fool, she thought. An absolute fool. You knew what he was capable of. You thought you were prepared for it. You weren’t.
“Choose,” he said. “You have five seconds, or I’ll rip your scalp from your head and crush your spine. Then I’ll see how much more amusement I can have before Nicky arrives. Do you want to live paralyzed? Or die? Choose.”
Choose? How did one choose such a thing?
The answer should be obvious: life. And yet …
She swallowed. It didn’t matter. Just buy time. Say she chose to live.
Her mouth opened, and then shut. He wasn’t going to let her survive this. He just wanted her to beg and then, when she thought her life spared, he’d snap her neck.
“Beg or I—”
A scream sounded from the back rooms. Malcolm tensed, and though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was looking over his shoulder. She grabbed her hair, wrenching it from his grip as she rolled from under him. There was a commotion in the back, but he ignored it and knocked her to the floor.
She went for her gun, but in the time it would take her to pull it, he could pin her. She’d lost. There was no way out of this. Nothing to do but her job. Her mission. Finish that and accept whatever came next.
She reached into her pocket and pushed the panic button.
25. NICK
Nick had followed the path easily enough. At first, when it became clear that Vanessa was actually leading Malcolm—their paths had diverged enough that he couldn’t be forcing her somewhere—Nick had been confused. She wouldn’t run from Malcolm when Nick had been right across the road. Once he realized Vanessa’s trail stuck to the sidewalk, he understood her plan: lure Malcolm along an occupied street until he could catch up. She must have been the one who called, to tell him her plan.
So he was no longer barreling down the road, certain she was five seconds from a terrible death. He did lope along the sidewalk, though. As a wolf. In a Detroit suburb. Elena would throttle him. Clay would help.
Under the circumstances, though, there was nothing else he could do. There were no alleys. No maze of side streets and service lanes. This was it—a major suburban thoroughfare in daylight. He could tell himself it wasn’t so bad—it was late morning on a weekday, and the shopping district wasn’t exactly packed. But even if people would only report seeing a huge black dog, he was still in serious shit.
He made good time, if that helped. And once the trail went into the electronics store, he did keep to the service lane that ran alongside the shop, pacing as he figured out his next move.
Vanessa had Malcolm cornered, so to speak, though he doubted Malcolm would agree. Malcolm was, however, unable to kill her in such a public place. They were at a standoff, as Vanessa waited for Nick. No, as she waited for human Nick, with hands that could open the goddamned door.
He could Change back, but that would take too much time. There was only one option: let Vanessa know he was there. That meant letting her see him. He was walking down the service lane, planning to pace in front of the store, when a commotion sounded inside. Sudden chatter, rapid footsteps, the front door opening, then more footsteps as people spilled out.
Nick raced to the sidewalk. The store was emptying fast. People weren’t running panicked, though. They were just getting the hell out of there. Meaning Malcolm had made his move.
Nick ran to the front door, but by the time he reached it, everyone was gone and it was closed. He tore around the back. Someone would come out that way, an employee or a customer. But the door stayed closed.
He strained to hear noises from inside. Nothing. He tried to take comfort in that. Vanessa had her gun. If Malcolm did anything, she’d shoot him. Yet his heart hammered as he paced, desperately struggling for an idea.
Break the front window. No, get a look through that window. Evaluate the situation. Break in if needed.
He was turning to start down the lane again when the rear door creaked open. He crouched, waiting and watching as the door slowly opened, and then—
Nick shot forward. A young clerk let out a shriek. Nick knocked him flying and scrambled through. He raced along the narrow back hall, knocking over everything in his path. Finally he saw the half-open door to the shop floor ahead.
Nick smacked the door open with his muzzle and charged through. He saw Vanessa and Malcolm, grappling on the floor. It was no contest. Malcolm was only trying to get a better grip on his prey, and as soon as he found it …
As Nick raced over, they both stopped. Vanessa’s elbow shot up, slamming Malcolm in the jaw. It was enough to make him fall back. He could have recovered, but Nick was barreling straight at them, and Malcolm wasn’t about to ignore a charging wolf. As Vanessa reached for her gun, Malcolm gave her a shove. Then he ran.
Malcolm tore around a display and made a beeline for the rear door. Nick glanced back at Vanessa.
“Go!” she said. “I’ve called them. They’re coming. I’ll lead them to you.”
He took off after Malcolm.
A healthy ego is a wonderful thing. An overinflated one, though? That gets you into trouble. Antonio had taught Nick that, clamping down whenever he got a little too cocky about the numerous gifts life had bestowed on him.
Malcolm’s ego failed him as soon as he got out that rear door. He should have run for the street. Nick might break the rules enough to race along it in wolf form at midday, but he’d never take down Malcolm there.
But running to the safety of humans was more than Malcolm’s ego could bear. He tore along the service lane. Then he grabbed a fire escape ladder. He was ten feet up when Nick sprinted and leapt. He’d been aiming to grab Malcolm by the back of the shirt, but that, he realized, had been a bit of ego on his own part. He managed to snag Malcolm’s foot. He clamped down hard, though, and when he dropped, Malcolm dropped with him.
They fought. Nick hadn’t Changed just so he could better track Malcolm—being in wolf form was the only way he’d get the upper hand in a fight. Malcolm didn’t concede easily, though. Nick tore at him with fang and claw, ripping through fabric and flesh, and Malcolm kicked and punched, aiming for Nick’s stomach, eyes, muzzle, all the sensitive spots. Soon Nick was fighting through a haze of pain and blood.
He could lose. He hadn’t considered that. A match between a wolf and an unarmed man clearly favored the beast. But Malcolm was on a whole other level, and it wasn’t just martial superiority. Malcolm was fighting for his life, and that seemed to numb him against every injury.
When Malcolm’s fist connected with the side of Nick’s skull, the sledgehammer drive knocked Nick unconscious. It was only a second’s dip into blackness before he yanked himself out, but it would have been enough for Malcolm to get free. Escape and run. Instead, he grabbed Nick’s muzzle to break his neck. And it was then that Nick realized Malcolm wasn’t the only one fighting for his life.