Camden nodded and said just as quietly, “I know, but we’ll let him believe we haven’t considered that.” Loudly, he called out, “Swear you’ll let Aspen live, Wayland. Swear it on LaToya’s grave.”
There was a deep growl. “You don’t get to say her name! You don’t—Fuck!”
Multiple shots rang out. A pained roar filled the air. More shots followed. Then branches were swishing and snapping, like someone was hurrying through the woods.
Camden looked at Aspen, “Wait here.”
But she didn’t. She ran at his side as he headed to where Wayland had been positioned. Just as they broke through the trees, there was the sound of a motorcycle roaring to life somewhere up ahead of them. Camden followed the sound, scenting blood and noticing paw tracks. The wolverine was clearly in pursuit of the vehicle.
But he wasn’t fast enough. None of them were.
Coming to a halt behind Alex’s beast, Camden watched as the bike disappeared from sight, leaving them all in the dust.
Tate turned to Farrell, “Follow him.”
The male stripped, shifted shape, gripped his phone with his talons, and then took to the sky.
Vinnie hovered near the injured wolverine, who was panting heavily. “Bree’s gonna be pissed. And I just know Valentina’s going to find a way to blame me for this. We need to get him to either Sam or Helena. He’s not in critical condition, but he needs a healer.”
Alex shifted with a grunt of pain. He’d taken several bullets, but the tough bastard stayed conscious and even managed to walk to their SUV without help. Soon, they were speeding away from the ruins of the house.
“Wayland does like his bombs, doesn’t he?” said Bailey, her voice clipped. “He made sure he was ready in case we came here.”
Ignoring the throbbing wound on her arm, Aspen looked at Camden and asked, “Was the bomb on a timer?”
He shook his head. “I think he set it off remotely, just as he did the one on your car.”
Vinnie’s brows snapped together. “If so, he purposely waited until we were all outside before setting it off. Why? He could have killed every one of us in one swoop.”
“But then, that fast, it would all have been over,” said Camden. “He’s proven lately that he likes to play games. He’s been playing them for months, dragging this whole thing out when he could have instead put a bullet in my head one morning while lying on a roof somewhere.”
Just the thought of that made Aspen’s blood run cold. Her bearcat let out a little snarl, absolutely done with this day.
“He wants you to suffer,” said Havana. “And not just physically.”
Camden nodded. “I don’t think he’s done playing. When we were all sprawled out on the grass seeking cover from the exploding house, we were easy targets. Wayland’s good with a gun. He could have taken out several of us right then. He didn’t. We moved fast, sure, but you’d think at least one of us would have been badly injured when those bullets started flying. And yet, until Alex was practically on top of him, no one got hit.”
Aspen felt her brows knit. “You think he purposely missed?”
“Yes.” Camden’s eyes dropped to where the bullet had grazed her. “I think he gave you that wound on purpose as well.”
“We’ll find out for sure once we have him,” said Alex. “It shouldn’t be long before Farrell calls us with Wayland’s location. We’ll make the bastard tell us everything. We’ll see how fucking tough he is when he doesn’t have guns or explosives.”
Annoyingly, though, it didn’t quite work out that way. Ending her call, Aspen tossed her cell on the coffee table and sank back into the sofa. “Unfuckingbelievable.”
“What is?” asked Camden, striding into the living area.
“Farrell called Tate to tell him that Wayland finally came to a stop at an isolated gas station. Just as Farrell was giving the Alpha the location, a shot rang out. Wayland had circled round and put a bullet in the guy. Farrell’s alive, but he’s badly hurt.”
“And Wayland’s gone,” Camden guessed.
She nodded. “In the wind.” And she was ready to burn shit down. “You know, I don’t get why he blew up the house. I mean, he destroyed his shrine to LaToya. He didn’t need to do that.”
“He knew we’d watch the property from then on. He knew he wouldn’t be able to come back and that he’d have to leave everything behind. I think he would rather the whole house was in pieces than that we could traipse through it, touching his shrine or taking down his pictures.”
“Yeah, that does sound like the kind of thing he’d do. Plus, he always seemed to find some sort of beauty in explosives. He used to natter on about it to LaToya. She often laughed and called him crazy in that playful way she had.”