When He's Ruthless (The Olympus Pride 4)

Tate nodded at Bailey, who then headed to the front entrance to secure it closed from the inside. With that done, they all followed the sound of a woman’s voice up the stairs and onto the second floor. Guessing Myra was on the phone, they waited outside her office for her to finish the call before they entered.

In the process of slipping papers into the drawers of her mahogany desk, it took Myra a few moments to sense that she wasn’t alone. When she did, her entire body went still. For all of five seconds. She then jumped to her feet, her eyes wide with outrage. “What the hell? You can’t just walk on up here. Who are you people?”

As they all fanned out in front of the desk, Tate replied, “The kind who don’t like it when humans help people get their hands on shifter fur and body parts.”

Myra tensed, her indignation quickly replaced by uneasiness.

“Not a safe occupation by any means,” said Luke, his inner cat snarling at her. “You had to have known someone would come for you sooner or later.”

Her lips trembling slightly, Myra gave an aloof shrug and sank back into her chair, going for cool and uncaring. “I had hoped it would be a case of ‘later.’”

Blair cocked her head. “You got mommy issues or something?”

Myra blinked. “W-what?”

“Well she’s half shifter,” said Blair. “That should surely make you supremely opposed to shifter poaching. But it would seem not. Why?” Because Blair just didn’t get it. Then again, she didn’t get how anyone could involve themselves in such a thing.

Myra swiped her tongue along her lower lip. “It’s just business.”

Aspen wagged a finger at her and tutted. “That right there was a lie,” she said, voicing Blair’s thought.

Her face hardening, Myra jutted out her chin. “Having shifter DNA isn’t necessarily something to be proud of. You all like to think that you’re better than humans, but you’re not.”

Havana pursed her lips. “We don’t think we’re better than all humans. But people like you, yeah, we’re sure as shit better than you.”

“Shifters are just as prejudiced against humans as humans are of them. My mother was kicked out of her pack at the age of nineteen simply for imprinting on a human—my father. And they sent her away when she returned after he died. It didn’t matter that she had a six-year-old daughter at her side. Not to them. They didn’t give a shit. Nor did they come to her funeral after she died a few days later—the snapping of her imprint bond was too much for her, you see.”

Bailey frowned. “So just because one pack of asshole wolves fucked over you and your mom, every other shifter in the world is also a supreme twat who deserves to die?”

“I didn’t say they all deserve to die.” Myra rested her clasped hands on her lap, her knuckles white. “I simply don’t care if they do die. You shifters have no real sense of humanity in you. You’re more animal than anything else. You just hide it well from most of the population.”

Camden hummed. “It’s good that you recognize how ruthless we are, because you’ll know I’m not bluffing when I tell you that if you don’t answer our questions honestly, we’ll subject you to a truck load of agony the likes of which you can’t imagine exists.”

Myra huffed. “Don’t expect cooperation. I have no incentive to tell you anything—there’s no way you’ll allow me to live. Even if you offered me some sort of deal I’d never believe you’d honor it, so I guess that leaves us at a stalemate.”

“No. No, it really doesn’t,” said Havana. “Bailey.”

The mamba didn’t bother stripping. She shifted instantly, and her snake then slithered out of the clothes that puddled on the floor.

Myra froze, her face losing some of its color, but she continued with the cool and indifferent act.

Deciding this bitch needed shaking up a little, Blair crossed to the desk. Bending over, she braced her elbow on the surface of the desk, and leaned her face into her palm. “It must be hard.”

Myra flicked her the smallest glance, loathed to remove her gaze from the mamba. “Excuse me?”

“To be you, I mean. I personally would hate it if, too insecure and afraid to face who I truly am, I lived in a false reality.” Blair exhaled a sigh of mock sympathy. “You sit in that big ole fancy chair, the queen of your kingdom, wielding power over shifters—condemning at least one to death per day. You believe it makes you strong. That it proves you’re superior to your mother’s old pack mates, all of whom are clueless to the power you hold over their kind.” Blair gave her a pitying look, knowing it would cut her to the quick. “Really, though, you’re just a lost little girl who feels weak and lonely and abandoned.”