Lynn’s POV

Still nothing. Just that terrible, empty silence where her strength should be.

"What do you want?" My voice comes out steady. Stronger than I feel. I won't give them the satisfaction of hearing me scared.

Scarface laughs. The sound bounces off the warehouse walls, echoing. "What do we want? We want to fuck that pretty little mouth. That tight pussy. Every hole you got, sweetheart."

"Why?" I keep my chin up. "Who sent you?"

"Does it matter?" The one behind me leans down. His breath is hot and rancid against my neck. "You're gonna be choking on my cock either way."

I jerk away. The chair scrapes against concrete but doesn't tip.

Scarface grabs my chin, forcing my head up. His fingers dig into my jaw hard enough to bruise. "We're gonna rape you bloody, little wolf. Gonna make you scream and beg. Then we're gonna dump your used-up body where your precious Alpha will find it."

My Alpha.

Grayson.

The black envelope. The wolfsbane flower drawn at the bottom in red ink. His voice at the restaurant: 'I'll send a retrieval team tomorrow. The worst of the worst. Whatever it takes.'

Whatever it takes.

Oh God.

He really did this. He really sent them.

"You're making a mistake." I force the words out. "When he finds out—"

"When he finds out?" Scarface laughs. "Little wolf, he's the one who WANTS this. He ORDERED this."

No. No no no—

"Let's get started." Missing Tooth reaches for my blouse.

"Wait."

The voice cuts through the warehouse like a blade—female, familiar, dripping with false sweetness.

Heels click across the concrete. Steady. Confident. Coming closer.

A figure steps into the dim light.

Rose perfume hits me first. Then I see her face.

Shirley.

She looks exactly the same as six years ago—blonde hair falling in perfect waves, blue eyes cold as winter ice, features arranged in that practiced beauty that's all surface and no warmth. Still stunning. Still cruel.

My stomach drops.

"Well, well." Shirley stops in front of me, arms crossed over her expensive designer blouse. "Lynn Beverly. It's been a long time."

My throat closes. No words come out.

"Did you really think you could hide forever?" She circles me slowly, heels clicking with each step. "Did you think he'd forget about you? About what you did?"

"I didn't—"

"You attacked me." Her voice hardens, losing the false sweetness. "You clawed my face. You tried to kill me."

"You slapped me first!" The words burst out. "You came in there and provoked—"

"And you ran like a coward." Shirley's smile is pure poison. "But Grayson never forgot. All these years, he's been waiting. Planning. Watching."

No. This can't be—

"He sent you that letter, didn't he?" Shirley leans down, putting her face level with mine. "Summoned you home like a good little pack member. And you thought you could ignore him. Thought you could mark it 'no such person' and pretend you don't exist."

My chest tightens. Heart hammering against my ribs.

"But you're here now." Her breath ghosts across my face. "Right where he wants you. Do you know what he told me? He said, 'Make her suffer. Make her pay for every day she kept me waiting.'"

The words punch through me like fists.

No. Grayson wouldn't—

But he threatened to kill me six years ago. He watched me run. He sent that letter with the wolfsbane flower—the symbol of death by any means.

"He doesn't want you back, Lynn." Shirley straightens, gesturing to the three rogues watching us with hungry eyes. "He wants you dead. But first—" She smiles. "First, he wants you broken. Humiliated. He wants you to know exactly what happens to wolves who defy their Alpha."

Tears burn behind my eyes. I won't let them fall. Won't give her that.

"He loved me," I whisper. "I thought—"

"Loved." Shirley's smile widens. "Past tense, sweetheart. Now he just wants you gone. And I get to watch these fine gentlemen do whatever they want to you."

She turns to the rogues. "Do whatever you want with her. Rape her. Break her. Just make sure she's still breathing when you're done. Grayson wants to finish her himself."

"No—" I pull against the ropes. They cut deeper. Blood slicks my wrists. "You're lying. He wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't he?" Shirley crouches down, her face inches from mine. "He threw you out six years ago. Threatened to kill you. What makes you think he's changed?"

Scarface grins. "Heard that, boys? We got permission to ruin this bitch."

Missing Tooth moves toward me, already unbuckling his belt. "I'm gonna make you bleed, sweetheart. Gonna split you open."

'Istha, please!' I scream inside my head. 'Wake up! Help me! I need you!'

But she's silent. Locked away by the wolfsbane still coursing through my system.

I'm alone.

Scarface produces a knife. The blade catches the dim light as he moves behind me. One quick slice, and the ropes fall away from the chair.

My wrists are still bound behind my back. My ankles still tied.

I try to stand—try to run—

He backhands me across the face.

Pain explodes through my skull. My head snaps to the side. Blood fills my mouth—warm, metallic, wrong.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he growls.

They grab my arms. Their hands are rough, bruising. They drag me away from the chair, my tied feet scraping uselessly across the concrete.

No. No no no—

"Stop!" I thrash. Kick. "Get your fucking hands off me!"

One of them punches me in the stomach.

Air whooshes out of my lungs. I double over, gasping.

"That's better." Missing Tooth laughs. "Nice and quiet."

There's a mattress in the corner. Stained. Filthy. Reeking of mold and God knows what else.

They throw me down onto it.

The springs creak beneath my weight. Dust puffs up, making me cough.

Hands grab my blouse. Fabric rips.

"Please—" The word tears out of me. "Don't—"

"Begging already?" Missing Tooth laughs. "We haven't even started, sweetheart."

He kneels on the mattress beside me, one hand working at his belt. The other grabs my hair, yanking my head back.

"You're gonna take everything we give you," he breathes. "And you're gonna fucking thank us for it."

'Baron. Lira.'

I think of my children. Safe with Yanis and Wendy. Safe from this nightmare.

They'll never know what happened to their mother. They'll grow up thinking I abandoned them. Or maybe Shirley will tell them I died in an accident. Something clean. Something that doesn't involve—

Scarface leans over me, his weight crushing, suffocating. His hand grabs my throat. "Scream for me, pretty wolf. I want to hear you break."

I close my eyes.

Glass explodes.

The warehouse window high above shatters inward in a spray of glittering shards. They rain down like deadly diamonds, catching what little light filters through.

A massive shape hurtles through the broken window—black and silver fur, eyes blazing ice-blue, jaws open in a roar that shakes the rafters and vibrates through the concrete beneath me.

Arthur.

Grayson's wolf!

He's gonna destroy me himself?!