Two streets over, she found a car. An older, black BMW that sat alone beneath a broken street lamp. Leaving that ride alone in that spot was a bad mistake.

The driver’s loss.

She lifted up with her right foot and smashed in the back window. An alarm immediately blasted. Easing away from Az, she unlocked the door, hopped around inside the vehicle, and two seconds later, she was under the dash. It barely took a breath for her to stop the alarm and get the engine flaring to life.

She might just be human, but she had some serious skills.

Thanks to Brandt.

Damn him.

Jade helped Az into the BMW. Well, helped, shoved, same thing. The guy still wasn’t talking. With the bullets in him, maybe he was just in too much pain to talk right then.

The shifters had been playing with him.

Those sadistic jerks had just wanted to hurt Az. No doubt on Brandt’s order. Because if they’d wanted him dead . . .

Riley was a good shot. If he’d wanted Az on a morgue slab someplace, he would have simply blasted a bullet in his brain.

While I watched.

Those sick shifters had to be stopped.

“Just hold on,” she told Az as she yanked the gearshift back and spared a fast glance in the rearview mirror. “I’ll get you someplace safe and dig those bullets out.” Worried, Jade glanced at him.

He wasn’t slumping in the seat. He was looking right at her, with a faint frown pulling his brows low.

Crap. “Are you in shock?” Great, the last thing that—

He reached into the gaping hole on his shoulder and yanked out the bullet. When his fingers dug into the torn flesh, the contact made a sucking sound that raised goose bumps all along her body. After just a moment of searching, he had the bloody bullet gripped in his fingers.

Jade swallowed. “I’m guessing that means you aren’t in shock.”

He rolled down his window and tossed out the bullet.

“Okay then . . .” Now wasn’t the moment to gripe at the guy for littering. Blood prioritized right then. She turned her attention to the road. Sirens were screeching on the next block, and there had to be some folks from that crowd who would be sober enough to provide descriptions of the shooters—and of Az. Her foot pressed down on the accelerator. Nice and slow. All of the glass had busted out of the back side window, so if anyone looked at it, they’d just think the window was rolled down. They wouldn’t realize she’d done a smash-and-grab.

As long as she played it cool, she had this.

Then he appeared.

Brandt walked out of the darkness. Tall. Muscled. A walking, talking fantasy. No. Not a fantasy, a nightmare.

How could someone so handsome be so f**king crazy?

He crossed his arms over his chest. Stood in the middle of the road.

Waited.

She slammed on the brakes.

“Who is he?”

Ah, now, finally, Az spoke. Jade’s fingers whitened around the steering wheel. “A dead man.” She shoved her foot down on the accelerator as far as it would go. Dead.

The BMW lurched forward. The scent of burning rubber filled her nose. Fast, faster . . .

The motor snarled.

Brandt cocked his head and grinned at her.

Did he think she was playing chicken? After the hell he’d put her through? She wasn’t going to swerve away from him.

The collision wouldn’t kill him. The guy was too strong for that. But she wanted him to hurt.

Wait. Dammit. Was she really becoming just like him?

No. Won’t be. Can’t be.

Brandt leapt away just as she swerved.

Her heart slammed in her ears, and the rough drumming was so wild that it shook her chest. She spun around the approaching curve too fast, and the car lurched on two tires.

Swearing, Jade jerked the steering wheel and barely managed to keep the car steady. Risking a quick glance back, she saw that Brandt had picked himself off the pavement. He was staring after her.

And the tough shifter wasn’t smiling anymore.

The accelerator was already flat on the floor. Time to get the hell out of that city.

Good thing she’d already scoped out the area and come up with a backup plan. She did that whenever she was in a new city. For those instances—like this one—when she needed to run fast and seek cover.

Az reached for her hand. His blood coated her fingertips. “Who was he?” Anger—no, more like rage—thickened beneath his words.

But she’d put a target on the guy’s back, so he deserved the truth and his rage. “Brandt Dupre.” A brief pause. “He runs the most powerful panther shifter pack in the South-east.” Hell, probably the whole U.S. “He’s vicious, smart, and he loves to make his prey suffer.”