Wolf Unleashed Read online

  He dimly heard the sound of sirens in the distance, but something told him they weren’t going to make it in time for him. His gaze went to the girl still tied to the chair. Her parents were dead, and now she was going to watch him—and her dog—die too.

  Not having anything better to do with the short time he had left, Alex jerked the knife out of the dead man’s chest, then crawled over to the girl on his hands and knees so he could slice the rope holding one of her hands to the chair. He got through one and was halfway through the bindings around her other hand when the lights suddenly went out. He didn’t even realize he was falling until he felt his head thump against the carpet hard enough to make him see stars.

  He opened his eyes for a second and saw the big, furry dog staring at him with an expression that seemed to imply he thought Alex was a complete wimp.

  “Sorry, dude,” he whispered as he closed his eyes again. “Guess I’m just not as tough as you.”

  Chapter 1

  Dallas, Texas, Present Day

  “If we don’t get anything in the next fifteen minutes, I’m calling it a night,” Sergeant Rodriguez said, his voice as rough as sandpaper in Alex’s earpiece. “We knew it was a long shot that our dealers would come back to this same location anyway.”

  Thank God, Alex thought. He and his spotter, fellow werewolf and SWAT officer Remy Boudreaux, had been lying motionless on this rooftop for most of the night, and he for one was more than ready to be done with this op. It was a bust—again. If they wrapped this up quickly, he might be able to grab a few hours of sleep on one of the cots at the SWAT compound before taking Tuffie to her appointment at the vet in the morning.

  Of course, not catching the bad guys tonight meant they’d be back on some other roof tomorrow night providing oversight for this snipe hunt.

  “I don’t know how narcotics puts up with this crap,” Remy said from his position a couple of feet farther along the roofline. He sounded just as frustrated as Alex felt. “Another night, another frigging waste of time.”

  Alex silently agreed. He and Remy, along with Max Lowry and Jayden Brooks, had been working with Sergeant José Rodriguez of the Dallas Police narcotics division on this task force gig every night for nearly three weeks now. The duty schedule wasn’t Rodriguez’s fault. If you wanted to catch people selling designer drugs, you had to do it on their schedule—which seemed to be directly associated with those hours when the rest of the world was tucked in bed all happy and oblivious.

  “How the hell can it be so hard to find the dirtbags selling this new drug?” Remy asked in his distinctive Cajun drawl. “This stuff is killing people who use it. You’d think there’d be a line a mile long willing to give up these dealers.”

  “No kidding,” Alex said. “But something tells me the people who use this crap are more afraid of losing access to their supply than they are of dying from an overdose.”

  That was why they were out here trying to catch the guys selling the drug that had killed eight people in the past month and put more than twenty others in the hospital. Because no one would talk.

  Alex leaned over the edge of the roof to scan the group of people gathered down on the corner. There was a good chance that some of them were simply hanging out, but at this time of the night—in an area well known as one of the city’s go-to locations for drug deals—there was an equally good chance that a few of them were looking to buy some of those drugs. That was why the narcotics division had one of their undercover officers buried in the middle of the group, risking his life to get any information he could on the people responsible for putting fireball on the street.

  Users supposedly called the stuff fireball because it burned through you like fire, making you feel an incredible rush of heat and energy, only to leave you drained and wrung out when you came down from the high. No one in the Dallas PD had even known there was a new drug on the streets until the bodies started showing up at the hospital—and in the morgue. At first, everyone thought it was simply a strong batch of heroin or some of that nasty krokodil crap coming out of Eastern Europe. But they’d quickly figured out it wasn’t either of those things when a derivative of fentanyl, a type of synthetic opiate, showed up in the toxicology reports. Fentanyl was one hundred times more powerful than heroin and would have been bad enough by itself, but whoever was making fireball was cutting in other drugs like codeine, caffeine, and ecstasy, along with a whole bunch of crud that had chemical names Alex couldn’t even pronounce. In addition to creating an intense and long-lasting high, fireball was so addictive that people were out looking for more mere hours after almost dying from an overdose.

  Alex couldn’t understand why someone would put crap like that into their bodies, but within weeks, fireball had spread to the club scene and college campuses. If the cops didn’t get it off the street ASAP, it would only be a matter of time before the stuff started showing up in the local high schools.

  Luckily, SWAT had a good working relationship with the DPD narcotics division. Mostly because Mike Taylor, one of their squad leaders, had spent a good portion of his career working undercover for them. So when Rodriguez had come looking for help, Gage Dixon, the SWAT commander and alpha of their pack of werewolves, had quickly agreed. Mike’s relationship with the narcotics division wasn’t the only reason Gage had been so willing to loan out Alex and teammates. The way Gage saw it, SWAT was partially responsible for this latest drug epidemic.

  Over the past year, the Dallas SWAT team had taken out some major crime figures. Gage had killed Walter Hardy, destroying a syndicate that controlled most of the crime in the southwestern United States; Alex’s squad leader, Xander Riggs, had taken down a major bank robbery ring; Eric Becker had single-handedly wiped out the Albanian mobsters who’d moved in to take over; and Landry Cooper had ended up putting a family full of arms dealers in prison.

  All of that was great, but by taking out those big fish, the local ocean had become swarmed with dozens of little fish all trying to get their piece of the pie. With so many small fish running around doing business on their own, it was damn near impossible to keep an eye on them all. That was why the task force hadn’t been able to find the people distributing this new drug yet. There were just too many new players in town.

  “Five minutes and we’re finally out of here,” Remy muttered, glancing at his watch.

  Alex lifted a brow. “What? You have a date or something?”

  Remy flashed him a grin, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t call it a date. More like a booty call.”

  “At three o’clock in the morning? Who the hell would be awake now and looking to hook up?”

  “That would be Vivian.” Remy’s smile broadened. “She’s always ready for a hookup.”

  Alex dug through his memory, trying to figure out if he’d ever met Vivian. After mentally scrolling through the Rolodex of Remy’s girlfriends, he gave up. The man had a lot of women in his life. Alex didn’t know if it was Remy’s accent or what, but it seemed like every time he turned around, women were throwing their panties at the guy left and right.

  It wasn’t that Alex was a monk or anything—not by a long shot. He enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman as much as the next man, but he needed something beyond the physical to hold his attention.

  “Is she the tall one with long, dark hair?” he finally asked.

  “Nah. That’s Leslie.” Remy shook his head. “Vivian’s the fiery redhead who drives the Ferrari.”

  Alex opened his mouth to ask why the hell a woman who could afford a Ferrari would hang out with a SWAT cop whose paycheck probably couldn’t even cover the detailing on a ride like that, when a dark blue Toyota came down the street. It slowed to a crawl as it passed the small group gathered at the corner, then pulled into a parking lot a few hundred feet away. Not much chance they were stopping for gas or munchies, since the old Gas-n-Go that used to be there had gone out of business a long time ag
o.

  The people on the corner stood up a little straighter, practically bouncing on their toes as three men climbed out of the Toyota and surveyed the area. Well, if that didn’t scream they were up to something shady, Alex didn’t know what did.

  He leaned over his rifle, using the low-light scope to see details that even his werewolf enhanced vision couldn’t pick up from this distance. Apparently, the men must have thought the coast was clear, because one of them ducked into the back of the car and came out with a handful of small plastic bags that he casually shoved into the pocket of his jacket.

  “We’re hot,” Alex said into his mic. “The big guy with the mountain-man beard just tucked several baggies inside his right pocket.”

  The other cops listening in immediately started talking among themselves, their voices a jumble over the radio.

  “Relax and maintain position,” Rodriguez said softly, as if he were worried the dealers would hear his rough voice. “The guys are going to take a little time to feel out their customers first and make sure there’s nothing fishy going on. We wait until my undercover guy confirms they’re dealing fireball, then move in when he gives the signal. And remember, don’t blow his cover. We arrest him along with the rest of them and make sure he spends a night or two in lockup like everyone else.”

  “Talk about a crappy job,” Remy muttered. “I wonder if he gets overtime for that.”

  Alex turned off his mic. “I doubt it. Mike said that having narcotic cops spend time in jail is good for their street cred—or at least the street cred of their undercover identity.”

  Remy made a face. “That’s a pretty harsh price to pay for a little street cred. Remind me never to request a transfer into narcotics.”

  Alex didn’t argue with that as he peered down his scope so he could keep an eye on the three dealers—and Rodriguez’s UC officer. Everyone in the group down on the corner was talking like they were all old friends. Unfortunately, no one seemed to want to bring up the reason they were standing on a dark street corner at oh dark thirty in the morning—drugs.

  “Dammit, why don’t they just get on with it?” Remy growled. “Everyone knows they’re down there to buy drugs. Just do it already.”

  Alex chuckled. “Maybe you should send Vivian a text and tell her that you probably won’t be able to make it.”

  “No way,” Remy said. “You don’t just pass up a chance to spend quality time with a woman like Vivian. She’s special.”

  Alex was pretty confident Remy wasn’t implying Vivian might be The One for him, that mythical one-in-a-billion soul mate that apparently existed for every werewolf out there. It was funny really. Considering Remy constantly had women in and out of his bed, Alex always thought he’d be the first werewolf to find his perfect soul mate. Instead, Gage, Xander, Becker, and Cooper had stumbled across the women they were meant to be with for the rest of their lives.

  He would have pointed that out to Remy, but a soft voice coming through the UC cop’s wire caught his attention.

  “You got anything special with you tonight?” the woman asked, her hesitant voice barely audible above the chatter of the other people in the group.

  “That depends on how special you want,” the bearded guy with the baggies in his pocket said. “You looking for something in particular?”

  Alex moved his rifle until he had his scope trained on the woman talking. Even in the dark, he could see that she was small, thin, and frail looking. She boldly stuck out her chin and met the man’s gaze.

  “I’m looking for fireball. You got any?”

  Everyone suddenly went quiet.

  The big man smiled behind his beard. “Yeah, I got some. How much you looking to buy, sweet thing?”

  She might have been the only one who asked, but everyone dug out their money along with her, clearly wanting to buy some too.

  Over the radio, Rodriguez gave the call for the other cops to move in. Alex and Remy stayed where they were. Their job was to cover the UC cop’s back and make sure the dealers didn’t do anything stupid when the cavalry charged, like try to take out him and the rest of the junkies.

  At the far end of the street, the distinct sound of a gunshot echoed in the night. The people on the corner jumped, turning to look that way.

  “Shit,” Alex growled even as Rodriguez shouted for everyone to move in ASAP.

  Lights flashed and sirens blared, but it was too late. The junkies and dealers on the corner scattered in every direction at the same time. One of the dealers headed for the car, jumping in and squealing out of the parking lot, leaving his buddies behind.

  Alex swiveled his rifle to take out the tires and saw three cops already moving to intercept the vehicle. For a normal human, chasing a speeding car would be a waste of time, but two of those cops were Brooks and Max. Getting away from two werewolves wasn’t going to be easy. Although, he wasn’t sure what his pack mates were going to do about the female narcotics cop behind them. It wasn’t like they could shift in front of her.

  As much as Alex wanted to hang around and see how the chase turned out, he didn’t have time. The other two dealers had given up going after their friend and instead turned and ran right toward the alley between the two-story building he and Remy were on and the one beside it. Alex jumped up and ran for the back side of the building, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he went. Shooting the fleeing men wasn’t an option, so that meant getting off the roof and chasing them down on foot.

  “I have a beautiful redhead waiting for me in her bed, and these assholes are going to make us chase them?” Remy growled when he caught up to Alex. “They’d better not resist, or I won’t be accountable for what happens.”

  Alex didn’t answer as they both leapt off the building. The concrete of the alley rushed up to meet him in a hurry, and the impact made his teeth clack together, not to mention sent a brief stab of pain surging up both legs and through his spine into the base of his skull. Werewolves could absorb a lot of punishment, but jumping off a building still hurt like hell—werewolf or not. He and Remy were up and sprinting after the dealers without pausing to catch their breath, though.

  Up ahead, Alex saw one of the dealers turn back and nearly crap himself at the sight of him and Remy running down the alley behind them when there’d been no one there mere moments before. The bad guys put on more speed as they cut across a dark, overgrown area, probably figuring they could easily outrun a couple of cops loaded down with weapons, tactical vests, and all the other crap they carried. Even with all their gear, Alex and Remy easily closed the distance between them and the men they were chasing.

  There were almost certainly other police officers behind them, maybe even patrol cars racing to head them off, but this part of West Dallas was filled with abandoned lots, old buildings, and lightly wooded areas. With all the twists and turns they were making, he and Remy would outdistance anyone trailing behind them. They were on their own.

  He and Remy had just jumped over the remnants of a building foundation when the two dealers must have realized what they were doing wasn’t working and that they needed a new plan. Without a word to each other, the two assholes split up, one heading away down the sidewalk, the other moving deeper into the shadows of another overgrown lot.

  “Watch yourself,” Remy warned as he peeled off after the guy heading down the sidewalk, leaving Alex to chase down the big guy with the beard who’d been carrying the drugs.

  The thrill of the chase took hold of him, and Alex let out a growl as he ran through the hip-deep grass. He felt his canines extend a little, quickly followed by his claws. He fought for control, trying to get the fangs and claws to retract, but he was crappy at staying under control in tense situations like this. He wasn’t the only werewolf in the Pack who had that problem, wolfing out frequently in the heat of a SWAT mission, but while he appreciated the extra speed and strength that came with a partial shift, letti
ng a suspect see him with canines hanging two inches over his lower lip wasn’t exactly a good way to keep the existence of werewolves a secret.

  Alex couldn’t focus on both the dealer and his out-of-control fangs at the same time, so he stopped thinking about the latter. They would take care of themselves when he calmed down, and catching this guy with a pocket full of fireball would definitely help him do that.

  For a big guy, the dealer was damn slippery. He did anything and everything to throw Alex off his trail, but none of it worked. Finally, in desperation, he made a sudden left turn and came to a stop. Tossing the baggies of drugs as far away as he could, he picked up a two-by-four from the ground and grinned.

  “You fucked up chasing after me, pig. You outran your backup.”

  The words probably would have sounded more menacing if the dealer weren’t gasping for breath. Alex wanted to point out that he was carrying a rifle, a pistol, and a Taser—any of which trumped the piece of wood in the guy’s hands—but that would probably just be a waste of time. Something told him the man wasn’t too bright.

  The dealer rushed him with a roar, swinging the piece of wood like it was a baseball bat. Alex caught the two-by-four in his hand and gave it a sharp twist, ripping it away from the guy and tossing it aside. The move fired up his inner werewolf a little more, and he felt his fangs and claws extend even farther. All at once, the whole area around him brightened, a clear sign his eyes had shifted as well.

  “What the hell?” The dealer stared at Alex’s eyes like they were glowing, which they likely were.

  While Alex’s eyes might have freaked out the dealer, it wasn’t enough to keep the guy from taking another swing at Alex, this time with his fist.

  Alex stepped sideways, avoiding the blow and fighting the urge to pound the jackass into the ground like a tent stake. He couldn’t let himself get any more out of control. But he could sure as hell go far enough that this guy would probably need intensive therapy for the rest of his life.