Wolf Untamed Read online

  Where the hell is she?

  He turned to retrace his steps when he heard a soft whimper, so quiet he barely made it out over the thud of his own heart. Sure it came from somewhere to his left, he headed in that direction, keeping his flashlight and weapon pointed forward as he slipped around a metal storage rack.

  Three dark-haired women huddled on the floor behind it, holding on to one another as tears ran down their faces. None of them could have been more than twenty-five years old, but the one in the middle looked a hell of a lot younger than that as she lay between them, blood soaking through the white blouse she wore and the yellow rain slicker she had on over that. In the glow of his flashlight, he could see she was in pain and pale as death. Crap, she was almost certainly bleeding out. Even as he watched, her eyes fluttered open and closed as she fought off her body’s attempt to pass out.

  He hurried over, dropping to a knee beside them. Still holding onto the flashlight, he reached out and gently pulled back the edge of the injured girl’s raincoat to check the bullet wound in her stomach. Oh, shit, it looked bad. If she didn’t get help soon, she was done for. Thumbing his radio, he requested EMS with air evac.

  “Officer Martinez,” he said, quickly introducing himself to the trio of women. “Where are the people who did this?”

  The woman on the left shook her head, gray eyes darting left and right like a terrified rabbit. “We ran in here to get away from them, but they found us. They’ve been messing with us for the last ten minutes, saying all kinds of psycho stuff they were going to do to us.”

  “We tried to hide, but one of the guys found us,” the other woman added. She had pink streaks in her straight hair and a diamond stud in her nose. “He didn’t even say anything. He just walked up and shot Tina, then took off. Maybe they left when they heard you come in.”

  Diego hoped she was right, but his gut told him there was no chance the men had left. More likely, they were hiding somewhere, waiting to make their move. Hell, they might be close enough to hear him and the women talking. The smart thing to do would be to stay here and protect the women until backup arrived, but he knew if he did that, Tina would be dead.

  Holstering his weapon, he handed the flashlight to the girl with the pink streaks in her hair, then leaned forward to scoop up Tina in his arms.

  “Shh,” he whispered when she groaned in pain. “I know this hurts like hell, but I have to get you out of here. You just have to hold on. Can you do that for me, Tina?”

  She murmured something that might have been agreement, but he wasn’t sure. Regardless, he headed back the way he’d come, the other two women close behind. He stopped at each doorway, poking his head out to make sure the coast was clear. After more than a few times of doing that, he started thinking maybe the girls were right about those guys bailing.

  He was halfway across a store that must have once carried ladies’ fashions—at least judging by all the female mannequins eerily watching them—when he heard a crunching sound. He snapped his head around to see a man standing in the shadows.

  Diego had a fraction of a second to shove the two women with him aside and twist his body around in an attempt to protect the girl in his arms before the sound of a large caliber handgun going off shattered the darkness. A bullet hit him in the back, and his vision went dark as pain engulfed him.

  “Run!” he shouted even as another gunshot rang out and a red-hot lance of agony sliced across the top of his right shoulder inches from his spine. “Go…go…go!”

  He was forced to stay behind the two women running and losing their collective minds in front of him. Tina screamed in his arms, the jostling too much for her, but there was nothing he could do to avoid it. They had to run, or they’d all die.

  When the shadow of a man emerged out of the darkness ahead of him, Diego didn’t pause to think. He simply tucked Tina closer to his body and lowered his shoulder, slamming into the guy at full speed. There was a grunt followed by a weapon going off, then all three girls were screaming.

  Diego felt something stab through his stomach above his left hip, right below his tactical vest. When the pain showed up this time, there was no doubt in his mind that he was screwed.

  He went down hard, Tina slipping from his arms to tumble across the floor. The fact that she didn’t make a sound as she skidded across the linoleum and thudded into a pile of boxes worried him, but then the man he’d crashed into—a big, burly guy matching the bartender’s description—pointed his gun in Diego’s direction, and that situation sort of required all his attention. He had to stay alive long enough to get the women out of here.

  Diego lunged forward, landing on the man and shoving the pistol in his hand aside as it went off again. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the two women whose names he still didn’t know scramble to their feet and run. He only prayed they didn’t run straight into the second guy.

  A punch came his way and he ducked, letting the blow graze the side of his head instead of taking it straight in the face. The move was purely instinctive on his part. Just like it was instinct that had him throwing a punch of his own. Something crunched under his fist and the man let out a grunt of pain. Hoping that meant the guy was at least temporarily stunned, Diego reached for his own gun.

  The flash of a blade glinted in the dim light coming from the street, and he twisted to the side, his weapon forgotten. The knife plunged deep into his right shoulder, bringing with it a whole hell of a lot of agony. Diego had never been shot before tonight—or stabbed—but he’d take a bullet over a blade any day. His shoulder was on frigging fire.

  Diego rolled one way and then the other, managing to get the weapon dislodged from his shoulder and punching the man in the face again. He was able to keep the man’s pistol away from him, but the knife came close to his throat more than once before he was able to get in a punch to the man’s temple that took the fight right out of him.

  As Diego pulled out his handcuffs, he realized he couldn’t feel the rough metal under his fingers. In fact, he couldn’t feel his legs either. Breathing seemed to suddenly be a lot more trouble than it was worth, too. And the pain spreading through his body was way worse than before.

  That was probably really bad.

  The guy he’d knocked unconscious was slowly coming to, but Diego somehow managed to get the gun and knife shoved away before cuffing him.

  Diego started to clamber to his feet, intending to pick up Tina and get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, it was hard finding the energy to move, much less stand, so he knelt there on the floor, telling himself he would just take a second to catch his breath. But the seconds began to drag out, and even though Diego knew he had to get moving, if it wasn’t for the sound of footsteps nearby, he probably would have stayed right where he was until help arrived.

  He lifted his head, frowning when he saw it was darker inside the building than it had been before. Even so, he could still make out the shape of a man standing ten feet away, an automatic pointed in Diego’s direction.

  Diego reached for the Glock still holstered at his waist, but knew he’d never get it out in time, not with his reflexes slowed from the blood loss. Even when he got his right hand on the polymer grip of the weapon, he couldn’t seem to pull it out. The slow smile spreading across the other man’s face in the dim light told Diego he’d run out of time.

  Then out of nowhere, a cardboard box flew through the darkness, slamming the asshole in the side of the head.

  From the corner of his eye, Diego saw Tina slumped to the floor, all her energy exhausted in her effort to throw the box. It wasn’t enough to rip the man’s head off or anything close to that, but it distracted him enough for Diego to finally get his weapon out.

  The man shoved the box aside with a curse and fired at Diego just as he pulled the trigger on the Glock. The guy fell to the floor even as a bullet slammed into Diego. Pain bloomed in the center of his chest and breath
ing became impossible, making Diego doubt his vest had been able to stop the round. But it must have, or he’d be dead.

  Rolling painfully to his knees, Diego crawled toward Tina, terrified all of this was going to be for nothing. But when he slipped a hand under her shoulder and rolled her over, she let out a little groan and he released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” he murmured.

  Diego slowly picked Tina up and stumbled to his feet, only to promptly drop to a knee, his head spinning so fast, he thought he was going to pass out for sure. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to stand again, and this time, he stayed upright. He staggered toward the exit, ignoring the guy he’d left cuffed on the floor, murmuring the whole time to the girl in his arms, promising she’d be okay.

  The trip through the shops, which had seemed rather short on the way in, had lengthened considerably. He was convinced he’d stumbled at least a hundred miles and still didn’t seem close to getting out of there.

  Diego didn’t realize he’d fallen to his knees until he felt the grit of sharp rubble digging into his skin. He immediately tried to regain his feet, but instead, slid to the floor in a boneless heap. He twisted sideways at the last second, so his shoulder slammed into hard linoleum instead of Tina. She lay a few inches away, her hazel eyes fighting to stay open as his started to close.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words little more than breath moving across his lips. “I know I promised, and I’m sorry.”

  Tina’s eyes opened for a moment, and he thought he saw understanding and forgiveness there. Or maybe that was simply wishful thinking.

  Diego fought the blackness, trying to reach for his radio mic so he could beg them to hurry and get to the girl before it was too late. But his arms were beyond numb and movement impossible. All he could do was lay there and watch Tina fade away.

  It was so damn wrong.

  Then, all at once, cops and paramedics were surrounding them. He closed his eyes, relieved. Tina would be okay.

  “You still with me, Diego?” a deep voice asked.

  Diego opened his eyes once again to see Hale leaning over him, concern written all over his face. For a moment, he wondered how the hell his friend was there. Then he stopped worrying about the meaningless shit and asked the only question that really mattered.

  “The girl?”

  Hale nodded, gripping Diego’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “The paramedics just took her out. They’re loading her on the helicopter right now. It will leave the second you’re on it. You just have to hold on.”

  Then he was on a gurney and paramedics were shoving him full speed through the abandoned stores and out into the freezing rain. But no matter how fast they moved, Hale kept up with them, stuck right there at his side, holding Diego’s hand in his.

  “Just a little bit farther,” Hale told him. “The bird is in the empty lot across the street. We’re going to wheel you straight there. Just hold on.”

  Black spots swirled above Diego, blurring out the glare of the streetlamps and flashlights around them. He swore he could hear his heart thudding in his chest and the sound it was making did nothing to convince him that it wanted to continue the effort.

  “I don’t think I can,” he mumbled, his words slurring as something metallic and nasty filled his mouth and throat, making it difficult to breathe, much less talk. “Tell my family that it didn’t hurt. That…it was quick.”

  That was a lie, of course. In reality, the pain in his chest felt like there was a living creature inside him, slowly digging its way out. But he didn’t want his mom and dad or brother and sisters to know that. It would make what happened to him even harder on them.

  Hale cursed, his eyes misty even as his lip curled in anger. “None of that shit,” he growled. He frigging growled. And even though Diego knew it was nothing but a pain-driven delusion, he thought for a second his best friend’s eyes were glowing vivid yellow-gold. “Don’t even think you’re getting out of that SWAT assessment this easy. You said you were going to do it, and you can guarantee I’m going to hold you to that promise. Now, suck it up and keep breathing until you get to the hospital. Or I’m telling your mom you gave up because you were afraid to face humiliation in front of me and the rest of the SWAT team.”

  Diego wasn’t so sure his friend’s speech was having the desired effect, but he supposed he couldn’t blame the guy for trying. He would have done the same thing.

  “Don’t give up on me, Diego,” Hale urged, his voice barely audible over the thump of the helicopter blades that signaled they were getting close to the bird. “Don’t give up on yourself. There are hundreds of people out there waiting for someone like you to help them out of whatever shit they’ve found themselves in. Thousands, maybe. You’ve spent years helping other people, but if you ever want to help another living soul, you’re going to have to fight to stay alive. Fight like you’ve never fought before.”

  Diego let those thoughts roll around in his head as the paramedics lifted the gurney into the helicopter and the damn rain finally stopped hitting him. Outside, Hale was shouting at him to fight—for himself and all the people who’d depend on him in the future.

  The doors of the helicopter slammed closed, shutting out whatever else Hale might have said. Then a paramedic was leaning over him with an IV bag and the bird was taking off. As he drifted off into the darkness of unconsciousness, Hale’s words echoed in his head. His friend was right. Helping other people was his purpose for living. If he wanted to keep doing it, he was going to have to make it through this.

  There was just one problem with that.

  He wasn’t sure he could.

  Chapter 1

  Dallas, Texas, Present Day

  “Forget it, Diego. No way in hell am I letting you walk into that diner with some psycho in there.”

  Diego Martinez sighed, resisting the urge to point out to Senior Corporal Mike Taylor, his squad leader, SWAT officer in charge on this incident, fellow werewolf, and all-around good guy, that calling a suspect a “psycho” was considered politically incorrect. Even if, in this case, it was almost certainly correct.

  “I know you’re trying to protect me, but you have to let me do my job,” Diego said, his attention focused on Mike while still keeping an eye on the video monitor of the retro-looking diner across the street. The one that should have been bustling with the usual 8:00 a.m. breakfast crowd on a weekday morning, but was instead surrounded by police vehicles, cut off from the rest of the world.

  Mike scowled. Diego knew he wasn’t a big fan of sending him into the situation blind, but with the shades in the diner down, the door barricaded with racks of dishes, and all phone connections cut after the brief conversation he had with the gunman that’s exactly what they were. Which was why Diego needed to go in. Other than a bizarre request for a news crew with a live feed to the internet and all the networks, the armed man holding an unknown number of hostages hadn’t said a word since.

  “Look, we have a diner full of scared people, a gunman who’s either high on drugs or mentally unstable, and two cops who might be bleeding to death as we speak while we stand here arguing about whether I should be able to take a risk I’m paid to take,” Diego said.

  Mike muttered a curse. “Okay. But the second I think the situation is going sideways, we’re coming in, so make sure you don’t put yourself between the target and our entry points. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  Diego knew the drill. He’d been a negotiator on the SWAT team for the past seven years—a job he’d never thought he’d do until Hale Delaney pointed out he had a knack for staying calm and talking people out of doing something stupid—and one thing he’d learned early on was don’t be in the way when your teammates make an entrance. Getting shot might not kill a werewolf, but when your pack mates were doing the shooting, it was embarr
assing as hell. And he hated being embarrassed. He hated getting shot, too, of course, but on a relative scale of discomfort, being ragged by his own buddies was right up there beside taking a bullet.

  Pushing that thought aside, Diego stepped out of the operations vehicle to find Hale, Senior Corporal Trey Duncan, and Officer Connor Malone regarding him expectantly.

  “Well?” Hale prompted. “Did you talk Mike into letting you go in?”

  Diego nodded, walking over to one of the SWAT SUVs. Opening the back door, he started shedding his tactical gear, dumping everything on the back seat. Department-issued SIG Sauer .40 caliber, small-frame backup piece in the same caliber, vest with its protective ballistic plate, Taser, cuffs, radio—everything. People who took hostages tended to get upset when you walked into their territory wearing violent fashion accessories. And if the recent incidents the SWAT team had gone on were any indication, this guy would be even more pissed than normal.

  “Am I the only one thinking this hostage situation looks a hell of a lot like the other calls we’ve been getting lately?” Connor asked. Big and tall with dark-blond hair and hazel eyes, the team’s sniper had a definite surfer-dude vibe going on. He was originally from California so that made sense. “You know, the ones with the suspects acting strange AF.”

  Diego shrugged as he pulled the folding knife off his belt and tossed it on the table along with the other stuff. He’d been thinking the same thing. Yeah, being a SWAT team full of werewolves practically guaranteed more than their fair share of weird calls, but the ones they’d gone on in the past few weeks had been outside the norm, even for them. The calls had involved extremely volatile and violent suspects, most of whom refused to give up without a fight, and all of whom had no criminal record of any type. Hell, they came way closer to Boy Scouts than cold-blooded killers, yet in the end, they’d all been more than willing to commit murder.