Chapter 11

Joseph hunkered down at his desk, the video on loop like a bad habit he couldn't kick. There she was—Gina, on her knees, crawling and head-butting the pavement, just like he'd ordered, all the way to Zoe's doorstep.

He watched her nail every brutal step of his script, but his chest lit up with a million tiny stings anyway.

Fury, though? That bulldozed right over the ache, no questions asked.

One thing looped in his skull louder than the footage: Who the hell was the wolf who'd scooped her up and vanished?

His assistant lingered nearby, picking up on the arctic chill rolling off Joseph in waves—guy looked like he was about to puke from the tension.

The clip had cycled two dozen times easy, but Joseph hammered replay like it owed him answers...

Every run? Cut short right as the mob dogpiled Gina.

Assistant gulped. "Joseph, we poked around—the cams got smashed deliberate... figure they didn't want proof of the pounding."

Joseph's forehead vein danced like it had a mind of its own, eyes flashing that feral red, all teeth and claws.

Fist balled tight. "Those mutts located yet?"

Assistant swiped sweat from his brow. "Still on it. Got a heads-up—they scattered before we hit the scene."

Joseph's glare honed to razors. "Dig 'em out. Every last one—them, and the wolf who swiped Gina. All of 'em."

"You got it!"

Assistant scrammed, and Joseph went full tornado on the office—fists flying, glass exploding, shards gnawing deep into his palm till blood ran hot and slick.

That gut-twist? Like vines creeping up, throttling his ribs till breath came shallow, starved.

Hadn't clawed him like this since Zoe crashed the party.

He'd banked on it—figured Gina was yesterday's bone, no pull left.

But swap in some stranger wolf, paws all over her, tangled close?

Joseph ignited, jealousy a bonfire torching his insides, embers jumping to his eyes.

He was unraveling, thread by thread.

Couldn't perch—jumped in the rig, tore through town random till he ghosted to a stop outside Zoe's house.

She clocked his ride mid-trash run, trotted over all smiles—then zeroed on the blood dripping from his paw.

Her soft features crumpled. "Joseph, what happened? That's no scratch—why skip the healer's ward?"

He clammed up.

Shoved past her instead, barreling inside like storm front.

Zoe's place? Pure zen escape—clean lines, soothing vibes.

Her office? Full-on meditation cave, incense always curling lazy.

Dunno why, but this nook usually tamed his inner beast.

Sensing the thundercloud, she lit an extra stick, smoke weaving peace.

Watched him flop on the bed, eyes shut, faking calm.

Her smile? Crept wider, knowing.

Barefoot, she ditched the robe, slipping in smooth and bare.

Joseph latched on, pinning her down rough.

"Gina! Gina!" Clawed at the barriers, gone in a frenzy, claiming her deep and desperate.

Zoe's breaths? Edged with a bitter twist.

He sank heavy, sleep a thick fog.

Woke early—maybe the brain-buzz wouldn't quit.

Paw quested over—empty chill.

"Gina?" The name lodged, throat clogged.

Wrong house. Theirs was miles off.

Last night's roll? Not her scent.

Rubbed his throbbing temples, hauled ass up.

Stair-bound, balcony chatter floated—sharp. "What the hell's this? Shakedown?"

Dead-of-night hush cranked the phone's echo to eleven.

Sleazy guy's laugh slithered in. "Zoe, pump the brakes on the nasty talk. Shakedown? We're crew, ain't we? Wasn't you who loosed us on Gina? Whispered to stir the pot, rile the pack till they snapped? Where's the scam? Zoe, word up—we're your 'loyal pack.'"