Adrian was desperate for vengeance. He tore through the coastal sectors, his SUV skidded to a halt outside the rusted gates of the abandoned shipyard. It was raining again, and heavy drops of water hammered against the iron roofs as he kicked the side door open. His claws extended, his wolf roared; it was thirsty for Alex's blood.
But as he burst into the central warehouse, the feral snarl died in his throat. He hadn't expected to see Mark tied to a wooden chair in the center of the oil-stained floor, beaten and bloodied.
Alex was nowhere to be found.
Before Adrian could even take a step forward to sever the ropes, shadows detached themselves from the surrounding containers. At least a dozen heavily armed rogues began stepping into the light, their eyes gleaming with malice.
