Marco has lost every strength he had. Half of his men have already turned against him. The remaining ones are weakened, their breathing ragged, faces covered in dirt and blood. His head pounds. His heart feels heavier than ever. He snaps the neck of the rogue who lunges at him — the c***k echoes in his ears — but his body gives out, and he falls to his knees.
His chest heaves. The chaos around him blurs. The once-loyal pack warriors are either captured or already switching sides.
"You're really tough, brother."
A voice. Calm. Confident. Familiar.
Marco lifts his head slowly. His vision clears just enough for him to see the impossible.
Lowell.
Standing tall. A well-tailored dark suit clings to his form, the jacket buttoned neatly, untouched by the filth and blood surrounding him. His
