In the Company of Wolves (SWAT, #3)(8)
She’d found out just how bad last night…over and over again. First, they’d ignored Liam’s instructions to focus on the platinum medallions, instead poking around the warehouse like they were shopping at a freaking Sam’s Club. Then, when the SWAT pack had shown up, the omegas had refused to fight as a team, abandoning her.
One more piece of proof that omegas couldn’t be trusted to do anything but cover their asses—and that Liam had been wrong to allow them into the pack.
Jayna asked the cabbie to let her off two blocks from the loft—not because she was concerned the man would remember her or where she was staying. No, she’d hopped out early so she could delay her return just a little bit longer. It was juvenile, but she really didn’t want to go back, and if it wasn’t for her pack, she wouldn’t have.
She nodded at the people on the street as she walked toward the industrial-style building on Canton Street. With its renovated lofts and bohemian feel, this part of Dallas was way beyond the pack’s means, but with Frasheri footing the bill, that wasn’t an issue. The Albanian mobster hadn’t purchased just a single loft apartment either, but an entire building. Considering there were almost thirty people in addition to Frasheri living there—her pack, the omegas, and the Albanians—they needed it.
Jayna saw the two Albanians standing guard on either side of the building’s front door long before they saw her, and the urge to turn around and walk away hit her again. But she kept going. She wouldn’t leave her pack mates no matter how much it hurt to stay here.
How the hell had her life gotten so screwed up so fast?
The stocky, dark-haired Albanians blatantly eyed her as she walked up the wide concrete steps to the entrance of the building, but didn’t say anything. They’d almost certainly heard about what had gone down last night and were probably curious why she was just now showing up. But they didn’t try to stop her. They weren’t dumb enough to try that.
Inside the large central atrium, someone came at Jayna so fast they were a blur. The only thing that kept her from shifting and taking a swipe with her claws was the petite, dark-haired girl’s scent. Megan Dorsey wrapped Jayna in an embrace so tight she could barely breathe.
“I’m okay, Megan,” she said with a strained laugh. “You can stop now.”
Despite her words, Jayna didn’t care if the other werewolf hugged her so hard she broke a rib. Megan was more than her closest friend in the pack; the twenty-two-year-old girl was her sister in every way that mattered. For about the hundredth time, Jayna said a silent prayer of thanks that Megan hadn’t gone on the job at the warehouse with her. Quiet and gentle by nature, she wouldn’t have fared well once the shooting started.
Megan finally pulled away and looked up at Jayna, her blue eyes filled with relief. “Where have you been? We were worried to death. I couldn’t even call because you forgot to take your phone. Again.”
Jayna opened her mouth to answer when the rest of her pack entered the lobby at a full run. All three of them stopped at the sight of her: Moe Jenkins, a muscular African American kid barely out of his teens; Joseph Garner, a twenty-eight-year-old, blond, blue-eyed farm boy from the heart of the Iowa Corn Belt; and Chris Hughes, a self-proclaimed redneck from Biloxi. Jayna’s heart squeezed for a moment. As one, the guys rushed over to greet her, and together with Megan, they enveloped her in a big group hug. These four were exactly why she’d come back.
No one looking at them would ever call them a family, and in reality, the five of them couldn’t be more different. But they’d all had their own violent episodes that had changed them forever.
The pack had picked up Moe about a year ago in a back alley in L.A. after he’d been beaten nearly to death by a gang who didn’t like him walking in their territory at night.
Joseph had been shot while trying to help an elderly couple whose car had broken down on the side of the road. The shooters had been a bunch of teens out taking pot shots at road signs who’d decided shooting a person would be more fun.
Chris had been out celebrating with some old friends from high school when a cop had noticed their car weaving all over the road. His best friend in the world had been driving and tried to outrun the cop. After a long chase, during which Chris had begged his friend to stop, they ended up in a river after flipping the car over a dozen times. Chris had been thrown so far out of the vehicle, the police never even knew he was there, and he lay broken and bleeding for four days until his body had healed itself. He still moved with a noticeable limp thanks to a broken leg that had healed without being set straight.
And then there was Megan, whose story was worse than any of the others.
Yeah, they were a screwed-up collection of somewhat damaged people, but they were Jayna’s family, and she loved them completely.
Moe was the one to finally break up the hug fest, pulling back to nudge her. “We’ve been glued to the TV all morning, waiting for them to say you’d been arrested. When we didn’t hear anything, we really started getting worried. Where have you been?”
She was about to answer when a rough growl from across the lobby interrupted her. “That’s a damn good question. Where the hell have you been?”
Four pairs of eyes flared into bright color as her friends responded to the accusatory tone with a partial shift and turned as one to face the big, curly-haired werewolf who’d come into the lobby.