A wave of unexpected calm washed over him. "Time to stop hiding, Ito."

From behind one of the two thick columns separating Reid's former bedroom from his, the shadow transformed into arms and legs of a lean but fit Asian man.

"Where are the rest of your cronies?"

Ito's features remained neutral. Except for his eyes. They tilted up in a way that announced, I'm going to enjoy this next part.

"Busy taking care of other business."

Shooting a look toward the door, Jonah prayed his mother was too absorbed in her show to notice what was going on upstairs.

"Concerned about your dear mother?"

"What have you done?"

Ito smirked.

Jonah stormed across the room, intent on finding his mom.

The other man blocked his way. "I think not."

"Get out of my way, or I'll break your fucking neck."

"Your brother tried and failed."

"I'm not my brother."

"True." Ito eyed him. "The Green Beret is driven by pride. Pride destroys. However, you are compelled by something far more dangerous, I think."

Jonah's insatiable curiosity nearly got the best of him. He wanted to know what Ito meant. But he forced himself to keep the question behind his teeth.

"Back away from the door," Jonah said.

"If you leave this room, you are ensuring her death. I'm sure you do not want that on your conscience."

The bastard stepped aside, giving him an impossible choice.

"She's still alive?"

"For now."

"If you've harmed her in any way, you won't survive the Steele family's wrath."

"Perhaps it would be best to see how many of you survive this ordeal before making such bold statements."

"Poacher to murderer-your parents must be so proud."

The blow was swift and hard. Jonah's world spun and he slammed down on one knee.

Ito grabbed a handful of Jonah's hair. His features remained unchanged as he snarled his threat. "Mention of my family shall never pass through your ignorant mouth again." Ito released him. "Sit down."

Jonah shook his brain back into working order. "Then what?" He rose, massaging his pain-racked jaw to make sure it wasn't broken.

"We wait."

"Why? Mission accomplished. You destroyed my ability to find the wolf."

"I have always found your kind to be resourceful. It is best if I remain here until I receive word it is done."

"What's done?"

Ito said nothing.

Jonah sank into a deep leather chair. Worry for his brothers, Evie, and the other ladies made his stomach roil. He had to play it cool for now. Keep Ito's mind off his mom below while figuring out a way to get word to Britt.

"Why are there extremists in every group?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Let me clue you in. Stealing an endangered wild wolf, placing her on auction, detaining my mom, throwing my equipment out the window, doing God-knows-what to my brothers-don't you think that's a bit much for the pleasure of killing a scared, defenseless animal?"

"Wolves are not defenseless."

"When up against a high-powered rifle? Yes, they are."

"You obviously don't understand the sport."

"Sport would be if you and the wolf were on an equal playing field. What you're promoting is senseless murder-just so you can fill empty counter space at your club."

"Such a naive young man. When our country goes to war-and it will in our lifetime-you will be thankful for hunters like me. Men who can protect and provide for do-gooders like you, who were more concerned with preserving every living creature instead of using them as a training ground."

"You're a sick puppy, Ito."

"One day, you will understand."

"Understand what?"

"You chose the losing side."

33.

"Drop your weapon, wolf man."

The blunt end of a gun barrel dug into the back of Britt's skull. Two poachers in front of him and, at least, one behind. How many more?

The barrel pressed harder. "Best not to test me."

Gritting his teeth, Britt placed his rifle on the ground. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

"And the handgun."

Snapping his .40 caliber free of its holster, he laid his Sig Sauer next to the rifle.

"Watters, check him."

The blond, who appeared as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, conducted a thorough enough search that he couldn't have missed the knife strapped to Britt's right ankle, though he didn't confiscate it. He did, however, take a boot heel to Britt's phone.

"He's clean." Watters avoided Britt's gaze.

"Looks like we have ourselves a bit of a problem here, gentlemen," the poacher behind him drawled.

"Samuel, shouldn't we contact Norwood?" Ferguson asked.

Samuel Taylor, the Texan.

"He already has his hands full."

"Why don't we tie this guy up, grab the pups, and get out of here," Watters said.

"Do you see any rope?"

"There's another option," Britt threw over his shoulder to the man who was clearly in charge.

"What's that, wolf man?"

"Let me go before this can't be explained away as a misunderstanding."

"He has a point, Samuel," Watters said. "We all agreed to the risks associated with taking the female wolf and even her pups. With our connections, the worst punishment we would have faced if caught was a stiff fine. This"-his index finger spun in a circle between them-"will go well beyond a fine."

A message passed between Ferguson and Taylor, and Britt braced himself against the decision he saw reflected in the Scot's cruel eyes.

"You've not been with the League long enough for us to entrust you with the list of our Top Ten."

Watters glanced between his two colleagues and Britt. Blood seeped from his face. "You can't be referring to people."

"Not just anyone, but specific classifications of people," Ferguson said.

"I don't understand."

"At this stage, you weren't meant to," Taylor grumbled. "But the Steeles stuck their noses in our business, forcing us to fast-track your orientation."

Cold, damp heat scoured Britt's body. "What part of me will become your trophy?"

"Nothing grand," Ferguson said. "The danger of discovery is too great. A rib will do."

Britt's midsection contracted.

"What human classifications do you have?" Watters asked in a voice that conveyed both fear and disgust.

"Warriors such as the Maasai or Sentinelese, a member from each of the United States Armed Forces-"

"Why not serial killers and mass murderers?" Britt interrupted. "At least then your list might make sense."

"Because they're cowards, spineless and weak," Taylor said. "Like the animals we hunt, our human prey have battle scars. They have honor, intelligence, courage."

"You think I fit this bill? Someone you've met twice?"

"Yes, or you wouldn't be here protecting a pack of endangered wolves no one wants. And you have the added bonus of being a fucking Steele."

Ferguson smiled. "Double the fun."

"Don't worry, wolf man," Taylor said. "This will all be over quickly. We don't have the luxury of time for a chase."

"So this will be cold-blooded murder? You're not even going to give me a fighting chance."

Taylor jabbed him with the barrel so hard that Britt felt warmth trickle down the back of his head.

"I told you. We don't have time."

Not once had any of them used his name. Much easier to detach from a heinous act if they boil their victim down to an object or thing, rather than a living, breathing individual with feelings, thoughts, and family.

"Strip," Taylor ordered.

"Why?"

"Convenience and confusion."

"You lost me."

"Convenience for us because we won't have to undress you to retrieve our trophy. Confusion for when the authorities eventually find your carcass."

"Stop this," Watters demanded. "You're talking about murdering a person. I cannot let you kill him and I won't be a party to this."

"Then the League disavows you," Taylor said.

Ferguson drew his sidearm and blew a hole in Watters's head.

The blast rocked through the forest, and Britt knew then that he would die in these woods.

But not without maiming a few of his enemies.