A little confused but seeing no reason not to do as he wanted, Bo walked over. The wolf stepped closer, their arms almost touching. Mr. Thorpe was only about six feet tall and they must have looked ridiculous standing right next to each other. But when Bo saw Blayne slip out the backdoor, it suddenly all made sense.

Bo glanced down, and the cold-hearted wolf who couldn’t stand his daughter and hated everyone—as per Blayne—shrugged and quietly waited for all hell to break loose.

CHAPTER 28

“Where you goin’, teacup?”

Dee-Ann watched the wolfdog freeze in her confused tracks. She’d already walked off one way, turned around, and headed another, only to come racing back the other way. Never once noticing, sensing, or scenting that Dee was standing right there watching her.

Of course, Dee knew this would happen. Sure. The males thought they could control the teacup poodle with their overwhelming maleness, but Dee knew Blayne would try to do something stupid about the hybrids who’d been trapped by those full-humans. And it wasn’t that Dee didn’t understand. She did understand. Hell, she’d been building her own little hybrid team for months now. They were young, but every one had potential. But there was a difference between some streetwise stray and a hybrid that had been through absolute hell for weeks, maybe even months. No. They couldn’t bring them back. They couldn’t unleash them on New York or even Ursus County. So her team would go in fast and quiet and take care of them all at one time. Just like they’d been trained to do.

But what Dee wouldn’t deal with was having anything else happen to this idiotic wolfdog. She was tired of getting blamed for it all; she was tired of people she considered her friends not speaking to her; and she was tired of having to even think about any of it. So, she let the males do their thing and she’d waited out here. She’d waited out here because she knew the wolfdog would come . . . and she did.

“Dee-Ann.”

Dee ambled on over to the wolfdog. “I know what you want to do, darlin’, but that can’t happen.”

“It’s easy for you, isn’t it?” Blayne asked. “Killing? Wiping out your own? Oh. That’s right. We’re not. We’re just mutts. Strays.”

“Whatcha think I should do Blayne? Really? Take ’em home with us? Maybe call in that Dog Whisperer guy, see if he can get them under control? Turn ’em into respectable hybrids? And then sit around prayin’ that they don’t up and tear someone’s throat out while they’re waiting in line at McDonald’s for a Big Mac and fries?”

“I think you at least have to give them the chance. We’re not all the same.”

“I know. Some of them are even more unstable than you are.”

“Insult me all you want, Dee, but I’mgoing to help them.”

Done with this conversation and this irritating little heifer, Dee-Ann grabbed Blayne’s arm.

The wolfdog stared down at where Dee’s fingers gripped her. “Get off me.”

“We can do this easy or not, teacup, up to you.”

Blayne raised her gaze to Dee’s. “I said let me go.”

“I’ll let you go when I get you home. Now move, little girl.”

Blayne did, too, awkwardly swinging her fist at Dee’s already bear-abused face. Bored nearly to tears, Dee caught Blayne’s fist and twisted the wolfdog’s arm until she had her on her knees.

Turns out that was right around the time Blayne pressed the barrel of the .45 Dee had tucked into her side holster against Dee’s inner thigh.

Not doing anything too sudden, Dee slowly glanced down at the weapon Blayne held. The safety was off and Blayne’s finger was on the trigger. She didn’t even feel the girl pull the weapon from Dee’s holster.

“Let’s be calm, Blayne.”

“Forget about losing a leg here, Smith. I pull this trigger and I blow a major artery. You’ll bleed out before they can do a damn thing to help you. So get your fuckin’ hands off me.”

Dee released Blayne, the wolfdog turning out to be full of all sorts of backbone.

Holding Dee’s own weapon on her, Blayne got to her feet and took a step back.

“You used me,” Blayne said, not sounding like the teacup poodle Dee had been watching the past few months. “You’ve been using me all along and then you had the nerve to fucking tag me? Are you kidding me?”

Dee slowly raised her hands and said, “Blayne—”

“All this time you’ve been waiting for them to grab me. When would you have moved in? After they put me in my first pit fight? Or after they put me in my twelfth? Or would you have not bothered because you don’t like me much anyway?”

“You’ve got this all wrong, Blayne.”

“No. I don’t.” And that’s when Blayne punched her. Not some pansy, teacup poodle punch either. But a Muhammad Ali punch with her left hand . . . and Blayne was a righty!

Dee grabbed her freshly healed but now rebroken nose. “You crazy little whore!”

“What are you going to do now, bitch?” Blayne demanded. “What are you going to do now?”

It was a rarely seen thing and she’d gotten it from her momma, not her daddy. The Lewis Pack She-wolf rage. She’d grown up hearing how Smith males had always found that rage “sexy,” but the Smith males weren’t right in the head.

Blayne had the .45 aimed right at Dee. “Pull the trigger, bitch,” Dee challenged. “Do it.”