light isn’t going to help us here. The TacTeam are checking their weapons, assessing how much ammunition they have left, but we’re not in a great spot.
"There's no use dying here, Poison. You'll only have yourself to blame. Gift or not, there’s at least a hundred men,” Nox spits out, still intent on hating my guts.
Gabe moves to stand up as well, swaying on his feet, and Sage looks so pale as she helps him stay upright. Pale but ready, as though she’s already made her peace with whatever end we’re going to find here today.
I take a deep breath. Those two mean something to me, they're worth protecting, no matter the cost. Gryphon... I can't let him die, there's something there. The potential for something maybe.
Stubborn, bull-headed pride means I can't leave Nox here to die either, if only because I want to prove him wrong.
I roll my shoulders back and let my power out, gently and carefully, the tendrils of it spanning out like a net casting out into the ocean. It touches every last one of the Resistance, all of them unaware of my touch.
All three of my Bonds here can feel it though, no hiding this shit from them, and know what I'm doing. I turn to stare Nox in the eye, a challenge and a show of exactly how badly he's underestimated me, his Bond, the one he's supposed to adore and protect.
Then, all at once, I trigger the terrors and nightmares within them. Ninety-two men and women writhing in agony in the blink of an eye.
And I feel nothing.
Nox's eyes flare but he doesn't look away from me, just keeps his eyes glued to mine. The others around us aren't so restrained.
"Holy fucking shit."
“Did she do that? I thought she wasn’t Gifted?”
"How the fuck did she take out that many at once?”
“Monster.”
Gryphon moves to stand in front of me immediately, blocking me from the view of his entire team and the others who were rescued. Gabe grabs my hand and yanks me into his body as though he’s worried I’m about to be attacked by our own people. I have to break my staring contest with Nox, but I think I've proved my point.
I pull away from Gabe, my gift is still a little too excited about being let out to play and I can’t have him touching me right now. He frowns at me, but then follows my eyes down to my fingers and gulps when he sees the fine tremble in them.
Finally he takes a step away, stumbling a little only to be caught by Nox, both of them looking like the walking dead at this point.
Nox, ignoring Gabe’s groans of pain, snaps, “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about your idiot decisions either, Ardern. What the fuck were you thinking? You would’ve been more useful to us if you’d stayed behind and kept Bassinger muzzled. Fucking useless.”
My gift explodes out of me.
I can’t stop it or contain it, the wave of it hitting everyone around us, and the entire group scrambles away from me, leaving only Gryphon there with me. The entire TacTeam takes cover as though they can outrun me, but I barely even think of any of them, every fiber of my being is honed in on where Nox is holding Gabe’s arm and berating him.
I don’t like that.
“Nox… let him go,” Gryphon says, pulling the attention away from me as everyone looks over to what has set me off.
Very slowly, as if he’s cautious not to spook me, Nox’s hand slips away from Gabe. My body moves without thought, stalking over to Gabe as if an invisible force is shoving us together, and I plant myself in-between my two Bonds.
I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but my bond finally calms the fuck down a little once my back is pressed against Gabe’s chest.
“Incoming, the plane’s here.”
There’s a whoop of joy and the TacTeam recovers from my little bond-tantrum moment, moving around us to prepare for our pick up. I stand there with Gabe and watch the descent without a word between us. When the plane hits the runway, landing perfectly, with the roar of the brakes and engine reversing, we both exhale as though we’ve been holding our breaths for hours, days at this point.
“How the fuck do we tell North about this? I don’t even know what to call it,” Gryphon mutters to Nox, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to me, and I take a deep breath.
I can’t say a word to him because he always sees through my lies, and how could I explain this situation away to him? How do I tell him that the nightmares are horrible but the least of our problems?
If only they were the worst thing I can do.
Also by J Bree
The Bonds that Tie
Broken Bonds
Savage Bonds
The Mounts Bay Saga
The Mounts Bay Saga
The Butcher of the Bay: Part I
The Butcher of the Bay: Part II
Hannaford Prep
Just Drop Out: Hannaford Prep Year One
Make Your Move: Hannaford Prep Year Two
Play the Game: Hannaford Prep Year Three
To the End: Hannaford Prep Year Four
Hannaford Prep: The Complete Series
Make My Move: Alternate POV of Year Two
The Queen Crow Trilogy
All Hail
The Ruthless
Queen Crow
The Unseen MC
Angel Unseen: An Unseen MC Novel
About the Author
J Bree is a dreamer, writer, mother, farmer, and cat-wrangler. The order of priorities changes daily.
She lives on a small farm in a tiny rural town in Australia that no one has ever heard of. She spends her days dreaming about all of her book boyfriends, listening to her partner moan about how the wine grapes are growing, and being a snack bitch to her two kids.
For updates about upcoming releases, please visit her website at http://www.jbreeauthor.com, and sign up for the newsletter or join her group on Facebook at #mountygirlforlife: A J Bree Reading Group
CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
Just Drop Out:
Hannaford Prep Year One
Available now on Kindle Unlimited
Prologue
The forest at the edge of the Mounts Bay, California, city limits are well known for being haunted.
The kids at the local high school have spent generations whispering about the bodies buried in shallow graves, waiting for the wolves to scent them and dig them up for food. There’s even more legends about the souls that walk amongst the towering redwoods. It’s quiet, not silent, but compared to the ever-present sounds of traffic and human experience, it’s eerie and adds to the haunted feel.
While I don’t believe in ghosts, I can feel the souls that linger here.
It’s probably just my guilty conscious giving me the heebie-jeebies as I look over the corpse of my opponent. His blood is still fresh on my hands, cold and congealed, and I wipe them uselessly down my jeans. My clothes are just as stained as my hands, even my face is spattered with the red stains of his life ending. I look like something out of a horror movie, which is about right considering I’ve just bashed a man’s skull in with a rock while a whole crowd of people looked on in sick fascination. There isn’t a person watching that dares to make a noise. The vise-like grip of the Club holds their tongues.
I’m not afraid of being caught.
I’m small for my age. Years of food insecurity have taken their toll, and I was the youngest contender in the Game this season. None of that matters, though; I’ve won. I’ve beaten thirty men and teenage boys to take the victory and the spoils of this war.
I stumble toward the men at the perimeter of the fighting ring. They’re all cloaked in black, hard looks on their faces and black ink etched over their cheeks. My hands tremble at the thought of wearing those same marks. The marks of the Twelve. But I’ve earned them. I’ve earned the right to stand with them and be one of them.
To be free.
“Congratulations, you’ve won the Game,” the Jackal speaks, and I shiver at the cold tones of his voice, so unlike the warmth he usually extends to me.
I nod my head. I want this over with. I want a hot meal and an even hotter shower.
“Welcome to the Twelve. You’re replacing the Hawk. Who do you choose to be?”
Free. I guess a hawk is a good embodiment of freedom, but it feels strange to take a dead man's name, like climbing into his bed with the sheets still warm. I look around at the other men that make up the Twelve. Their names are what they’re known as on the streets, what their gangs cover themselves with as protection and a warning. I could have that too. I could make myself a queen of my own empire. I could rule the streets and never go hungry again.
I could escape the cycle of poverty my mother has left me in.
My eyes land back on the Jackal, and I lift my chin until I no longer feel like I’m looking up at him.
“I am the Wolf.”