Clenching his jaw because, yeah, he didn’t like hearing Bracken talk about Gwen’s eyes or legs, Zander said, “Gwen’s situation is bad. The humans trying to intimidate her are rich and have the kind of social power that allow them to go unpunished by the local police and judge, so they’re not likely to help her if these bastards step up their game. She needs protection. Maybe if she has it, the victim will feel safe enough to come forward again.”

“I don’t like to bring up bad memories, Nick,” began Bracken, tone sensitive, “but think about what happened to Roni.” Nick’s sister had almost been gang-raped by humans long ago. One of the bastards had recorded the foiled attack, and that footage was later featured on a fucked-up website where prejudiced humans uploaded videos of crimes against shifters and actually rated them. “It’s not the same as what’s happening here, I know that. You saved Roni; you had evidence to prove their guilt. But let’s say that Roni hadn’t had any help that day; let’s say that there was a witness who was being harassed into backing off. Wouldn’t you like to think that someone would have stuck up for her?”

“Gwen’s not your sister,” the Alpha rightly pointed out.

Zander balled his hand up into a fist. “But my sister was shot, and you know how that turned out.”

“So, in a sense, this is about Shelby.” After a long moment of silence, Nick exhaled heavily. “I’ll allow it, providing you agree to keep me updated.”

“That we can do,” said Bracken.

“For the record, I still don’t like this. Nonetheless, I’ll back you on it. But only to a point. If things get too bad up there, you both need to come home. That’s not a negotiation.”

Bracken nodded. “Agreed.”

“Good. Remember to keep me updated.” The line went dead.

Leaning back in his chair, Zander tapped his fingers on the table. “I thought he’d put up more of a fight.”

Bracken pulled out his own phone. “Nick’s a good guy. He’s also practical enough to know that Shaya would guilt-trip him into letting us stay if he didn’t consent.”

Watching Bracken’s thumbs flying over the screen of his cell, Zander said, “You’re texting Shiloh again, aren’t you?” The female margay shifter was Harley’s cousin.

Without looking up or stopping texting, he said, “Presumably, you’ve noticed she spends most of her time on her phone.” He lifted his shoulders. “How else am I going to seduce her? Technology is my way in.”

“Why would you put so much effort into seducing someone who doesn’t like you? It’s not even personal—she doesn’t like anyone.”

Bracken’s mouth quirked. “She’s warming up to me, I can tell.”

“How can you tell?”

“The majority of her responses are threats and offensive comments.”

“And you find this positive?”

“You’ve met Shiloh. She takes aloof to a whole new level. Instead of ignoring me, she insults and threatens me—she’s trying to push me away. I’m telling you, she’s warming up to me.”

“Whatever. I need to call Shelby.” Zander dialed her number, but he didn’t put the call on speakerphone this time.

“Hey,” she answered softly.

“Hey. Thought you might want to know what went down at the attorney’s office. It turns out that Rory was helping Dale, spending time with him, trying to win his favor. Apparently, Dale didn’t deem that help as worth anything more than a dollar.”

“Oh, God,” Shelby muttered, amused.

“The rest will be split between you and me.”

“I’m guessing Rory lost his mind.”

“You guessed right, so it’s probably good that you weren’t here.”

She took what sounded like a cleansing breath. “Enough about that. Tell me what’s been going on in your life.”

They talked for a while. He didn’t mention the Gwen situation, knowing Shelby would likely see how it paralleled her own—he didn’t want to drag up old memories for her. Once Zander had ended the call, Bracken spoke.

“Well, I guess we should go find Gwen and offer our protection. You know, I can’t help wondering . . .”

“What?” prodded Zander.

“I know what drives us to want to help her with this complex situation. But what drives her to want to help the shifter? Because considering the pressure she’s under and how unsafe she must feel, there has to be something big driving her.”

He’s probably right, Zander thought. And now he himself was wondering the same thing.

CHAPTER FIVE

When the doorbell chimed, Gwen’s stomach rolled. And she hated that. She shouldn’t be anxious in her own home. She shouldn’t react so strongly to the simple matter of someone being at the freaking door.

Although she very much doubted it was Brandt, since he surely wasn’t stupid enough to announce his presence, she nonetheless slipped her hand into her pocket and fished out her knuckle stun gun before opening the front door. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw a familiar female who was biting her lip.

Stepping inside, Julie wrapped her arms around Gwen. “I know you didn’t want me coming here in case I got caught in any cross fire, but I had to see you. Chase won’t like it, but you’re my sister.” She glanced around, almost as if she expected him to jump out any second. She didn’t fear Chase, but she disliked disappointing him.

“Let me just shut the door.” Gwen closed it, tucked her stun gun in the pocket of her jeans, and then led her sister into the spacious living room. “You didn’t need to come here. I’m okay, Jules.”

“Of course you are,” she said with a smile as they both sat on the sofa. “I’ve never known you to be anything else.” She lowered her voice as she added, “I’m ashamed to say that, in your position, I probably would have backed down and changed my statement.”

“You’re not weak, Jules.” Fragile in some ways and a little dependent, but not weak.

Julie shook her head. “Well, I’m not strong. Not like you. We had similar childhoods, but you let it make you stronger.”

Gwen’s gut burned at just the mere mention of her childhood. Flashes of memory flickered through her mind, despite fighting them. Her stepfather beating her mother, Hanna, with the satellite dish. Her mother cowering in the corner as he whacked her over the head with their anemic Christmas tree. Her stepfather shoving her out of the trailer so hard that Gwen banged her head on the cement block, just so he could “nail” her mom in peace. Bleeding, head throbbing, Gwen had sat outside among the broken bikes, empty cans, wrecked furniture, old tires, and foul-smelling trash . . . and it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask for help, because no one would have given it.

Gwen pushed the memories away. “We both left our personal hellholes long ago. None of it matters now.”

“It’ll always matter,” she said softly. “That kind of thing stays with you. Our moms were abused, but we were victims in our own way. How many times did you clean your mom up? How many times did you pick up glass and food from the floor because your stepfather had thrown stuff around? How many times did you help your mother dress because she could barely move she was in so much pain? She wouldn’t even let you get her help. I was too scared and embarrassed to share my family secret.”