Wild Harts: Rockstar Shifters Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  Bret frowned. “That’s three days from now.”

  Derek growled in frustration. “I know. That’s why I was closer today and saw him drag Mateo into the shack. I was getting desperate to find out what’s going down.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s big,” Mateo said, his voice dull. “After they tranq’d me, I blacked out. But I woke up as he was tying me to the chair. He was furious that Grace had betrayed him. He said he needed family loyal to him, especially now when he was going to prove to them all that the Espinosas were taking back what was theirs. That the entire shifter world would finally know their name and know their power. Then he punched me again and I passed out.”

  Grace stood up quickly from the bed and started pacing. “That … that asshole.” She glanced back at Mateo. “Sorry.”

  Mateo’s brown eyes brightened. “No, you’re right. Tuco is a gigantic asshole.”

  “So something big is happening that will announce to the shifter world not to fuck—sorry,” Bret said with a wince when Grace glared at him. “Not to mess with Tuco. And it’s happening on the tenth. But what?”

  Derek eyed Bret. “I was hoping you’d have an idea. Drew and the others don’t know what’s happening then either?”

  Bret cast his eyes down. “I, uh, haven’t …. I haven’t talked to my brothers in more than a month.”

  Derek sucked in a breath, but Grace spoke over. “I have an idea,” she said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace

  GRACE ONLY KNEW HOW TO find an Alvarez sentry. The truck bounced and rattled down the rutted dirt road, the rolling Texas hill prairie flattening out and stretching to the horizon.

  Derek drove, and it gave Grace a bit more of a chance to fill in his biography. His life sounded horrific, and she was amazed at his strength to pull through and try to fix his past wrongs. Since breaking out of the Southlands Camp with the tide of others, he’d apparently spent the last few months almost entirely in his bear form. He’d needed it, he said.

  Outside the truck cab, the brilliant orange sunset purpled with twilight as they headed straight west into the scrubby desert. Derek kept both hands on the wheel to ease the truck down the narrow path, but he glanced Grace’s way.

  “You remind me a lot of Tiff,” he said with a sad smile. “She wanted to see the best in me, and I appreciate you giving me a chance. God knows I don’t deserve it.”

  Grace smile gently. “If everything you and Bret have told me about Tiff and the others are true, that’s a big compliment.”

  Beside Grace, Bret squeezed her hand. “It’s true. You have a big heart just like Tiff. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

  From the truck bed, there was a sudden rapping on the window. Grace turned to look at Mateo, who was sitting in the back, as he pointed out at the horizon and nodded.

  Grace followed his line of sight and saw it too. An SUV parked on a ridge, with a man standing beside it. A sentry.

  The Alvarez clan had them set up all along the neutral zone between the Southern and Western clans boundaries. As Derek slowed the truck, a second sentry walked around the other side of the SUV. Ever since Tuco had started attacking sentries and any Alvarez he could find, they’d apparently doubled up on duty.

  Both men, Grace realized, were holding shotguns. And they were trained directly on them.

  “You sure about this?” Bret said, his voice low.

  Grace gripped his hand. “It’s our best bet. We know a date that something is going to happen. Maybe Carlos Alvarez can help us. I have to do this. I have to stop Tuco from whatever he’s planning.”

  Derek flashed his lights, and Grace noticed his face had blanched of color, so he was even paler than before. He stopped the truck well away from the sentries up on the ridge and stepped out with his hands up.

  “State your business,” one of the sentries called. Grace noticed he hadn’t dropped the shotgun. The second sentry jogged down the steep embankment toward them and pulled open the passenger door. With his shotgun, he motioned for Bret, Grace, and Mateo to get out of the truck.

  Like Derek, Grace scooted out of the truck with her hands up. Her stomach sloshed with unease. Had she just sent her family into danger?

  It was Bret who spoke up. “We need to speak with the Alvarez chieftain. We have information on Tuco Espinosa.”

  The man next to him—a tall, hulking man—sneered. “You’ve got two Espinosas with you, this could be a trap.”

  “It’s not,” Mateo said. “We just want to get away from our cousin. He’s planning something for April tenth, something big.”

  The sentry closest to them looked up at the man on the ridge. He nodded, then turned his ice-cold glare on them. “Line up against the truck. We’re going to tie your hands and blindfold you, and I warn you: If you try anything, we won’t ask questions. We’ll just shoot.”

  Grace shared a last look with Bret, then the world went black. Every sense went into overdrive. There was a roar of an engine rumbling to life, then the smell of dust and exhaust. Rough hands settled heavily onto her shoulders, then she felt a sharp jab into her upper arm. Pain radiated through her arm, followed by a numbing warmth that left her entire body feeling heavy and slow. She was marched across the weedy ground, her feet clumsy underneath her. The sentry pushed her up into the SUV, then she felt bodies tumble in behind her.

  “Mateo?”

  “Here,” came a muffled voice.

  “Bret? Derek?”

  “Both here,” Bret growled. “And both pretty pissed. You didn’t have to tranq us,” he shouted toward the front. If anyone was up there yet, they remained silent.

  Grace didn’t know how to respond. So she tried to find a comfortable position and pay attention to how the vehicle was turning. But it only seemed to go straight—no matter what was in its path. She was jostled and bounced, and after a while, the trip bled into a horrible monotony.

  Her mind wandered. Before everything had gone so awfully wrong, there had been her and Bret laying in the bluebonnets. There had been music. The sweet melody floated through her mind, a balm to her nerves. Bret had written the music for her … for them.

  For the first time in years, Grace wondered if maybe she could return to music, if she could do more than struggle just to get by and actually thrive.

  If they got through this …. Grace pressed her lips together. No, when they got through this, she was excited to make more music with Bret.

  She must have drifted off, because suddenly there were hands on her, a voice telling her to move. She was pushed down a long, cold corridor, what felt like cement under her feet. Then she was shoved into an even colder room, and her blindfold was yanked off.

  Grace squinted into the sudden brightness and sliced her eyes side to side to look for the others. They were right beside her, just as confused as she was. There was only a single bulb illuminating a cavernous warehouse, and shadows pressed in on all sides.

  Out of the darkness, she saw two pair of eyes. Solid black eyes, animalistic and unforgiving. She heard claws on the concrete, heard the huffing breath of giant beasts. Then a man strode into the light, his eyes just as unforgiving, though they were human.

  It was the man Tuco had sworn was an enemy of every Espinosa. The chieftain of the Southern Clans, Carlos Alvarez.

  “I don’t need to say this, but if you try anything, you won’t live to see beyond that door.”

  Grace swallowed hard and nodded. “We mean you or your people no harm.”

  Carlos laughed, and the sound scraped together like sandpaper. “You murdered one of my sentries. You’ve been causing trouble for months.”

  “You can’t hold an entire clan responsible for the actions of a few,” Bret said. He jutted his chin and stared at the Alvarez chieftain. “Trust me, I’d be dead if those in the Western Clans held me and my brothers responsible for the actions of our father.”

  Carlos cocked his chin regarded Bret. “You’re a Hart.”

  Bret nodded.

&
nbsp; “But you were a child when your father was on his rampage.” Carlos sliced his dark eyes toward Grace and then Mateo. “Are you saying you’re innocent of everything Tuco has done?”

  Grace’s throat tightened, but she didn’t drop her gaze. “I’m not. But I’m trying to make things right.”

  “I could have you brought before the conclave for the violence and chaos the Espinosas have sown in my territory.”

  Grace swallowed hard. Beside her, she felt Bret go rigid, but she held out a hand to stop him from doing anything stupid. But what could they do? The tranq would keep them from shifting for hours more. They were standing in a den of bears with their best weapon taken from them.

  “Then do it,” Grace said, calling his bluff. “But not before you hear us out. Tuco is planning something for April tenth, and we want to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

  Carlos had been eyeing them with suspicion, but at that date, his eyes went wide. He glanced behind him at the two massive bears prowling through the gloom then back at his captives.

  “You’re sure of that date?”

  “Positive,” Mateo spoke up.

  Carlos pulled his wire-rim glasses off his face and cleaned them on his shirt. Anxiety snapped through the air, made every movement rake over Grace’s skin.

  “That’s the date of Drew Hart’s installation.”

  Bret stumbled backward, his mouth gaping.

  “What do you mean?” Grace demanded.

  “The conclave elected his brother as the new chieftain of the Western Clans, and April tenth is the ceremony to make it official. This could be devastating.”

  “We have to go,” Bret said, his jaw set and his hands curled into fists. “Now.”

  Carlos nodded. “There are members of each conclave there, emissaries from around the territories. I, myself, sent my son in my stead. There’s been too much upheaval here to leave.”

  Bret took a step forward, and a growl echoed through the space. “So come now. Bring your men and come stop Tuco once and for all.”

  “And leave the Southern Clans on the brink of collapse? I’m already stretched thin. I’ve had to double up on sentries, and it didn’t stop a pack of Espinosa wolves attacking one of the southern posts two nights ago.” Carlos shook his head, defeat etched in his posture.

  “I can give you one my good luck and a promise that if you stand up against Tuco, our people will fight beside you, but that’s it.”

  Grace grabbed Bret’s fist, and his fingers relaxed against hers. It was enough. They’d make it be enough. Bret shuddered out a sigh.

  “Thank you,” he managed.

  They were at the door, flanked by two more guards, when Carlos cleared his throat.

  “Grace,” he said. “Good luck facing Tuco, my dear. But I do plan on punishing those who fought with him in this little rebellion of his. If you’re triumphant, don’t come back here.”

  Grace met Carlos Alvarez’s hard eyes and saw the truth in them. So this was it. If she went against Tuco, the Espinosas would turn their backs on her and Mateo. And if she did fight Tuco, Texas and all of the Southern territories were lost to her. Whatever happened, she would be an outcast from either her family or her home.

  So be it. Now wasn’t the time to be selfish. Grace pressed her lips together, then nodded.

  As long as she had Bret and Mateo at her side, her home was with them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bret

  BRET COULDN’T SIT STILL. NERVES jangled through him like a discordant, sour note on a piano.

  It was nearly midnight, and they were somewhere in the desolate foothills of northern New Mexico. In just two days, Drew would be standing before the conclave and members of all three territories of North America and taking his rightful place as chieftain of the Western Clans.

  And Tuco Espinosa was going to attack them.

  Bret clenched his hand into a fist, a horrible feeling of impotence making his blood rage. He had to do something. He had to stop Tuco. But the man was a full day ahead of them, and they had an eighteen-hour drive to reach Drew and the others.

  Derek was driving, but one glance at the man and Bret could see him barely hanging on. He felt it too, the way the tranquilizer had locked up the bear inside him, dragged him down and forced him to surrender. It dragged down the man, as well.

  Bret tried to watch the road ahead—a two-lane highway that wound through the mountains in its journey north—but his eyes blurred. Bret clenched his jaw and blinked hard. Already, Grace was slumped against him in sleep and Mateo was similarly stretched out in the bed of the truck.

  Fighting the false sleep of the tranq, Bret yanked his phone out of his pocket and tried calling Drew again. He’d tried each of his brothers and Mac at least a half-dozen times since they’d gotten back to the truck. But no one ever answered.

  Bret growled in frustration and shoved his phone away. It was useless even trying, he knew. The lodge where the installation ceremony was to take place was deep in the mountains of northern Montana, a lonely place of dense pine forests, soaring peaks, and clear, swift rivers. And absolutely no cell reception.

  Bret had witnessed one other installation ceremony growing up—his father’s. His father. The thought of his made his heart twist. He felt no love for the man, but the thought of Drew facing their father, of being forced to kill him …. Bret didn’t care what Tuco had told the others. Bret knew his brother, and he knew if Drew had killed Errol Hart, it was only because there was no other choice.

  His eyelids drooped, his limbs grew heavy. Bret shook his head and focused, only to see the truck veering off the road.

  “Hey!”

  Bret jerked the wheel at the same time Derek grunted awake.

  “Shit, sorry.” He let the truck roll to a stop at the side of the road. “We can’t keep driving, not while the tranq is working through our bodies.”

  As much as he hated to agree—everything in him propelled him forward, toward his brothers—Bret nodded.

  “There was a sign for a town back there. Five miles up the road. Let’s go find a motel and sleep this off.”

  Derek rolled his window down so cool night air slapped his face, then eased the truck back onto the road. The town was more like a pit stop, but up ahead Bret saw an old neon sign announcing the Wayfarer Motor Lodge. Derek pulled in and had to ring the bell several times to get someone to come to the door.

  But soon enough, the stooped night manager was handing over three sets of keys. Bret trudged through the motions in a fog, his body and mind demanding he sit down, lay down, close his eyes. The bear inside him whined in its sleep. He shook Mateo awake and helped get him to his room and into his bed while Derek grabbed what few things they had with them—Grace’s purse, Bret’s guitar.

  Inside the truck, Grace was still slumped against the seat, her face quiet and peaceful with sleep. Bret eased his hands under her and scooped her into his arms. She was a warm weight against him, her breath slow and steady against his neck. Bret held on tightly to his mate and pushed their motel room door open with a hip.

  His eyes found the bed, and he stumbled toward it. He gently settled Grace on the bed and pulled off her boots, hoping not to wake her. He found a blanket to smooth over her sleeping body, then collapsed into the bed next to her. He’d barely kicked his boots off before his eyes were fluttering closed.

  But in the last moment before sleep claimed him, he felt Grace shift on the bed and curl into him. It calmed his frayed heart to have her body pressed to his. Bret wrapped his arms around his love, his mate, and fell asleep.

  Bret blinked awake, unsure for a moment where he was. Then the last twenty-four hours rushed back, and his chest tightened.

  He peered past the crack in the curtains of their tiny motel room, but it was still gray and silent with night. They were somewhere in northern New Mexico … or maybe southern Colorado. Last night had been a blur of adrenaline and exhaustion.

  In his arms, Grace still slept. Her thick, dark hai
r was a curtain over his arm, and her face was pressed in close to his chest. He stared down at her, in awe that this beautiful woman was his. She was selfless and strong, just a likely to share a beer with a stranger as she was to sharply tell someone not to cuss. She’d put her own dreams, her own life, on hold for her family.

  Bret could only wish he was strong enough, good enough for her. He’d have to fight each day to be the sort of man Grace Lopez deserved.

  Because she deserved so much, much more than Bret had ever thought he could give to another human. But now, staring down at her sleeping in his arms, his heart swelled. She was his mate, the one woman in the entire world that fate had chosen for him.

  It’d taken getting to his lowest point, turning his back on his family to find her. But maybe with Grace’s help, he could earn back his place as a Hart brother. Running away from his problems had brought him to Grace, but it had also made him realize how much he truly cherished his family. He loved Drew’s steadiness, Jax’s talent, Chase’s wit. He loved the women they had married and would love the families they created.

  Now, more than anything, his soul ached to be back with his brothers where he was meant to be. He wanted to introduce them to Grace and Mateo and grow their family even more.

  Bret didn’t delude himself into thinking he wanted to stay in Montana forever. Life called him elsewhere, to a stage, but it’d be good to know he could always go home.

  As long as he stopped Tuco from destroying everything he loved.

  Grace stretched in his arms, and her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Bret?” she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

  “I’m here.” Bret pulled Grace closer, her warmth imbuing him with love.

  “I feel so much better,” she said. Grace wriggled in his arms so she could face him. They lay on their sides, their faces inches apart and their limbs entwined.

  “What are you thinking?” Grace asked.

  Bret sighed. “I’m thinking that when all this is over, I can’t wait for you to really meet my family. You and Mateo.”