That would be suicide.
Tears filled Ken’s eyes even as he lifted the gun and pressed it against the kid’s head. Like he genuinely didn’t want to kill the boy but couldn’t stop himself.
The teen werewolf must have realized what was coming because his eyes flashed yellow-gold and there was a hint of fangs visible as they extended in response to the fear rushing through his body.
Beside Diego, the kid’s mom tensed, like she was going to jump on the man holding her son, regardless of the gun he was holding.
“It’s getting hot in here, guys,” Diego murmured, giving the signal to his teammates outside as he launched himself at Ken.
His muscles twisted and spasmed in a partial shift, his body becoming a blur as he moved. It went without saying that he was a lot faster than the boy’s mom, even if she did look fit as hell.
Diego slammed into the kid and the gunman at the same time, taking them both to the floor just as his pack mates crashed through the front windows behind him. Diego ignored the hostages freaking out all around him and focused on separating Ken from the boy—and from his weapon.
The kid hit the linoleum floor and slid into the side of a nearby booth, while Ken bounced toward the kitchen, losing his grip on the Glock. Diego didn’t need the weapon—he had plenty at the ends of his fingertips—but slashing up a man in the middle of a diner with people all around wouldn’t be the best idea in the world. So, he went with discretion over valor and dove for the gun the other man had dropped.
A small growl slipped out from Diego’s throat as he covered the distance to the weapon in one savage leap, then scooped up the auto and spun around to get a bead on Ken as the man recovered from his own tumble and came to a knee holding one of the SIG Sauers he’d taken from the patrol officers.
“Freeze!” Diego shouted, even as the man kept moving in a weird slow-and-mechanical fashion, like he was a frigging robot. “Dammit, Ken, don’t lift that weapon any higher. I don’t want to shoot you. It’s over. Just drop it!”
Three red dots appeared unwavering in the center of Ken’s chest as Trey, Hale, and Mike all ordered him to drop the weapon, too. Ken ignored them, locking eyes with Diego. The anguish in them was unlike anything Diego had ever seen before.
“Don’t let him get away with this,” Ken whispered, bringing the Glock the rest of the way up to his chin and pulling the trigger.
* * *
The moment the man in the expensive suit and Italian loafers walked into the diner, Bree Harlow was sure she recognized him. She couldn’t remember where they’d met, but she was certain they had. In fact, she’d been so sure, she’d stopped in midconversation with her son, Brandon, to give him a smile and a wave. But before she could so much as lift her hand, the man had walked up to the table where the two police officers were sitting and shot them.
Without saying a single word.
Without even waiting for them to notice him.
He’d just…shot them.
Before Bree realized what was happening, she and Brandon were on the floor trying to stop the bleeding while the man in the suit was ranting and raving about monsters and voices in his head.
She’d taken Brandon out to breakfast this morning so they could relax and hopefully talk. Bree knew her son was dealing with some stuff, and she desperately wanted to help. But between the nightmares that had him ripping up his sheets and the way his brown eyes flashed yellow whenever he got upset—which seemed to be all the time lately—she had no idea what to do.
Two months ago, Brandon had gotten shot simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been terrified he was going to die, and it was a miracle he didn’t. He hadn’t been quite the same since, though. She thought at first it was because he was addicted to the pain meds the hospital had given him, but she didn’t know of a prescription drug that had those side effects. That was when she started to worry he was taking some kind of designer drug. To cope with what had happened at the convenience store and everything else going on in his life right now.
But no matter how many times she’d tried to get her son to tell her what was wrong, he wouldn’t. If anything, he became even more withdrawn. Bree thought having breakfast at the diner that made his favorite chocolate-chip pancakes might put him in a talkative mood, but then the guy with the gun had shown up, and keeping Brandon and those police officers alive had become the only thing that mattered to her.
Hope had flared bright when that big cop had walked in. Diego’s presence commanded the room even though he was unarmed, and Bree had found herself believing there was nothing he couldn’t do. When he convinced Ken to release the injured officers and four other people, she started thinking the whole thing would ultimately end okay.
Then Ken grabbed Brandon, and Bree watched in horror as the humanity left the man’s eyes and he’d lifted the gun to her son’s head. Terror flashed yellow-gold in Brandon’s eyes, tearing her heart out. He hadn’t lived through the shooting at the convenience store to die here.
If her son died, she’d die, too.
Bree would have done anything she had to do to save Brandon’s life—even putting herself between him and the gun—but it felt like she was buried in Jell-O, unable to close the distance between her and the man threatening her son, no matter how hard she tried.
All at once, a blur of movement caught her eye, then the SWAT cop was knocking Brandon and the guy with the gun to the floor. A split second later, three more cops were suddenly in the diner, smashing through the windows with a deafening crash. Screams of fear echoed around her as the other hostages freaked out, but the only thing she could focus on was her son—and getting to him.
She’d just reached Brandon when she heard Diego shouting for the guy with the gun to drop it. She grabbed her son to protect his body with her own, even as her gaze went to the scene playing out a few feet away. When Ken placed the gun under his chin, every instinct she had begged her to look away, but she couldn’t, and the sight of him taking his own life was the most horrible thing she’d ever witnessed.
The overwhelming chaos in the diner disappeared, replaced by silence, and time seemed to slow as Ken slowly tumbled to the linoleum floor.
There was so much blood.
Bree had no idea if seconds—or hours—passed, but then she heard something so out of place with her surroundings that it immediately snapped her back to reality.
Growling.
Low, soft, pained…growling.
And it was coming from Brandon.
She looked down to find him gazing up at her with vivid-gold eyes, half-inch-long fangs visible over his bottom lip.
Bree had always considered herself to be a strong person. She’d gone through a lot in her life and dealt with it. But she couldn’t ignore the obvious. The accumulated stress of this situation had been too much for her. She was having a mental breakdown. Because there was no way she was seeing what she thought she saw.