think’s going to happen to anyone who’s still here when Schreiber gets back?” I swallowed again, took a deep breath. “Get the damn keys.”
I turned away. He’d do it. If he didn’t—hell, I’d worry about that when it came to it. I needed to get Christoph and Silke.
I needed to get out of that damn slaughterhouse.
The day must have been getting warmer. Sweat poured off me as I ran down the path to the old house. Christoph and Silke were waiting on the stoop. She gasped when she saw me in my blood-soaked shirt. He didn’t.
“Who?” he asked stepping forward, his face tense. His gait was awkward as hell, his legs still cramped up from the cage.
“Sven.” I turned away to wipe my forehead with the hem of my shirt, realizing too late that was bloody too. “Means we got a ride.”
“Come on, then.” He didn’t wait for me, just grabbed Silke by the arm and jogged down the path, his face set in hard lines like moving was still hurting him. I guess I must have been shaken by the fight, because right then I was just glad someone was taking charge. I stumbled after them.
By the time I’d caught up, Christoph was in the house telling Ulf he had to come with us. And okay, that pissed me off a little. Just who the hell did he think he was, Oskar fucking Schindler? I still wasn’t sure whose side Teenwolf was on. He sure as hell hadn’t been a lot of use when I was fighting for my life against Schreiber’s chief enforcer.
Who was still writhing around on the floor there. I swallowed and looked away. “Let’s just get the hell out of here, okay? You got the keys?”
Ulf handed them over a little more slowly than I would have liked.
“Okay. Come on—and if you change your mind, Ulf, we’ll drop you off somewhere,” I promised. Hell, I’d have promised him a Playstation if it would get us all on our way out of there before any more shit hit the fan.
We all went out front and piled into the Porsche. I got the damn thing in gear and headed down the driveway—and just before we got out on the road, Ulf opened the door and jumped ship.
My foot wavered over the brake as Ulf rolled on the dirt, staggered to his feet and ran back to the house. Back to Sven.
“Keep driving,” Christoph growled at me. I drove on.
Chapter Seven
“You should not have done this,” Christoph said softly as we sped up the A115 toward the center of Berlin. No destination, exactly; I just had a vague idea it’d be good to be around people right now. Human people. The kind who don’t, as a rule, tear your throat out as soon as look as you…
I swallowed and tried not to think about throats and blood and bodies thrashing on the floor. I could have done without Christoph fucking with my mind as I tried to keep my eye on the road, work out where the hell I was going and not freak out over the idea that Ulf had probably patched up Sven. The whole goddamn pack was most likely searching for the Porsche right now.
If Sven was still alive. If I hadn’t killed him. Shit.
“You think I should have left you to rot in that fucking cage? Enjoying it that much, were you?” Where the hell could we go? All I’d wanted to do was to get out of that place fast, but driving until we ran out of gas—which I figured, looking at the gauge, would be in under thirty miles from here—was looking less and less like a plan and more and more like suicide.
“He will hunt us down.”
“You’re a regular glass-half-full guy, aren’t you?” I muttered. Damn it—did he think I didn’t know that already? “Have you got any money?”
Christoph barked a laugh. “Where do you imagine I was keeping it?”
Okay, maybe he had a point. “Silke?”
“No.” Just a whisper.
Shit. “Me either.” That asshole Schreiber never did give me back my damn wallet. “Okay, ideas for where we could go?”
Silence. Dammit. I swung the Porsche round a corner, trying to think. “Okay. There’s this guy I know who owes me.”
“Where?” Again,
I turned away. He’d do it. If he didn’t—hell, I’d worry about that when it came to it. I needed to get Christoph and Silke.
I needed to get out of that damn slaughterhouse.
The day must have been getting warmer. Sweat poured off me as I ran down the path to the old house. Christoph and Silke were waiting on the stoop. She gasped when she saw me in my blood-soaked shirt. He didn’t.
“Who?” he asked stepping forward, his face tense. His gait was awkward as hell, his legs still cramped up from the cage.
“Sven.” I turned away to wipe my forehead with the hem of my shirt, realizing too late that was bloody too. “Means we got a ride.”
“Come on, then.” He didn’t wait for me, just grabbed Silke by the arm and jogged down the path, his face set in hard lines like moving was still hurting him. I guess I must have been shaken by the fight, because right then I was just glad someone was taking charge. I stumbled after them.
By the time I’d caught up, Christoph was in the house telling Ulf he had to come with us. And okay, that pissed me off a little. Just who the hell did he think he was, Oskar fucking Schindler? I still wasn’t sure whose side Teenwolf was on. He sure as hell hadn’t been a lot of use when I was fighting for my life against Schreiber’s chief enforcer.
Who was still writhing around on the floor there. I swallowed and looked away. “Let’s just get the hell out of here, okay? You got the keys?”
Ulf handed them over a little more slowly than I would have liked.
“Okay. Come on—and if you change your mind, Ulf, we’ll drop you off somewhere,” I promised. Hell, I’d have promised him a Playstation if it would get us all on our way out of there before any more shit hit the fan.
We all went out front and piled into the Porsche. I got the damn thing in gear and headed down the driveway—and just before we got out on the road, Ulf opened the door and jumped ship.
My foot wavered over the brake as Ulf rolled on the dirt, staggered to his feet and ran back to the house. Back to Sven.
“Keep driving,” Christoph growled at me. I drove on.
Chapter Seven
“You should not have done this,” Christoph said softly as we sped up the A115 toward the center of Berlin. No destination, exactly; I just had a vague idea it’d be good to be around people right now. Human people. The kind who don’t, as a rule, tear your throat out as soon as look as you…
I swallowed and tried not to think about throats and blood and bodies thrashing on the floor. I could have done without Christoph fucking with my mind as I tried to keep my eye on the road, work out where the hell I was going and not freak out over the idea that Ulf had probably patched up Sven. The whole goddamn pack was most likely searching for the Porsche right now.
If Sven was still alive. If I hadn’t killed him. Shit.
“You think I should have left you to rot in that fucking cage? Enjoying it that much, were you?” Where the hell could we go? All I’d wanted to do was to get out of that place fast, but driving until we ran out of gas—which I figured, looking at the gauge, would be in under thirty miles from here—was looking less and less like a plan and more and more like suicide.
“He will hunt us down.”
“You’re a regular glass-half-full guy, aren’t you?” I muttered. Damn it—did he think I didn’t know that already? “Have you got any money?”
Christoph barked a laugh. “Where do you imagine I was keeping it?”
Okay, maybe he had a point. “Silke?”
“No.” Just a whisper.
Shit. “Me either.” That asshole Schreiber never did give me back my damn wallet. “Okay, ideas for where we could go?”
Silence. Dammit. I swung the Porsche round a corner, trying to think. “Okay. There’s this guy I know who owes me.”
“Where?” Again,
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