Chase froze at that. Brock glanced at him, saw a muscle ticking dangerously fast in his rigid jaw.
While the rest of the small group moved out of the immediate area, Mathias Rowan stepped in front of his Agent, fury vibrating off every inch of him. "Damn it, Freyne, I said shut the f**k up and that's an order!"
But the son of a bitch just wouldn't stop. He navigated around his superior, putting himself right in Chase's face. "Elise is the one I pity in all of this. That poor, sweet woman. To have lost your brother Quentin in the line of duty all those years ago, then you take her only child before her eyes.
I guess it's no surprise she'd look for comfort somewhere--even among the thugs of the Order." Freyne made a vulgar sound in the back of his throat.
"Fine-looking female like that could have had her pick of eager males in her bed. Hell, I would have gladly sampled some of that. Surprised you never did."
Chase let out a roar that rattled the ground. In a blur of movement that not even Brock could fully track, Chase launched himself at Freyne. The two big males crashed down to the gravel and snow, Chase pinning the Agent beneath him, pounding his fists into his face.
Freyne fought back, but he was no match for Chase's fury. Observing it up close, Brock wasn't sure anyone could stand up to the feral rage that seemed to pour out of Chase as he landed one punishing blow after another.
None of the other Agents made a move to stop the altercation, least of all Mathias Rowan. He stood back, silent, stoic, the rest of his subordinates seeming to gauge their response on his. They would have let Chase kill Freyne, and whether that killing was deserved or not, Brock couldn't allow the brutal scene to play out to its seemingly foregone conclusion.
He stepped up, put a hand on his fellow warrior's churning shoulder.
"Chase, my man. It's enough."
Chase kept hammering, even though Freyne was no longer fighting back. Fangs stretched huge in his mouth, eyes blazing with the amber fire of his rage, Chase seemed unwilling--or unable--to bring the beast in him to heel.
When one of those bloodied fists recoiled to strike another blow, Brock caught it in his hand. He held fast with all his strength, refusing to let the hammer fall again. Chase pivoted a wild look on him. Snarled something raw and nasty.
Brock slowly shook his head. "Come on, Harvard. Let him be now.
He's not worth killing, not like this."
Chase glared hard into his eyes, lips curled back off his fangs. He grunted, animalistic, then swung his head back around to look at the sputtering, bloodied male still pinned beneath him and semiconscious in the muck.
Brock felt the tight fist in his grasp begin to loosen a fraction. "That's it, my man. You're better than this. Better than him."
A cell phone trilled nearby. From his periphery, Brock saw Rowan put the mobile to his ear and pivot away to take the call. Chase was still huffing and dangerous, not yet willing to let Freyne loose.
"They got him," Agent Rowan announced, his calm statement cutting through some of the tension. "Two of my Agents found the runner hiding under a delivery truck down by the wharfs. They've scrubbed his memory of what he witnessed and will drop him near a hospital on the other side of the city."
Brock gave a faint nod of acknowledgment. "You hear that, Chase?
It's over. We're done here." He let go of Chase's fist, trusting him not to escalate the situation with Freyne or any of the other Agents still gathered around, watching in anxious silence. "Let him go, Chase. This shit is finished."
"For now," Chase finally muttered, his voice rough and dark. He snuffled, shook off the hand Brock placed on his shoulder. With rage still rolling off him, he delivered one last punishing blow to Freyne's battered face before springing up to his feet. "Next time I see you," he growled,
"you're a dead man."
"Come on, Harvard." Brock steered him away from the area, not missing the pointed look that Mathias Rowan leveled on them as they headed back toward the Rover. "So much for diplomatic relations with the Agency, my man."
Chase said nothing. He followed behind a couple of paces, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs, his body throwing off aggression like a nuclear blast.
"I hope we didn't need that bridge back there, because you may have just torched it," Brock said as they reached the vehicle.
Chase didn't answer. Nothing but quiet at Brock's back. Too much quiet, in fact.
He pivoted around. All he found was a lot of empty space where Chase had been standing just a second ago. He was gone, vanished without excuse or explanation, into the snowy night.
Chapter Sixteen
A couple hours after dinner with Alex, Jenna was seated in the Breedmates' war room, at the very conference table where she and Brock had opened a door that likely neither one of them had been prepared to walk through. But she tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about Brock's sensual mouth on hers, or his skilled hands, which had given such intense pleasure even as he drew away her grief and inhibitions.
Instead, she rooted her attention on the discussion taking place between the women of the Order who were gathered in the room to review the status of their mission to locate the captives being held by Dragos. Only Tess was absent from the meeting, the pregnant Breedmate having apparently begged off to rest in her and Dante's quarters while keeping little Mira company, as well.
"She's not feeling ill, is she?" Alex asked. "You don't think the baby might be coming early?"
Savannah gave a mild shake of her head as she rested her elbows on the table. "Tess says she feels great, just a little tired. It's understandable.