HIS BABY TO BEAR - TWENTY TWO

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y T W O

The entire scheme was ridiculous.

That was the one thought that ran through Libby's mind as she sat in her living room, staring at the empty hole in the wall that let in the gloomy evening breeze. She was curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, huddling in it. Jerome sat on the recliner, nursing an assault rifle similar to the one he'd used to keep an eye on her in that cabin.

This time, however, he was far from relaxed and calm. His entire posture hummed with eagerness and readiness. If he had to, he could have flung himself over the backrest of that damn chair and stopped five attackers at the drop of a hat. That was without a doubt in Libby's mind. But he still gave her a carefree smile, which she was sure was more to calm her nerves than his.

"Are you certain, honey, that you're okay with this?"

" he inquired, his deep voice caressing her ears and temporarily quieting the annoying humming inside.

"I am," she said, her voice dead silent. "And if I'm not, I'll just let this speak for itself."

Libby raised the edge of her purple blanket, flashing the muzzle of the handgun Jerome had given her. When they were still in the bunker, just the two of them, while the rest of the squad was preparing for the night, he'd painstakingly instructed her on how to use it.

She never imagined herself as the type of woman who would want to carry a gun. Who couldn't wait to find the right kind of bad guy to vent her rage on? But losing her son could turn a mouse into a bear, and she was certainly undergoing her own transformation.

It wasn't that she wanted to hurt someone or make the rest of the world feel the same way she did. But she was willing to go above and beyond to ensure Reid Andrew's safe return. Nothing could keep her from doing so.

"This isn't safe in any way," Jerome stated casually, rolling his shoulders back.

She could see his micro-movements, his eyes darting around to ensure that every damn exit and entrance was covered, that nothing could sneak up on them. Despite the fact that their entire plan was to be sitting ducks and then see if they could fight their way out of it all. Regardless of the cost. Simple. Effective. Most likely, he's a moron.

"You stated that we had twelve hours. I doubt your bosses will give a hoot about our child. I'd gladly trade him for him if these Arctics would do the same for me, but—"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Jerome Mitchly said as he rechecked his ammunition supplies for the fifteenth time.

They'd mopped up the glass shards on the floor, but that was all they'd done. Tim had gone through the house looking for any bugs that the Arctics might have left behind, and the rest of the time had been spent preparing their positions and exit strategies. Libby only knew what she needed to know: that she'd be with Jerome, that he wouldn't let her out of his sight, and that when in doubt, she should shoot first and ask questions later.

"I wish you would, though," she said softly, choking down the lump in her throat.

"I'm not going to lose both of you. I'm not going to let either of you go. We'll get him back, and then we'll figure out the rest," he stated confidently.

The rest of it could very well include him being deported to some remote South American jungle for going against his employers, which was something Jerome was reluctant to discuss.

"I hope you're right," Libby said, as Jerome's face contorted and his expression grew colder.

She was well aware of what that meant. Someone was on his way, and he'd been warned via comms. God, give me strength, she prayed, her hand trembling around the gun's buttstock.

Even though her hands were slick with sweat, it felt cold and calming in her grip. Outside, it was pitch black, with only the light of a distant street lamp peeping into the living room. Libby knew her way around the house like the back of her hand, and she planned to take advantage of it whenever possible. They'd turned off most of the lights in the house, and Jerome's team was supposed to cover most of the entrances, so hopefully not many would get past them or get close enough to endanger Libby.

But she knew, just like the men, that the Arctics must have been watching the building, and the element of surprise was not on their side. That's why Jerome was sitting out in the open, not even trying to hide his presence. Libby took a deep breath as she noticed a deep red splotch on her carpet. It was the same color as the dried blood on her coat. She wasn't sure if Jerome's team had disposed of the body or if the Arctics had done it for them.

Her house no longer felt like home, and she knew it would only get worse as the night went on. But getting Reid Andrew back was the only thing that mattered to her. Everything else came after that.

A shot rang out in the not-too-distant distance, snapping Libby out of her reverie and bringing her back into the present. The room was only lit by one floor lamp, which cast eerie shadows around the edges. She felt very exposed all of a sudden.

"Was that one of us or one of them?" " she asked in hushed tones as Jerome jumped out of his chair and crouched in front of the windowsill, his gun drawn, peering over the edge.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered. "Is everyone safe?" he inquired into the comm.

Whatever response he received did not seem to satisfy him, as his back tensed. She was about to inquire as to who had been injured when a hail of gunfire descended on her living room, ripping through the leather couches and chairs. She squealed and dove over the armrest of the couch, landing with a thud on the hardwood floor. She became entangled in the blanket, kicking frantically to free herself and keep her grip on the gun.

Jerome was returning fire, which gave her hope that he was all right.

“Libby?!

" he yelled from the other side of the recliner, his back to the shattered window.

"I'm fine," she said, though her voice was partially muffled by another burst of gunfire.

The light from the lamp went out, and Libby gasped as the room went dark. The only thing that lit up the room was the constant flash of bullets flying through the air, riddling the walls and furniture. One of them flew so close to her that it bit into her jeans, leaving only a thin line of blood behind. These jerks weren't messing around.

"Slow down! " Jerome snarled.

She could hear distant gunfire outside the house as well, indicating that this wasn't the only battle and that help would be difficult to arrive. Libby knelt, though the smoke rising in thin streams from the couch and the deafening noise made it difficult to concentrate on anything. She looked up at one point, catching a glimpse of Jerome leaping from behind the recliner and putting himself out in the open for a moment, gaining a better view of the hallway from which the majority of the shooting was coming.

While Jerome scrambled for cover again, Libby heard someone yelp in pain and then a dull thud that could have been someone hitting the ground. He winced as he touched down, and Libby hoped it wasn't from taking a bullet to something serious. The shots stopped for a split second.

"All we need is the girl." This does not have to continue indefinitely. "There are more of us than there are of you," a calm, almost icy voice said.

"Fuck you," Jerome yelled angrily, echoing Libby's sentiments exactly.

The commotion outside was becoming more audible, and Libby wondered how long it would be before this place was overrun with cops. They were transforming a pleasant suburban neighborhood into a battleground, and unlike in Manila, Libby doubted that the locals would tuck their heads beneath their wings and ride it out.

The silence had gone on for far too long, and the Arctics had had enough. Libby noticed three bodies flying into the room, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. They didn't even aim, just wanted to blow up the entire room into tiny little pieces. A loud explosion shook the house as the last man entered the room, tearing plaster from the wall and bringing the lamp down from the ceiling.

Libby screamed as she noticed thick black smoke wafting in from her hallway, obliterating the living room in darkness.

"Escape! " Jerome yelled, and she realized it was aimed at her.

She hauled herself up on shaky legs and dove out of the corner she'd been backed into. She held the gun stiffly in her hands, but she couldn't have taken aim even if she wanted to. She dashed into the smoke, hearing the sound of triggers being pulled and rifles going off behind her. She yelped as a heavy hand collided with her lower back, pushing her forward toward the stairs leading to the second floor. She was certain it was one of the wolves.

"Come on, honey, let's get up," Jerome yelled, shoving her forward as he paused in the hallway.

He only fired one shot, but it was precise. The man who had been the first to follow them out of the room collapsed lifeless on the floor. Libby stumbled forward, briefly losing her footing as she came across something in her path. It was soft beneath her feet as she clambered over it, partially on her hands and feet, up the stairs. It wasn't until she was done with it that she realized it was clearly man-shaped.

Jerome was right behind her, pushing her forward as they rushed up the stairs.

"They're in the house," he barked into the earset, though Libby had to assume this was self-evident at this point.

When they got to the second floor, Libby skidded to a halt, realizing there was nowhere else to go. It was a large, empty space that the previous owner had not finished. She'd never put in the time to finish it because she'd had enough space downstairs. Reid Andrew's room was supposed to be his one day, when he was old enough to know what to do with it. But it felt like a deathtrap right now.

"Return," Jerome said.

She could hear his heart pounding out of his chest. Something overtook her, and she threw caution to the wind for a split second. She drew him in closer by the front of his shirt and kissed him passionately on the lips. It was only a peck, and it could never express everything she was feeling. But she had no choice but to do it.

"I love you," she said softly, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I adore you as well. "Now get back, honey," he said, his voice as calm as it had ever been in such situations.

She pushed him off and ran toward some neatly stacked boxes in the back of the open space. Jerome reloaded his rifle and took a step behind one of the roof's support pillars, the wooden beams running crisscross above them.

Libby had never felt more like a sitting duck in her life.

There were soon trundling steps on the stairs, heading up toward them like a storm. Jerome immediately engulfed the stairwell in a yellow and gold haze, the bullets biting into the wood of the handrails and the wall behind them. As Jerome reloaded, Libby's heart was in her lungs, just in time to see a small grenade-shaped thing being thrown into the middle of the room.

"Fuck," Jerome hissed, too far away to reach in time. "Take in as little air as possible!" " Jerome screamed.

Libby stood there watching as the grenade detonated, sending thick gusts of smoke everywhere. But it wasn't just a smoke grenade. She realized this as soon as the noxious smoke began to gnaw at her lungs and throat, threatening to make breathing impossible. Libby held her breath through the tears that came from the agonizing smoke, struggling to see a single damn thing that was going on in the room.

She heard those steps again, and the room was quickly filled with more people than she could count. Neither Jerome nor Libby could see what to aim for anymore. The only thing she knew was that she needed to remain silent and out of sight so they couldn't find her first.

"Surrounded," Jerome barked, and Libby realized he was speaking into his earpiece.

A moment later, she heard the clatter of a rifle being tossed to the side, followed by the distinct sensation of the air in the room being ripped apart as Jerome surrendered to his shift. She could only see the very edges of his transformation through the glow of the smoke. How his body swelled and ripped to the sides, as if convulsing in agony, and how he grew uncontrollably in size. His skin bristled with hair, and that familiar growl increased in pitch and volume until it shook the entire damn house, just like the explosion had.

But Jerome wasn't the only one capable of playing that game. Libby noticed a pair of cold eyes blink as she was spotted just as the man began his shift. Moments later, Jerome and Libby were pitted against at least four werewolves.

Shit.