Beast
J.S. Wilder
When you’ve hunted for the mafia, killed people they didn’t want to bloody their hands with, and taken out whole families, nothing sane remained.
The little shit fired off a sloppy shot as I came at him. His movements were slow, almost clumsy - a reminder of his human frailty.
And I dodged the bullet, not that it would’ve mattered much since my pain tolerance and healing ability were far above average. He fell backward and my wolf snarled, wanting to clamp its teeth around his throat.
“Please.” He tried to get away, crab-walking backward; his face nearly green. “Here. Here’s a purse. It’s got money in it. I-I saw the broad go to the ATM.”
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