We’d gone less than a mile and a half when Marc went suddenly still but for his ears, which swiveled toward the north. I froze, following his lead, though I couldn’t yet hear whatever had put him on alert.

He tossed his head in the direction his ears were pointing, and we headed that way, slowly, to be sure we didn’t make any noise. We’d only gone a couple hundred feet when the afternoon quiet was shattered by the unmistakable thunk of a shovel into soil, followed immediately by the dull thud of dirt being tossed to the ground.

I knew those sounds. Hell, I’d made those sounds. Someone was digging a hole. Never a good sign.

I started to move forward again and Marc stepped in front of me, blocking my path—a clear order for me to stay back. “Like hell,” I whispered, and pushed him firmly out of the way. But before I could take the next step, a voice carried through the woods, on the tail of another clod of earth hitting the ground.

“That’s deep enough. It’s not like the fucker’s going to dig himself up.”

“Cal said six feet,” a second, much deeper voice replied, and I didn’t recognize either tom. Malone had hired new enforcers.

“He’ll never know,” the first voice said, and Marc took a careful, silent step forward. “It’s not like he’s gonna come out and bury the body himself.”

“If he does come out here, you’ll be the next one in the ground, Jess,” Deep Throat said.

I followed Marc, careful to step where he had and watch for twigs and pinecones, which would crunch and give us away. Who the hell were they burying? Not Brett. Surely his mother would demand a proper funeral for her second born.

“I don’t get why he keeps killing his own boys,” Jess said, and metal clanked, like he’d dropped his shovel on top of something.

Malone had killed another of his sons? Not Alex. He was too loyal to his father. Like some kind of wind-up soldier, marching without any thought for the orders he carried out.

Marc was a full body length ahead of me now, but I was still moving forward, my attention split between the overheard conversation and every element of nature with the potential to make noise beneath my foot. It was sooo much easier to be stealthy in cat form.

“Jace isn’t his,” Deep Throat said, and I froze with one foot still in the air.

Noooo. Pain shot through my chest, constricting it, as if my heart no longer had room to beat. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see beyond consuming pain and denial.

“He’s Patti’s, from her first husband,” Deep Throat continued as my eyes closed, denying tears an exit. Crying wouldn’t help. Anger would. “Jason Hammond.”

“What happened to him? Cal get him, too?”

Marc’s tail twitched, recapturing my attention, and I realized I hadn’t moved since I’d heard Jace’s name.

They’d killed Jace.

A storm of rage rolled over me, drenching me with hatred. I’d kill every bastard involved. Including Calvin Malone.