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I say nothing.

Hammer laughs once. “You always did like somebody else giving you a reason to hit things.” He steps closer. “You think you’re different because the orders come from an omega now?”

My hands curl.

Wes says my name quietly. It’s a reminder that I choose what happens next.

Hammer watches my face. “I taught you how to survive. How to make people afraid before they could hurt what was yours.”

“You taught me to become useful to you.”

“And you were.” His voice softens. “You still are. Put someone you love in danger and you stop thinking. You became exactly what I made.”

I don’t need to chase Hammer’s words. I’m not who I was. But he can keep talking. The longer he talks, the longer he stays away from my pack.

I take one step closer. “You never knew what I was protecting.”

Hammer’s smile slips. “You think that pack is yours?”

“This isn’t about ownership.” My fist lands across his jaw and turns his whole body. He catches himself against the oak. I stay between him and the true road. “Stay away from my pack.”

Hammer spits blood into the roots. “That’s my boy.”

He lunges. We collide hard enough to shake water from the leaves. Hammer drives a knee toward my ribs. I turn and take it across my hip. I hook one arm beneath his and throw him into the mud. He rolls fast and comes up with a knife.

Wes raises his weapon. “Drop it.”

Hammer doesn’t look at him. “You gonna let the cop fight for you too?”

I watch Hammer’s shoulders. His feet. The knife. “No.”

He comes at me. I catch his wrist with both hands and turn the blade away.

Hammer is strong. Stronger than he looks. But he still thinks he’s fighting the angry boy he recruited. That boy wanted Hammer’s approval. That boy believed being dangerous enough to defend was the closest thing to being loved.

I’m not that alpha any longer. I drive Hammer’s wrist into the trunk until the knife drops. Then I shove him backward.

A gunshot cracks through the fog.

For half a second, neither of us understands. Then blood spreads across Hammer’s side.

A Saint stands twenty feet behind him with a pistol aimed at me. His face goes white. “Hammer?”

He fired at me through the fog and hit his own man. Wes shoots the gun from his hand. The Saint screams and drops.

Hammer looks down at the blood soaking his shirt. “You idiot.”

His knees buckle. I catch his jacket before he hits the ground.

Wes reaches us and presses both hands over the wound. “Through and through. Missed the spine. Maybe the kidney.”

Hammer tries to push Wes away. Wes increases the pressure until he curses.

“Bad news,” Wes says. “You’re going to live.”

Hammer’s face twists. “The sheriff wants every charge with your name on it.”

The wounded shooter crawls toward the fog. I grab the back of his vest and drag him to the tree. Wes tosses me cuffs, and I secure the shooter.