I closed my eyes and sighed, trying to put it all away. Self-pity and self-doubt were not Alpha-worthy traits, and I did not have time to indulge them. Not if I was going to reclaim what I’d lost, either through challenging Kent—though I couldn’t fight Dean again; that much was clear—or by full-scale attack.

Bracing myself for more pain, I sat up slowly, hissing when the Pathfinder hit a bump and my entire body was jostled.

Marc scowled at me. “Lie back down.”

“I need the call tree and my phone.” He’d held my cell while I’d fought, so it wouldn’t get smashed.

“You need to rest for now. We’ll start making calls when we get there.”

“By then Malone will have gotten to most of them, and there’s no telling what his version of the hostile takeover will sound like. Give me the phone. Please.”

“We took the records,” Jace insisted, as a passing highway light briefly lit the entire car. “It’ll take him a while to get in touch with all the Pride members with no list and no numbers.”

“Which is why we need to press our advantage. Now. They’re still our toms—those who choose to stand with us—and they deserve to know what really happened.” They all knew about my father, of course. We’d made those calls two days earlier. But they didn’t know he’d been buried, and until Malone—or Kenton Pierce—got in touch with them, they wouldn’t know about the regime change.

“Fine.” Marc sighed, already digging in his bag for the member list. “But let me make the calls. If you’re planning to try Shifting soon, you need to rest.”

I thought about that for a moment, then nodded and laid down on my side again, my legs bent at the knee, in spite of the pain in my hips. I felt like I was shirking a big responsibility by not telling the other Pride members myself, but Marc was right. I’d be little good to them until I was healed.

However, listening to the calls was torture. Hearing my own failure and humiliation—even through Marc’s blessedly biased perspective—made me feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. At least, not until I’d redeemed myself. Which would be hard to do from my hole.

Other than Dr. Carver and Carey Dodd, I hadn’t had much personal contact with the other nonenforcer toms. Most of them hadn’t yet been contacted by Kent’s men and they were all shocked and outraged by what we had to tell them. Most made informal vows of loyalty over the phone and promised to leave the territory immediately.

But they were not all eager to forswear the new leadership in favor of an unproven young female Alpha who’d lost a challenge—and almost lost her life—during her first week on the job. We lost about a third of our men, and the real bitch was that I couldn’t blame them for having no faith in me.

After Marc made all his calls, I asked for my phone again so I could start calling our allies. Marc tried to talk me into letting him make those calls, too, but I refused. I had to be the one to call the other Alphas.

We compromised. I would call my uncle, then I’d let Uncle Rick call Di Carlo and Taylor.

Marc handed over my phone, and I sat up to autodial. I was sure Malone would have already called him, but I should have known better. Malone wouldn’t be eager to advertise what he’d done until his new puppet Alpha had had a chance to recruit as many of our former Pride members as possible.

“Hello? Faythe?” my uncle said into the phone. My silence was the only reason he had to suspect trouble; I’d already spoken to him twice that morning, planning our now-defunct attack.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I leaned with my head on the window, letting the cold glass leach some of the heat from my utter humiliation. “Call your men back, if you’ve already sent them. There’s been a change in plans.”

“What happened?”

“Malone found out about the funeral and came in early with eight cars full of toms. Kenton Pierce challenged me, and Colin Dean fought in his place.”

“What happened?” He sounded sick, and he hadn’t even heard the worst yet.

“He nearly killed her,” Jace called from the front seat as he steered us around a sharp curve, and I groaned, but couldn’t argue.

“Marc called the fight when I lost consciousness.” I closed my eyes, and realized I never wanted to open them again. “I lost, Uncle Rick. They kicked us out. We’re on the way to Marc’s house in the free zone now, and the only good news I have is that we got Kaci, Manx, and Des out before Malone and his men saw them. And Holly, too. She was there for the funeral.”

There was silence, other than the highway wind, as my uncle considered the new information. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Marc answered for me. “She has a concussion, a broken nose, two black eyes, a cracked rib, a possible skull fracture, and more bruises than I can count. She’s supposed to be resting.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, speaking through pain I refused to elaborate on. “And we’re going to get it back. All of it. We’re gonna go back in, and this time we will surprise them. If you’re still with me.” Because the third time was a charm. Right?

“You know I am. But you have to heal first. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll make more concrete plans. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“Guys, make sure she gets some rest, okay?”

I smiled in spite of myself as the guys answered. Uncle Rick sounded so much like my father that I was both happy and sad at the same time. I couldn’t believe how much I missed him, though I knew how disappointed he’d be in me if he were still there.