by May Dawson
He wasn’t in control from this hospital bed like he always had been.
“What else?” I demanded.
He sighed. “Penn… I think they’re into shit they shouldn’t be.”
“Specifically?” I pressed.
The pack had always been into shit they shouldn’t be.
And he’d led them into it.
“I think they’re running drugs again.” He said it reluctantly.
Well, forget that. I wasn’t going in stupid and maybe getting a bullet to the head because he didn’t feel chatty today.
“And this is something new?” My voice came out as hard and jaded as I felt, even though guilt tightened my stomach. I didn’t want to be angry at him when he was so close to death. Every conversation between us could be our last words.
That made it harder to talk about the truth when the truth sucked.
He stared back at me, a hint of old fire sparking in those watery gray eyes. “I tried to make sure the pack’s business was clean before you took over…”
“Why?” Was that why he’d sent me away for the summer?
“Because I didn’t want to hand you over a shit-show.” His voice was impatient. He wanted to change the subject.
Maybe he wanted me to be proud of him for once. He wanted it to be like it was in the old days. When I was a kid, I admired how tough he was and how everyone followed his orders.
I’d been just six years old when another man challenged my father for alpha. I’d watched the fight wide-eyed, my heart pounding frantically against my chest. It was no small thing to watch my father fight for his place—and his life.
When he ripped the challenger’s throat out, blood had splattered across my white sneakers. My parents were frugal; they didn’t waste money on stuff like a new pair of shoes to replace the bloodied ones. And I knew better than to ask. I’d worn them even though the stains didn’t come out, and I’d seen the red spots every time I yanked my laces tight.
My father could have sent me inside the house before he mauled a man to death. Instead, he had me stand and watch.
When I had nightmares afterward, I stared up at my dark ceiling afraid to fall asleep again. I’d never run down the hall to my parent’s room; I couldn’t even turn on the light. My father wanted me to be tough like he was.
“You know I don’t care,” I said.
“You wouldn’t want to deal with the enforcement side,” he said. “I know you, Penn.”
I know you, Penn. He might as well have said, and I know you’re soft.
“Do you, really?” I stood, the chair legs scraping across the floor, even though once I was on my feet, I couldn’t leave. “You want me to make sure they’ve stopped, right? And if they haven’t…”
“You need to figure out who you can trust.” His voice was weary. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this.”
“It’s only an ending for you, Dad. For me, it’s the beginning.” The beginning of something I didn’t want.
He studied me carefully. “Be careful out there.”
A grim smile twisted my lips. I was never known for being careful.
“I’ll have Tyson,” I said. I took a step back away from the hospital bed, then turned back, thinking of Tyson and Mel. “What’s going on with Mel, anyway?”
“You need to help me get that girl married off,” he said. “To someone who can protect her.”
Yeah, Mel would definitely appreciate this conversation. “She still loves Tyson.”
“She doesn’t love Tyson,” he said, exasperation an edge in his voice.
I wasn’t sure if he really believed that or if he just wanted to believe.
He added, “Tyson’s just been the only option.”
“Women adore Tyson,” I reminded my father wryly. Everywhere we went, girls flocked to my tall, athletic friend with the bright grin. Beginning in middle school, he’d been a star athlete and every girl’s crush. “I don’t think Mel is immune to blue eyes, charming words, and six-pack abs.”
“She just wants to move onto the next part of her life,” he said impatiently. “It’s not about him.”
“Yeah, well, she should move onto the next part of her life,” I said. Dad hadn’t even let her work in one of the bars or clubs because he said it was too dangerous, even though she desperately wanted to learn to bartend. She wanted a life of her own.
He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Right. Her life lately revolved around taking care of him. She managed the rotating nurses and brought him pain medication and fixed him food he barely touched.
Mel would only move on when he died.
I didn’t know what to say, so I jerked my head in a nod. “I’m going.”
“Bye, son,” he said.
I was almost to the door when he tacked on, “Love you.”
He’d barely said the words when I was growing up, but now he said it at the end of every conversation.
Last words.
I paused in the doorway, but didn’t look back. “Love you, too.”
Then I headed out to find Tyson.
It was cool in the early morning air as I strode across the porch, looking across the compound. He’d stormed out of the house this morning after I found Mel in his bed, but I hoped he hadn’t gone far.
My father had used us both as enforcers since we were barely in our teens. We had enemies, in the pack and in town, that might be far more likely to take their revenge now my father’s control was slipping.
My hands knotted into fists. To protect Mel, to protect Ty, I’d take control of the damn pack. That was the only way.
What I wanted didn’t matter. It never had.
Tyson was probably in the trailer in the woods at the edge of the compound. There were birds singing in the swaying trees around us, and the muddy ground felt spongy underfoot as I headed toward rotting wooden steps.
“It’s me,” I called as I crossed the porch, choosing my footing carefully. I didn’t want Tyson to think someone was sneaking up on him.
The door was unlocked. There were small noises coming from the back of the trailer, and my chest tightened before Ty yelled, “I’m back here.”
“I need you for some work,” I said as I headed down the hall.
When I reached the door to his parents’ bedroom, he answered me lightly, “No weekend off?”
Despite the easy words, there was irritation in his voice.
He pulled a box down from the shelf at the top of the closet and set it down on the old mattress. Dust seemed to swirl in the air, and I tasted it in the back of my mouth. I stifled a cough.
“Nope.” I jerked my head, wanting to get him out of here. Nothing good came from hanging out in his parents’ old house. He’d run here sometimes before, when he was mad at me or Dad. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t fucking order me around, Penn,” Ty said, his voice low and dangerous.
“I’m not ordering you around,” I said impatiently. “We’ve just got a job to do.”
And I hate it in here.
This house was haunted for Tyson, and that meant it was haunted for me too.
He shook his head. “Maybe I’m not going on any jobs for your dad anymore.”
I rubbed my hand across the back of my neck. Great. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate right now, Ty picked today to lose his damn mind. “What fucking brought this on?”
He didn’t meet my gaze as he ripped the tape off the top of the box. He said stubbornly, “Things are different now.”
Because we were at the academy together? Or because my father was dying?
“They’re not that different.” My voice came out level despite the restless anger that spiked in my chest. There was anger in his eyes when he looked up at me, and I went on, “We’re still friends. I still need you to watch my back.”
He snorted as he began to sort through the box. It was full of old photos, but they’d melted together in the heat and humidity of the abandoned house. He tried to peel apart a few pictures of his fa
mily then tossed them back in the box, his jaw tight.
Some of my anger ebbed. He’d lost everyone in his family when he was just a kid, and all he’d gotten in exchange were jobs from the alpha and a back bedroom in our house.
And my friendship, for what that was worth to him. I wasn’t sure right now.
I wanted to ask what he was doing out here, what he had hoped to find. But Ty never talked about his feelings.
He pulled a framed photo out of the box.
In it, his mom still looked healthy and pink-cheeked. She was young, as young as Mel was now, and her husband stood behind her, his arms wrapped under the swell of her pregnant belly. He stared out of the photo, unsmiling. I hadn’t seen his face in a long time.
The photo brought back that old memory, that old nightmare, from when I was six. Blood splattering across the toes of my shoes. A body dropped at my feet. The throat was red, ragged, revealing a glimpse of white spine underneath the flesh. That same face stared above the bloody shreds.
When my father killed Tyson’s father, I’d stared at the body, all my fear and disgust curdling inside me, silent and cold.
But next to me, Tyson had fallen to his knees, rocking back and forth. He let out this broken, choking cry. I’d never heard anyone make a noise like that before or since.
If someone had killed my own father like that, I would’ve spent my life intent on vengeance, even if they did take me into their house. But Tyson was different than me. Better, maybe.
“Do you plan to get revenge now?” I asked. “When he’s weak?”
Tyson’s gaze flickered to me. “I’ve never given a fuck about revenge, Penn. If I did, I would’ve left you behind that night in Dallas.”
We’d been ambushed, and I’d been shot. It never occurred to me that Ty would even have thought to leave me behind.
He’d come back for me when I was pinned down and bleeding out. The guys who ambushed us had been coming to kill me. I could feel them moving through the night toward me on that city street as I frantically reloaded, as best as I could with a hole in my chest pumping out steadily. Then Tyson had pulled the car between me and them, giving me cover for a second as bullets punched into the vehicle. He’d ducked low as he jumped out, returning fire while I lurched, bleeding, into the backseat…
When I imagined him getting into that car and driving away instead, it was unsettling. I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the tension. Ty had come back.
It didn’t matter if he’d been tempted to leave me to die alone. I thought we were close as brothers, but brotherhood can still be pretty damn complicated.
“Then what do you want?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. His voice was raw, just for a second, then he swiped his hand through his hair as he turned to face me. “Well, what’s the job?”
“Watch my back while I inspect the businesses, check the books.”
His lips twisted.
“And maybe we’re going to have to hurt some people,” I said.
“Lead the fuck on,” he said.
There was the dangerous, far-away look in his eyes that had made Tyson simultaneously my father’s favorite enforcer and his least favorite pick for son-in-law.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maddie
The cop’s eyes returned to me as if he didn’t expect me to be there, and then he turned his attention back to Jensen. He was almost dismissive, as if he didn’t think anything of me.
My nostrils flared. He wore so much cologne that it prickled my nose, as if he was blocking his scent. As if he was a shifter.
I wasn’t sure how to warn Jensen that this guy was probably not a real cop, but Jensen was smart. Actually, he was usually the most cunning asshole in the room, and for once, that was a good thing. I hoped he’d pick up on the same things that bothered me.
“Come on in,” I said, eager to get the door closed again because this guy must have backup.
Unless someone thought it was that easy to get rid of Jensen. They thought one guy could kill us without breaking a sweat.
He stepped inside. I glanced outside, at the bright morning sun and the family loading their bags into their minivan just a few doors down. Then I closed the door, closing us in with a killer.
“What happened to Reefer?” I asked. With the cop’s back to me, more-or-less, I tried to lock eyes with Jensen. But the police officer stepped to one side, putting his back to the wall.
“He was murdered last night,” the cop said.
Jensen’s eyes widened, his lips tightening.
Right, Jensen had been accused of murder, then almost killed for the crime, just earlier this fall. He probably couldn’t take something like that in stride.
But that mask of his was up again. He stuck one hand in his pocket, looking as relaxed as a catalog model. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re the last person who saw him alive,” the cop said. “How did you know Mr. Tegan?”
Jensen gave him a long look, and I knew he wanted to say something sarcastic about how he obviously wasn’t the last person. But he held himself back.
“He was good friends with my sister,” Jensen said.
I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. Reefer had seemed like he genuinely cared about Eliza.
It was surreal to imagine Reefer dead now when I’d just seen him last night.
But this was no time to be emotional.
Jensen and I had to get out of this room, free and alive.
“Were?” the police officer asked.
“My sister died a few years ago. Car accident.” Jensen lied so easily that it was almost unsettling.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the cop said. “Why now?”
The room was small. The fake cop stood by the end of the bed, and I was right by the door, my hand still resting on the knob.
Jensen always took up a lot of space, with his broad-shouldered, tall body, and he seemed to tower over the cop.
The motel was no place for a gun fight, with civilians next door, and it was very close quarters for a sword fight. Probably best to take the cop down hand-to-hand, if we had a choice.
“What’s that?” Jensen asked.
“Why now? Why did you go see Mr. Tegan now? In the middle of the night?”
“My girlfriend and I have the weekend off from school.” Jensen held his arm out to me. “Reefer told me to visit him anytime, and I wanted to show off my girl. Come here, baby.”
Baby.
Yeah, Jensen clearly had recognized there was something off about this situation.
I headed toward him, which brought me even closer to the fake cop.
“In the middle of the night?” the cop asked, his attention fixed on Jensen, not on me. “What was the real reason you wanted to see him?”
“I’m curious,” Jensen said. “How do you know that I saw Reefer last night?”
“I’m asking the questions here.” The police officer said sternly.
“Just curious,” Jensen said.
The ‘cop’s’ attention remained fixed on Jensen. Shifters always underestimated the girl in the room.
As I passed close by him, I slammed my elbow low into his stomach. The impact jolted up my arm. As he doubled over, he tried to grab me. I ducked, throwing my shoulder into him and knocking him off balance.
He rolled over my shoulder and hit the ground unsteadily, catching himself with his hand on the wall as he pulled his gun.
Jensen was already there, stepping into him, grabbing the gun. The gun went off, but Jensen jerked his arm up into the air so it fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Without hesitating, the man released the gun, then caught it with his free hand. He handled it awkwardly with his left hand, raising the barrel toward Jensen.
But I got there first.
I grabbed his hand before he could pull the trigger and forced the gun up above Jensen’s shoulder.
He fired a second shot, the noise a roar in the confines in the room. I stepped into
the back of his calf as I tried to take the man down to the ground, but he had a good hundred pounds on me.
He stumbled forward as he tried to regain his balance. I still had control of his gun hand, but I clung over his shoulder as my toes lifted off the ground. He tried to shake me off.
Someone will call that shot in. Real cops will be here soon.
Jensen slammed his fist into the man’s corded forearm, forcing him to release the gun with a bark of pain. Then Jensen twisted it away from him.
“Don’t make us kill you,” Jensen said, raising the gun to point at the man’s head. “Why are you here?”
The man stopped abruptly, panting. Keeping a watchful eye on the gun, he said, “I came here to find out what Reefer told you.”
“Is he really dead?”
“Yeah, he’s really dead,” he said. “Don’t feel bad. If he wasn’t such a coward, he wouldn’t have killed himself before we could coax him into telling us what he told you. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Who’s us, exactly?” Jensen asked.
The man’s eyes darted to me. “You and your girlfriend work well as a team. Weirdest thing.”
“Who do you work for?” Jensen asked again.
“It’s just weird,” the man went on, “because your sister was so fucking useless.”
Jensen’s finger tightened on the trigger, drawing out the slack.
“McCauley,” I said, my voice warning. “He’s trying to stall.”
Jensen’s jaw tightened dangerously. But his finger eased on the trigger. To me, he said, “You think we better get out of here.”
I nodded. “I think we better get out of here.”
“Yeah,” the guy said. “Run. Like your sister.”
Jensen’s gaze flickered to mine. For once, his emotions flashed clearly across his face. He was debating between listening to me and giving into his rage.
He abruptly cursed and stepped in toward the man who had taunted him, pistol-whipping him across the temple.
The man crumpled to our feet, knocked unconscious.
“We’ll take him with us,” Jensen said. “Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded, already scooping to grab the guy under the arms so we could carry him out of here.
