Loyal

by Hollis Shiloh

  Loyal

  shifters and partners, Volume 16

  Hollis Shiloh

  Published by Spare Words Press, 2017.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Loyal (shifters and partners, #16)

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  LOYAL | by Hollis Shiloh

  The Shifters and Partners series so far:

  Story copyright October 2017 by Hollis Shiloh.

  All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from the author. All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental.

  Cover image content is being used for illustrative purposes only and any people depicted in the content are models.

  Copy-editing and proofreading by Martin O'Hearn.

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  (or write me at Hollis.shiloh@gmail.com)

  ABOUT THE STORY:

  Enforcer wolf. That's Riley. A gangster took him in when he was young, and he's been loyal ever since.

  It's getting harder and harder for big, soft-hearted Riley to unquestioningly follow orders...but he doesn't want to be alone without a pack. Almost anything is better than that.

  What would it take for a guy like Riley to switch sides and work for the cops instead? Maybe not very much at all.

  A shifters and partners novel

  68,000 words

  Low heat

  LOYAL

  by Hollis Shiloh

  "I HEARD HE'S GOT ONE of them fucking werewolves as one of his enforcers. You're late with the payment, and the big bad wolf shows up, tears up half your stock, growls in your face—probably rips your throat out if he's having a bad day."

  I winced. Hearing myself described that way was...not fun.

  "No shit? A real wolf? You ever seen it, or you just heard things?"

  "I've heard things. Too fucking reliable to ignore. But no, I've never seen it—at least, not so far as I know. Could be anybody, I suppose."

  Inwardly, I froze, but outwardly, I continued to browse the aisles. They probably didn't think I was in hearing distance. Probably weren't studying me speculatively, either. But it felt like they knew, like my mere presence had given away everything.

  I was an open secret, at least among my fellow coworkers, the employees or "family" of Eddie "Ironclad" Sparch. Sparch was an illegitimate businessman in our corner of the city. Everything from illegal betting to protection rackets. He wasn't the kingpin he aspired to be, but he was bad enough.

  And I worked for him. It wasn't something I was proud of, but loyalty—pack—had to count for anything. I was the only wolf shifter in this ragtag, mean-spirited pack, but that didn't make it any less pack, at least to me.

  Eddie had taken me in when I was just a kid, a lone wolf pup, orphaned, miserable, and half starved. I hadn't had anybody, and he'd made sure I was taken care of, brought me into his family, and made me one of his. I'd had half a crush on him growing up. He'd seemed so strong and self-assured, whirling in and out of my life, a glimpse here and there, always off to do some dangerous and important work.

  That crush faded when I got a little older, and grew out of the bad boy stage, and found out a little more about the sort of work he did. But the loyalty hadn't faded, and now I was part of that world, little as I sometimes liked it.

  It made me cringe to be the big stick he threatened people with. On my own, I'm not really terribly intimidating. I'd never be so rude as to show up—in wolf form no less—at someone's place of business and throw my weight around, or make threats, or attack. But I'd done all three when ordered to, because Eddie was the alpha, and I didn't want to be a lone wolf again.

  Perhaps that made me a coward, but if he knew how far I'd go to keep from being alone and out on my own again—to lose even this sense of pack, however uncomfortable and unhappy it sometimes made me—Eddie would have pushed me a lot harder, to do even worse things for him.

  I knew that sometimes he held back, not sure if I would obey, not wanting to push me too far and make me walk away. I didn't really have anything tying me here, the way a lot of the guys did: addiction, blood ties, money they couldn't walk away from. I didn't really need much money, and as much as we were pack, we weren't blood-related, which I knew counted for a lot with Eddie. I also wasn't on anything.

  As the years passed and I went from being someone small and weedy he barely glanced at, to becoming bigger and bigger until I dwarfed most of his guys, he'd made a lot more use of me, but he'd also gotten cautious about pushing me too far.

  I may have mentioned once or twice not wanting to do some of the things he wanted me to do. If I was insistent enough, so far, he'd always let me win. He'd back down, put me back on the easy runs, not make me cross the lines I didn't want to cross.

  But I knew very well I had to play ball on at least some things, or I'd be out of the pack. He didn't know I didn't want to leave more than he didn't want me to leave. At least, I didn't think he knew that. It was a balancing act, maintaining that.

  I got the feeling he thought I was hard to read, and that the bigger size and strength of me changed me a lot from the little kid he'd taken in and sent to sleep in the back of the pool hall, to help with errands and run gambling slips for him.

  I hadn't talked much in those days, so I guess some things, along with my size, really had changed. I'd been known to actually hold up my end of a conversation these days, when I needed to. And I looked the part, keeping bulked up, keeping my hair short and my shades dark, and not wearing the loose, sloppy clothing I preferred when out in public, representing him. He'd told me I had to wear "something that showed muscles." I'd done it.

  But I no longer felt like I would have liked to crawl up on his lap and lick his chin, either. Those sort of embarrassing moments had passed. Did he know? Did he know about that change? I hoped not, since it would mean he was aware of my excruciating crush on him. I hoped that had passed undetected. Even I wouldn't mind forgetting it.

  Did I really not see what he was like, back then? I found myself wondering, these days, just how far he'd go. How far he'd push. Whether I'd have to go to jail for him someday.

  I didn't want to.

  Loyalty is one thing, but that seemed to be taking it too far. Besides, whatever big boss kingpin fantasies he had of himself, I'm pretty sure loyalty didn't extend that far with any of his other men—or family. Why should it extend that far with me? It didn't seem fair, just because I was wolf.

  But I was wolf, and the loyalty ran pretty damned deep, even when I didn't want it to. I hoped I didn't have to find out just how far it ran, someday.

  AFTER I FINISHED SCOPING out the place, and was able to report back that I didn't think the payment would be late, Eddie wanted me to check on his money laundering storefront, a terrible little pizza shop crammed in next to a laundromat and a sex shop. I always thought it was kind of ironic to have a Kwik Klean and a Dirty Doin's fighting for customers sandwiched around a pizza place.

  But I didn't like going there, because the clouds of fabric softener hanging around the laundromat like a poisonous cloud (at least to me) always made me sneeze uncontrollably before I got safely inside the pizza shop. Inside, there were only the smells of pizza, rancid grease, and Leland, the proprietor's, bad hygiene. Eddie knows how I feel about the place, but the long look I gave him did nothing for him. I guess allergies don't mean much to him. His nephew's got that peanut allergy, though, and he goes out of his way to take that seriously. But then I guess peanut allergies can kill, and my allergies only make me miserable. Or else it's just one more thing where I'm not really blood, so I d
on't count as much. I hated thinking about that; it made me almost as miserable as allergies did.

  The pizza place was (rightfully) empty when I got there. It's not that there weren't legit customers—just not smart ones. The food was terrible.

  Once I got done sneezing and blowing my nose, Leland was waiting impatiently to talk to me, wearing an expression that indicated Eddie shouldn't send this dunce.

  "Everything's good, Riley," he said.

  "You've got the—achoo—latest shipment handled?"

  "Got it Tuesday, fit it into the schedule Wednesday. Tell your boss he doesn't have to check up on me every week. I know where things stand. I've got it covered."

  Maybe, but his sweat was starting to freshen up a bit—and smell nervous.

  "I'll—ah-choo—tell him you said that."

  Was he nervous because he knew I was wolf? He usually treated me as "that annoying sneezing guy," but perhaps word had reached him somehow. That would be enough to make him nervous. But if it wasn't about me, perhaps he had something to hide, and Eddie would want to know about it before Leland got too cocky and stole more than a reasonable light skimming.

  Obviously you expected some skimming. He'd kept it within the bounds of good taste so far. He was paid under the table for his laundering work, but in a job like this, you couldn't expect to find someone who didn't take a tiny bit extra to line their pockets. It would be suspicious if he didn't; honest people don't usually get into this field, which would mean he was hiding something more dangerous, like trying to get evidence against Eddie, or that he was into some dangerous shit Eddie shouldn't get tangled up in.

  So was it me making him nervous, or was it money?

  "And nothing's different at all?" I said, leaning against the counter.

  "I'm trying a new recipe. You want a taste?" He leered when he said it, a challenge in his hard eyes.

  I shuddered, drawing back and raising my hands as if surrendering. "No thanks. I'm good—not hungry." That was an outright lie—I was very hungry—but there are limits to even my cast-iron stomach.

  He nodded, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, as if he'd won this round.

  Making bad pizza was hardly something to be proud of, I would have thought. But don't ask me, I'm just the muscle.

  Still, if he didn't mind baiting me, he was probably nervous about something other than me. Dread made my heart sink and my stomach twist as I realized I'd have to tell Eddie, and then somebody—maybe me—would have to get to the bottom of it.

  Damn it, I didn't want to deal with Leland, or this place, or even Eddie any more right now. I didn't need the hassle. Maybe I could keep my suspicions to myself for another week. After all, it was just a prickle of sweat.

  "Okay, well, you take care." I tapped my fingers on the greasy countertop deliberately, waiting till he looked down, focused on my hands, and then kind of got still as he realized just how much bigger and stronger my hands were than his. Probably more so than anybody he'd seen in a long time. It was easy to think of me as the sneezy guy—too easy. He needed to remember that I was, actually, muscle. Maybe not as mean as Eddie would have liked, but still dangerous.

  "You take real good care," I said again, dragging the words out, lending extra emphasis to each one, quiet and careful. I looked at his eyes. Did he hear it? Did he hear the warning?

  I smelled his sweat. Saw his little involuntary gulp. The wary light in his eyes as he nodded, reluctantly. Yes, he heard it. If his brains were better than his pizza, he knew what I was warning him about, too. Don't make me look closer, because you won't like what happens if I have to do that, and find something wrong. Just...let it slide, and I will too. For this one time only.

  "You got it, pal," said Leland, a little too quick.

  "See you next week," I said, not quite as if either one of us were going to be happy about that. I turned away.

  "I'll make your favorite," said Leland to my back, rallying a little now I wasn't staring him down.

  "My favorites are all actually edible, Leland. So nothing you've ever touched." I escaped out into the allergy-inducing air.

  THERE ARE SOME NEIGHBORHOODS where, in the summer, every kid is hungry pretty much all the time. It's a combination of being more active and not getting a school lunch. Some days getting anything to eat is good. But getting their fill of healthy food, knowing the next meal is coming and nothing to worry about...that pretty much doesn't happen.

  I know about hunger.

  Every time I have to go to one of those neighborhoods, sometimes even if I'm just passing near there, I stock up on some things. The kids know me by now, so I'll be mobbed, and I'd hate to disappoint.

  I buy a bunch of jars of peanut butter—those go quick—packaged snacks, those little goldfish crackers kids like, snack bars, energy bars, trail mix, nuts and raisins...basically anything kids will eat that won't go bad right away if they stash it under their pillows. Assuming they have pillows. Like I said, some pretty poor neighborhoods and you can't really assume anything about home life, except that it's probably challenging.

  It was a swelter of a day, extra hot with all the pavement and roads and exhaust, and no trees to soften anything. It made my skin crawl sometimes, to be around so much un-nature. The kids saw me right away. They knew my car by now. First one or two were watching, skinny watchful-eyed kids with hard eyes, then they started multiplying. Then they swarmed.

  I got the back of the car open and the food on display before it was a stampede. I watched carefully to be sure the bigger kids didn't get it all and shove the little ones out of the way. Today I'd managed to stock up on quarts of whole milk as well as the non-perishables.

  The back of my car was a free treasure trove, a mobile grocery. The milk bottles sloshed around in melting ice in a big cooler, tempting even to me, and I wasn't hungry or thirsty at the moment. I always ate a big meal first so I'd have patience for all the kids. From someone as big as me, even a frown would be bad. I needed to be the big, gentle guy who gave food—not another scary unknown in their lives.

  Some of the moms were real suspicious of me at first, but they'd convinced themselves this was an outreach program from Eddie wanting good community relations, not charity or a pervert in action. The kids just wanted their food.

  Okay, some of the littler ones wanted me to pick them up, too. Their hugs were the only ones I ever got.

  Anyway, each kid got their milk and their peanut butter jar, if they wanted one, and after that they could pick and choose what looked good to them, as long as nobody grabbed all of one thing.

  A mom came over to talk to me, head on the side a little, twirling her hair. I smelled the sharp, spicy odor of her. She was in heat. Well—not in heat. Humans don't go into heat. But she smelled that special way that meant she was at the peak of her fertility that month, and the interest in me was sharpened with that. I didn't know if it was conscious or not, but there's definitely an appeal to me for certain women, when it's that time for them. I'd never been into women in my entire life, so I found it awkward. Usually if I talked politely but pretended to have no clue what they wanted, I got through the situation without having to acknowledge that I understood the hints. I never gave any back, either way.

  Anyway, the kids required enough of my attention that she got discouraged after a bit.

  I paid for the food myself, of course. It wasn't Eddie's doing. No doubt he'd have liked the idea of an outreach program if I'd suggested it to him—it would reinforce the idea he has of himself as a kingpin, would feel like a kind of intergenerational dynasty in the making, and after all, giving kids food was how he'd gotten me on his team—but I didn't want him involved. This was my thing. I didn't want anything in return. Eddie would have wanted something.

  A kid tugged on my pocket and held his arms up. I picked him up. He was young enough not to feel self-conscious about wanting hugs. His shirt was dirty.

  He reached out to touch my cheek, seemed mesmerized by how big everything about me was. It probably fel
t like being held by a mountain. I know that's how I used to feel when I was really little and my dad picked me up.

  He was a big man. It still made me sad to think about my parents, even after all this time. I tried not to connect picking up the kid with that memory. I wasn't his dad, anyway. I was just some random dude who brought snacks.

  "Hey." Another kid snagged my sleeve and tugged. "Hey!" He raised his voice so I could hear over the noise and distraction of the crowded street and hungry kids.

  Half of them were already milling around, snacking, while the others were still searching and stocking their own personal food reserves from the back of the car. There were a lot of granola bars left today. All the raisin packs had gone, and there was no milk left.

  One kid was fishing around in the melting ice, picking out lumps to suck on. It was a good idea, in this heat.

  A couple other kids were flicking the melted water at each other, grins on their faces.

  Three or four girls were clustered together, going over their finds, examining and trading items.

  A skinny girl who looked like she was almost old enough for puberty had a tight look on her face as she shepherded two little brothers back toward their home, their stock of snacks safely in her arms, while the boys drank their milk.

  "Hey! You didn't bring chocolate today!" The kid practically hanging on my arm glared up at me. It seemed to matter an awful lot to him, more than it should, and his face held enough anger and frustrated indecision to tell me he was upset about something more than chocolate.

  "Sorry," I told him. I had a vague memory of promising chocolate. "I said I would, didn't I?" I should have remembered, but the logistics of milk, and the worry about what Leland was up to, had driven it from my mind.

  I hadn't been back this way for almost a week, and a week is a long time to remember a random promise—unless you're a kid, and you've been waiting for it all week, and maybe adults don't keep their promises to you very well.