Wolf Queen

by Alexis Pierce

  I want to argue that I have trusted the pack, but who have I really spoken to? My mates, Gloria, Anderson’s parents, and Freya’s parents. And even most of them don’t know exactly what’s going on. Kenneth’s method of ruling the pack had been to keep everyone in the dark as he dug a deeper and deeper financial hole.

  And I’m acting just like him.

  I take in one last shuddering breath, then pull away.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I think it’s time I told the pack everything.”

  Within the hour, the full pack is in the courtyard, standing in a crowd in front of me. I was never one for public speaking, and the last time everyone was out here, I ripped Kenneth’s throat out.

  Some familiar eyes are encouraging, but there are others who are skeptical, and some who are downright hostile. I’m extremely young to be leading the pack, but my father died before I had time to grow up and learn. If Anderson’s parents were in on the business, who else was? Who else can help us?

  I clear my throat. “Hello, everyone. I’m glad to have you here despite the news I’m about to share.” I glance over to my mates, who give me encouraging looks. When I turn back, my resolve hardens. “The pack is in danger of losing our home. I thought I could fix it, but it seems I’ve only made things worse. I, personally, am under investigation. I have decided to take over my father’s business, and I need the help of anyone who’s willing.”

  A few people murmur, but most of them just keep watching me, expecting me to keep talking. “If anyone would prefer to leave, I will not hold it against you. If you feel unsafe staying, you are free to go at any time. I only want what’s best for everyone, but I somehow took that as needing to do everything myself.”

  I’m not sure what else to say, so I hold my hands palm-out in a pose of surrender. “Um, are there any questions?”

  Gloria steps forward. “What do you need from us currently?”

  I cross my arms. “The pack needs fifty thousand dollars to keep the building, and we need it in four days. I have acquired items to sell, but the items were not exactly obtained legally. Kenneth was trafficking children, pups that he turned, to keep money coming in. He took your incomes, put a stranglehold on your livelihoods. I refuse to take from you when I should be taking care of you. But we need to get rid of these items, and we need to do it fast.”

  Gloria nods. She already knew all this, of course, but it must have been clear to her that I was struggling up here.

  “What if we get caught?” a man asks from the back. Oliver is his name, and he has two pups under the age of eighteen. Is he planning on helping?

  “Then we will bail you out,” I say. “If we can get the money together, I will make sure every one of you stays safe.”

  “Doesn’t that make us, like, the mafia or something?” asks a teenage girl with a raised hand.

  I grimace. “I mean, this place was one of the greatest mafias in the nation before my father was murdered. I just want to be more open with all of you about it.”

  Some of the humans whose children are changed wolves are staring around in wide-eyed shock, but none of them openly protest. Most of the wolves’ expressions seem to be coming around, but I still don’t know who I can trust. My father trusted Kenneth, and look where that got him.

  “I want us to be powerful again,” I say. “Aren’t you tired of having to take what you can scrape out of life? Don’t you miss what we used to be?”

  A few people mumble some “yeahs,” but the crowd is still standing tense. Anderson walks to my side and takes my hand.

  “We can’t do this without you,” he says, his voice loud. “Are you going to help us turn into the most feared packs in the nation, or are you content with being a laughing stock?”

  People seem roused by his words more than mine, and I smile up at him. His confidence is truly infectious.

  Thompson walks up next. “I think we can all agree that my father was a shitty alpha. Eve is more like her father than most of you know, and we were doing great when he was in charge. Will you help us?”

  The crowd gets more riled up, a few cheers and “yeahs!” coming out more enthusiastically.

  I don’t want this to turn into some “Eve is Awesome” rally, so I lift a hand to hush the crowd. “If you can help, come to my office. We need to get started right away.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eve

  The jewelry Kaja reinvented is dispersed through a dozen willing pack members. Some of them sell it in town, and others go to other cities. Oliver went so far as to drive to New York City with eighty thousand dollars worth of jewelry, and the money went straight into the pack’s account.

  When I submit the online payment to catch us up, my heart finally slows. I’ve been on an anxious high all week, but it turns out that trusting the pack was the right move. I go ahead and pay more bills that are stacked on my desk.

  After an hour of this, my phone rings, the cell that’s connected to the pack. The number is saved in the phone as “Elevator Repair.”

  “Hello, may I speak with Kenneth?” a man asks, clearly confused.

  I smile. “Kenneth is no longer with our company. You can speak toith me, though.”

  I close my laptop as the man sputters through the fact that I paid a four-year-old bill that he’d previously threatened to take Kenneth to court over. Apparently, Kenneth had threatened to break his knees if he so much as consulted an attorney.

  “I am so sorry for the actions of my predecessor,” I say, using the customer service voice Freya taught me. “That is not how we do business, and he has fortunately been let go.” The fact that he would threaten humans for his own mistakes is abhorrent. They’re so weak and defenseless.

  “Well, thanks I guess,” the man says.

  I flip a pen through my fingers, leaning back in my chair. “If you’re available, we are having some elevator issues once again. We’d be happy to actually pay you this time around.”

  The biggest piece, the six million dollar necklace, still remains in Kaja’s apartment. It’s in a dozen pieces now, but there’s no way that a bunch of half-million-dollar pieces won’t arouse suspicion. I’m itching to get rid of it, but it’s best if we space this stuff out. As fun as it would be to fix the whole building at once, I have to be careful. Detective Watson hasn’t come around in a few days, but I expect she’s simply biding her time. I haven’t seen the last of her.

  “Eve, are you ready?” Freya asks. I tie my hair up into the most professional bun I can manage, and Freya looks like the CEO of a marketing firm in her gray pencil skirt and a matching blazer over a pale lavender blouse. The girls are each dressed to the nines, Poppy in a ruffly white dress that we found at Walmart and Anna in a suit with a pair of ballet flats.

  Today is the initial court date for full custody, but it won’t be the determiner to whether or not Freya is allowed to adopt the kids. We moved them to a three-bedroom a couple of days ago, before the social worker came to inspect the place, and with Anderson and Thompson’s help, it only took a few hours to turn the empty canvas of an apartment into a home. If I never have to install another child-proof lock again, it’ll be too soon.

  “Let’s go,” I say. The appointment isn’t until two, but we want to get lunch beforehand.

  “Do you have Poppy’s bib?” she asks, staring at what’s basically a duffel bag in my hand.

  “Two of them,” I say. It would be a shame to ruin Poppy’s adorable dress right before going into court. Just in case, though… “I also packed extra clothes for her.”

  Anna is holding Poppy, her snake earrings exchanged for a pair of faux pearls that are much more conservative for court.

  We eat lunch on the patio of a place downtown that does the traditional American stuff, burgers and chicken strips and the like. I’m wearing the pearls Freya bought me, and her eyes sparkle a little whenever she looks at them.

  It’s shockingly nice outside for the middle of summer, the weather milder than usual. When we a
rrive at the courthouse, we’re directed upstairs, down a hall, and we all sit together on a bench. I allow Poppy to play a game on my phone, and Anna is scrolling through YouTube videos on hers that Freya bought.

  Not long after the lawyer arrives and greets us, Freya is called in. I follow for moral support, and her lawyer shows her exactly where to sit. The judge is a middle-aged Latina, her face drawn. Doing family court all day every day must be an exhausting job.

  Aren’t Poppy and Anna’s biological parents supposed to be here? Freya already has a notarized copy of the paperwork that they signed to pass custody over, but this whole thing is to make it legit. Right now, from a legal standpoint, it’s more like she’s been babysitting them.

  The judge frowns and looks at the old desks on either side of the front of the room. The silence in the room is palpable, but nobody speaks up for a long couple of minutes.

  “I need you to state your name for the case,” the judge says with a sigh after nothing happens.

  Freya leans forward and says, “Freya Jones.” Her hands are shaking on the edge of the table, and I just want to kiss her knuckles and take away her fear.

  “And have you been in contact with the parents of the children since they signed custody over?” the judge asks, flipping through some more papers. This is all much less formal than I would have expected.

  Freya shakes her head, then realizes she has to speak for the stenographer. “No, ma’am.”

  Her lawyer speaks up next. “My office has attempted to make contact with Jodi and Derek Sanders, and they were notified of the amended court date. Otherwise, we have had no contact from them or any legal representation.”

  That makes sense. According to Freya, they were so high when she saw them that they probably didn’t even know their own names. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Anna and Poppy to live in that household.

  The judge shakes her head. “In the case of Jones versus Sanders, I grant custody of Penelope Diana Sanders and Annabeth Lynn Sanders to one Freya Gwendolyn Jones.”

  She bangs the gavel once, which is ridiculously satisfying. I find myself grinning from ear to ear, but when Freya turns to me, her eyes are filled with tears.

  “Oh no, what’s wrong?” I ask, jumping up to hug her.

  She shakes her head. “I was so scared it wouldn’t happen. I thought they might show up and take them back.”

  We exit the courtroom holding hands, and when we round the corner, I nearly run into an all-too-familiar face.

  “Eve,” Detective Watson says, her eyes widening. She’s wearing a suit and holding a file folder.

  “Natasha,” I say, keeping my tone curt. It was such a good day, too. I really didn’t want to deal with this woman.

  She frowns and looks to the ground. “I hope you’re well,” she says.

  I frown. “I hope you’re not still searching for reasons to arrest me.”

  She shrugs, and her eyes glimmer with humor. “Doing my best, but you’re pretty good at what you do.”

  I blink. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. I’m just a simple girl giving my bestie some moral support.”

  She glances down at our fingers laced together. “Right. How’s your boyfriend doing?”

  I shrug. “They’re both fine. Is there a specific one you’re asking about?”

  She gives a little laugh and shakes her head. “You have a good day. It was nice running into you.”

  I hold Freya’s hand tighter, and, with the girls, we walk past.

  “Feeling’s not mutual,” I call over my shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Natasha

  Despite how much she pisses me off, there’s something unexplainable about Eve that draws me in every time I see her. It could be her vibrant green eyes, or perhaps her soft tanned skin, or her black curly hair.

  Really, though, I think it’s the way she lifts her chin at me in defiance every time she sees me. I’m not sure she even realizes she’s doing it. It’s the slightest move, the straightening of her shoulders along with a small tick in her hard jawline.

  After running into her at the courthouse, I keep walking to the judge’s office. I usually pull warrants online, but this specific judge is an old-fashioned dickbag who makes you come to his office to get them signed.

  “Good to see you again, Natasha,” he says, his eyes roaming over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

  “Your Honor,” I say, avoiding even the slightest form of familiarity. It’s like this every time I see him. “I just need this warrant signed.”

  He nods. “Pace? Like Richard Pace?”

  I nod. “His daughter.”

  The judge frowns at me, glancing over the paperwork. “The Pace family is a highly respected friend of the city. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  If I had hackles, they’d rise. Eve is so clearly a criminal, and he’s telling me to drop it?

  “With all due respect, sir—“ which is none “—I believe that Miss Pace may be involved in smuggling, grand larceny, and possibly worse.”

  He clucks his tongue, clearly not really a fan of the things I’m saying.

  I sigh. “If I don’t find anything, I’ll drop it. I’ve already spoken with the building manager, who said he’d be happy to cooperate.”

  After another long silence, he says, “Fine.” Then, he signs and stamps the paper.

  I get back to the precinct shortly before the end of my shift, but there’s even more paperwork to fill out. I’ll have to waste some of my morning on it tomorrow, because I’m not allowed to take any more overtime for the month.

  The holding cell door slams, and I glance up to see Detective John Foster, who is my absolute least favorite coworker. He’s a dick, but he’s also a racist and misogynist. He’s had more citizen complaints than I can count. The fact that he works here anymore is absurd. I’ve personally reported him for sexual harassment against myself and some of the younger uniformed officers, and the captain has told me just to drop it.

  He shoves his perp into the cell, then approaches his seat across from me. I curl my lip at him. He knows I despise him, yet he incessantly flirts with me.

  “Looking good today, Natasha,” he says.

  “Looking like a piece of shit today, John,” I reply. He just laughs at my scorn. I know that responding to him just makes it worse, that he feeds off my irritation. I can’t help it, though. Someone needs to tell him how much he sucks.

  “What are you doing after your shift?”

  I stare at him across the table, hoping that the daggers from my eyes physically harm him. “If it’s between hanging out with you and literally anything else, I think I’ll go with an icepick lobotomy.”

  I keep filling out my paperwork, doing my best to tune out his whole spiel about how many girls he gets and how I should just give him a chance. The moment the clock on my computer says five, I put the papers in my desk drawer and stand up.

  He moves like he’s going to follow me, and I say, “Sorry, asshole. You’ve got a perp to process. I hope you get hit by a bus before I see you again.”

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder, strongly considering going out for drinks. Instead, I walk to my shitty downtown apartment, a shared three-bedroom where I sleep in a bedroom smaller than the bathroom at my parents’ house where I grew up. I’m not sure it should legally be called a bedroom, but it’s cheap, and I don’t have to drive most places.

  From my room, I hear a small meow, and a speckled paw sticks out under the door. When I open it, a chubby tabby cat named Jasmine meows up at me, weaving between my feet and rubbing her face over my legs to scent mark the hell out of me. Apparently I was gone too long today. I sit on the bed and fill up her food and water, which sit on a floating shelf I installed to convince my roommates that a cat could, technically, fit in my room.

  The tiny barred window has a gorgeous view of the dirty, narrow alleyway that separates our building from the next, and I lie back on my bed. I should probably get
some stuff done. A shower would be good, but dealing with all the shitty men today has really taken a lot out of me. I sigh and roll over, pressing my face into my pillow to scream.

  I am so sick of this job, but I don’t have the training for anything else. I originally became a cop to help people, but most of the shit I’ve done with that work is oppression built into the system. The worst is when I have to evict poor families with shitty landlords. Watching an exhausted mother pack up everything she owns with her two or three kids so they can live in their car should be illegal, but it’s literally part of my job.

  For a moment, I think instead of Eve. It must be so easy to be her. Even I underestimated her the first time we met, until I realized that she had an expensive stolen gem sitting on her finger for all to see. When I saw her couture gown up close, I realized that I stuck out like a sore thumb at that gala in my thrift-store dress.

  Jasmine climbs onto my back and begins to knead her paws on me, the perfect excuse to avoid getting up. I guess I’ll just sleep in my work clothes tonight. Maybe if I get up with my alarm, I’ll actually manage to get a shower in the morning.

  I drift off slowly, and the last things I see behind my eyelids before passing out are Eve’s bright green eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Natasha

  I enter the premises while Eve isn’t home. It’s me and a couple of uniformed officers, and I search high and low for anything. A sign of a single stolen item, a letter, anything. Thompson, the building manager, stands outside the unit, but there’s nothing to be found.

  After two hours, there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Fuck.

  I storm out of the apartment, and Thompson and the officers watch me go. I could be fired over this, knowing the fucked up system I work for. I know she’s done something. I know she stole some gems, probably found a way to sell them, too.