by Wen Spencer
The Dog Warriors! Did he call them!
Ukiah glanced at him. "No, they're not Pack."
Atticus frowned. "How do you know?"
"Pack knows Pack."
"What does that mean?"
"Shut your eyes," Ukiah commanded.
Atticus hesitated. He knew how fast he could move—even wounded, Ukiah could probably strike as quickly. He checked to see if Ru was in position and ready before closing his eyes.
"Keep your eyes shut." Ukiah's voice came out of the darkness. "Focus on me."
He could feel Ukiah's presence beside him like an electric ghost. His brother moved, a rustle of blanket, and Atticus sensed that Ukiah had stretched out a hand to nearly touch him, fingers splayed close but not pressing against the fabric of his shirt. Atticus reached without opening his eyes and found Ukiah's hand with his own. Traces of steak. Road dirt. His own saliva. His own flesh. His own blood.
This is right. This is good.
"Looks like we have company," Ru remarked dryly, breaking the spell.
Atticus dropped his brother's hand and stood. The motorcycles had rounded the sharp bend in the road and come into view.
Ukiah grunted. "Iron Horses."
"You know them?" Atticus asked.
"I know of them," Ukiah said. "They're Pack wanna-bes; the biggest one is John Daggit. He's the New England chapter president. Rebar is his sergeant at arms." Which meant Rebar would be the club enforcer. "Smithy and Draconis are both local members, but Animal is a nomad. I don't know the rest. They could be prospects or maybe another club."
The motorcycles roared up to the driveway of the house, sat a moment, scanning the land, gunning their engines, and then silenced ominously.
Who were they? Friends of Lasker? The killers from Buffalo? Or, despite what Ukiah claimed, part of the Pack?
The house felt like a trap, but at least it offered some protection. The treeless sand dunes were entirely too exposed. Atticus went to the door, opened it, and stood waiting for the bikers to come to him.
Atticus had originally thought that "biggest one" meant "the most desirous wannabe" but apparently Ukiah had just meant "huge all over," and the monster of a man on the lead bike was John Daggit.
"You Steele?" Daggit dismounted to swagger toward the house. He topped Atticus by another head with huge, beefy hands. His stock of gray-salted brown hair was shaggy, framing a face that might have been handsome except for the dark inset of his eyes, which made him look not totally sane.
"What do you want?" Atticus kept the door blocked even though Daggit loomed over him. Obviously the big man was used to his size intimidating people.
"Look, asshole . . ." Daggit put out a hand to brush him aside. Atticus caught the hand and used it to bring the big man down to his knees, eliminating the leverage that Daggit's size might have given him.
"What do you want?" Atticus repeated calmly, pushing the hold almost to the point of breaking the arm.
"I'm a friend of Jay Lasker's." Daggit hissed in pain. "If you're Steele, then I've got business with you."
Perfect. The sellers—twelve hours early. Atticus released Daggit, stepping back to let him up.
"Yeah, I'm Atticus Steele."
Daggit got up, wincing at his arm. "I'm John Daggit."
Great. Well, things were so amazingly screwed, but they had no choice but to act as if it were business as usual. "Come in."
"I figured the deal would be off once Lasker died." Daggit ducked into the house, six of his men following. They stank of unwashed hair, old sweat, hot oil, engine exhaust, cigarette smoke, and spilled beer. Atticus scanned them discreetly for weapons. Something crystalline glittered on their hands, clothes, and faces. Pixie Dust? "All I got off him was a name and time."
Which was more than Atticus had gotten. By all signs, Sumpter had focused on the logistics of arranging the buy without getting the intel on the seller, trusting that Lasker would cover those details later. Why was it that the idiots were never the ones that dropped dead?
"Everything is still go." To force introductions and get names attached to the other men, Atticus waved toward Ru. "My partner, Hikaru Takahashi." Then, because he didn't want to get Ukiah more involved than he had to, Atticus made a dismissive noise and added, "And my little brother."
"This is Animal. He's a nomad for the Iron Horses." Daggit named the others—confirming Ukiah's guesses—apparently working from level of importance instead of by whom was standing closest to him. Animal was a wiry man with flamboyant red hair and beard and a slightly manic smile. "Rebar here is my right-hand man." The club enforcer was a bald man whose leather jacket and thick waist disguised a strongly built body. Daggit rattled off the names of the others as if they were of no consequence. "Draconis. Smithy. Quasimodo. Mutt and Jeff."
Draconis was a tall, lanky man with dark hair and beard. Smithy was short, pudgy, and sweating nervously. Quasimodo was as ugly as his namesake. Mutt and Jeff were brothers or cousins; both had the same broad face and sparse, sandy hair.
Atticus committed faces to memory as he kept between the bikers and Ru. He could hear a faint ongoing chiming sound but he couldn't tell the source. As he moved around the room, it stayed elusively faint and directionless. "You're here earlier than we expected. We said dusk, not first thing in the morning."
"Are we screwing up some kind of schedule?" Daggit sneered.
"We were thinking about heading out." Ru reached out and flicked the nearest light switch on and off. "The power is off here. The stove is gas, so we were able to make breakfast, but there's no coffee."
"Yeah, well, it's off for most of the Cape." Daggit meandered through the living room, pausing to open up a drawer and look into it. "A substation got taken out last night in the storm. You'll have to go pretty far out for that coffee."
"Ah." Ru drifted out of the tight corner of the kitchen. "Do you have what we're looking for?"
On the team, Ru was the voice, Atticus was the muscle, and Kyle was the backup—only Kyle was still off getting the generator, and Ukiah, a complete unknown, had been added into the equation. Who knew what direction the Dog Warrior would jump in a situation like this? His brother sat still, seemingly chewing his steak, but Atticus could feel his attention focused on the bikers as they moved around the room.
"Maybe." Daggit had to duck to walk into the kitchen. There was a slight coving to delineate it from the open living room that Atticus hadn't noticed before.
"Nah." Animal's red hair made a nimbus around his head as he shook it. "We just drove all the way out here for our health."
"Do you have it or not?" Atticus snapped, irritated over how fucked-up the situation was. They didn't even know what form the drug came in—pill, brick, dust? They'd have to dance around the word "drug" until they knew.
"Perhaps." Daggit opened the refrigerator, scanned the inside, and helped himself to one of the beers.
Atticus wished that for once a deal could go down without all the coy double talk. He supposed it would make life too simple. "We're not buying 'perhaps' here. Do you have the shit or not?"
Ru gave Atticus a look that said, What am I missing?
Daggit had found Ukiah's mice and crouched to stare into the plastic cage. The black mice lined up to stare back.
"What's up with the mice? They look like Pack . . ." Daggit reached out a hand for the cage, but froze when Ukiah growled.
"Don't touch my mice, Daggit," Ukiah said through clenched teeth.
Daggit grunted, abandoning the mice to study the Dog Warrior. "What do we have here? You don't look like you've got bite behind that growl."
On the other side of the room, providing cover for Ru, Atticus was in the wrong place to stop Daggit as he made a grab for Ukiah.
"Don't touch me!" Ukiah snarled, jerking back out of reach with surprising speed, but at a cost. Atticus felt the pain that flashed through his brother as one of the fragile knits splintered. "You've got Invisible Red on you!"
"I have what?" Daggit glanced
at his hand, puzzled.
"Blissfire. Drugs."
Daggit twisted open his beer, frowning at Ukiah. "How do you know that?"
"I can smell it." Ukiah growled, hunching against the pain. "It's all over your skin and clothes."
"No, you can't." Daggit shook his head, took a sip, and explained: "It doesn't have a smell or a color. You can't see it."
"You can't," Ukiah said. "Pack can."
Daggit cocked his head. "Who are you?"
"I'm the Pack's Cub," Ukiah said.
"Aaaaah." Daggit's interest sharpened. "So you're the Cub. Man of mystery. We've heard that you existed but not much more; the Pack won't say squat about you. What are you doing here?"
"I'm eating breakfast." Ukiah tore another mouthful of meat off of the steak and made a show of chewing.
Well, that killed any doubt that Ukiah was one of the Dog Warriors.
Daggit flicked his gaze to Atticus and back. "I didn't know that Pack took brothers."
"We're a special case," Ukiah growled.
Daggit worked his jaw as if it were connected to a massive gear that needed to be turned in order for him to think. "This doesn't feel right. You"—he waggled a finger at Ukiah—"I can buy without a doubt. You've got that wolf feel. Him." Daggit pointed to Atticus. "He's Pack. But this one"—the massive finger settled in Ru's direction—"he's all wrong."
"He's not Pack," Ukiah said before either Ru or Atticus could claim otherwise.
"So who is he?" Daggit asked. "What's he doing here with two Pack dogs?"
"That's Pack business," Ukiah growled softly.
Atticus wondered why Daggit and Ukiah included him as part of the outlaw club. Pack knows Pack. Did that mean that the rest of the members were somehow like him? But how would Daggit know, since he wasn't Pack?
"You come to our turf and set up a buy," Daggit was saying, and Atticus struggled to keep his attention on the leader of the Iron Horses. "You make it our business."
Daggit got only "the look" as an answer from Ukiah.
The biker jerked his head in the direction of the mouse cage. "Show me that you're really Pack."
"No," Ukiah grunted around a mouthful of steak.
"Shit has gone down, and there are Iron Horses dead," Daggit said. "I'm not going to jump through hoops until I know that I can trust the people I'm dealing with."
"Fine. Don't deal," Ukiah said.
Daggit pulled out his pistol and put it to Ukiah's head. "I said show me!"
Triggered by Daggit, the other six bikers pulled guns and leveled them at Atticus and Ru.
"Just take it easy." Atticus kept his hands carefully clear from his gun but shifted sideways, screening Ru.
Ukiah stilled, eyeing Daggit, then glanced to Atticus protecting Ru. "Okay." He broke the silence. "You, Rebar, Animal, Draconis, and Smithy—I know can be trusted. The other three—I've never heard of them; they don't get to see. Get them out."
Daggit lowered his gun. "You heard him. Out."
Licking his fingers, Ukiah stood up, shrugging off the blanket. Half-naked, his borrowed sweatpants threatening to slide down off his slim hips, his torso a patchwork of bruises and bandages, dwarfed by Daggit, Ukiah suddenly seemed battered and vulnerable. A fear for his brother took root in Atticus, yet there was nothing he could do but watch as Ukiah limped around the island to the desk, Daggit looming over him. The mice sensed Ukiah's intent and fought for his attention, all wanting back, to be a part of him again. He opened the lid and plucked one out. A second slipped out. "Nah, nah, back in," Ukiah said gently. "I'll get you later."
The unwanted mouse scurried back into the cage.
The mouse in Ukiah's hand shivered with anticipation, a tiny spark of joy.
Ukiah covered it lightly, screening the true process. The spark faded, lost in the larger presence of his brother. After a moment, Ukiah opened up his hands, showing they were empty. "There. I won't do any more tricks for you."
"Looks like someone had you playing dead." Animal smirked, indicating the bandages.
Ukiah snarled silently in response, like the defiance of a wounded dog.
"Are we still dealing here?" Ru struggled to pull the conversation back on track.
"We're dealing," Daggit said. "How much do you want?"
"A hundred grand, to start," Ru said.
With a large buy, they'd learn better how close the bikers were to the source of the drug; the rest of the quarter million would be held in reserve for follow-up buys.
"A nice even number," Daggit said, without indication that it would be a problem to fill. Then what Lasker reported was true—the bikers had ties to the manufacturer.
"Do you have it?" Ru pressed for an answer.
"Not on us," Daggit said.
Atticus and Ru glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement on how to proceed.
"What is this bullshit?" Ru said. "Time is money. Are we supposed to sit around with our thumbs up our butts without so much as a sample?"
"A sample we can provide." Daggit reached into his back pocket and slipped out a thumb-sized self-sealing plastic bag. "This is a nickel bag." He held it up to glitter in the weak sun.
"It's empty," Ru said.
Atticus shook his head. "There's something in it."
"It's invisible." Daggit tented open the bag. "Well, except to Pack. It has no smell. No taste. You can barely feel it."
Daggit stepped forward, offering to pour it out into Ru's palm. Ru raised his hand to accept it, but Ukiah moved—fluid motion at fast-forward speed—to suddenly be standing beside them, Ru's hand trapped in his own. A growl so low it was nearly subsonic came from his brother.
"If you love Ru, don't let him touch it," Ukiah said, and it wasn't until Atticus started to ask why that he realized that Ukiah hadn't opened his mouth, moved his lips, or spoken aloud. "If one of you must handle it, it should be you—and then don't touch him."
"Hey, don't pull any freaky Pack shit," Daggit snapped. "Talk with your mouths. You want a sample or not?"
"It's okay." Animal seemed reluctant to annoy either Atticus or Ukiah. "This is good shit. It's not going to hurt him."
"Don't be a wuss." Rebar made a noise of disgust. "This is the safest shit to hit the street. It makes Ecstasy look like heroin."
Intervening between Daggit and Ru seemed to have sucked the last of Ukiah's energy out of him—he started to sag. Ru moved to support Ukiah, either as an excuse to occupy his hands or simply to keep him from falling over—Atticus couldn't tell which.
Atticus put out his hand to receive the drug. Daggit shrugged and spilled out the contents into Atticus's palm. The bikers were right—except for an impression of being slightly greasy, even he could barely feel it. He expected something fairly simple like cocaine, but its molecular structure was vastly complex and strange. For a moment it lay on his skin, and then he felt it seep into his flesh and enter his bloodstream like liquid fire. A dozen heartbeats and the drug surged through his entire body, unfolding into a jangling erotic buzz. He became aroused, suddenly aware of the warmth of Ru's body beside him, his heated scent. The chiming went from nearly imperceptible to so loud it threatened to drown out the conversation around him.
Ukiah leaned against Ru, head against his shoulder, arm about his waist. Ru held his brother lightly in return. It was a disturbingly intimate pose.
"Well?" Ru eyed him worriedly. "Atty?"
"It's real." Atticus gasped.
"So, you want to deal?" Daggit asked.
"Okay," Ru said slowly, still watching Atticus. "Let's try this again, but with money and the real shit."
"No go." Daggit made a motion that took in the house and the ocean. "Not out here. Not after what happened in Buffalo. We pick the place."
"Where?" Atticus snapped.
"There's a town closer to Boston, called Hull. We'll be at Hawg Heaven on Nantasket Avenue. Meet us there at seven."
"Fine," Atticus said, anxious to be done. His thoughts kept straying to Ru—and Ukiah wa
s about to drop over completely.
Daggit followed his gaze and smirked. "Well, you three have fun. We'll see you tonight."
Eternity passed before the Iron Horses roared off on their Harleys.
"Why shouldn't Ru handle it?" Atticus snapped as Ru muscled his brother to the couch.
"It's death." Ukiah sagged back onto the cushions.
"They said that it's harmless," Atticus said. "They all use it."
"They're wrong." Ukiah slid sideways so he half lay on the couch, eyes closed, his feet still on the ground as if he were too weary to move them. "They're all dead men."
"How do you know?"
"It's Invisible Red. It's . . . it's . . ." Ukiah mumbled and then made a raspberry. "It's too hard to think. I just know."
"Will it hurt Atty?" Ru swung Ukiah's feet up onto the couch so he was fully lying on it.
"No," Ukiah said. "Not that little, no."
"It has affected me," Atticus said from across the room, keeping his distance from Ukiah and especially Ru.
Ukiah breathed deeply as if asleep for a minute, and then mumbled. "You're a . . . a breeder . . . it will make you want to have sex . . . but it won't hurt you . . . you're a breeder . . . it was made to make you breed." And then he was truly sound asleep.
Atticus took a cold shower, scrubbing the last traces of the drug from his skin, but could do nothing to remove what raced through his blood, filling him with artificial desire.
Ru waited outside the shower, towel in hand and a worried look on his face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm just horny." Atticus accepted the towel.
"When are you not?" Ru teased lightly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes; he was worried.
"I'm fine."
"Lasker dropped dead after using it only a couple of times. The autopsy said he died of an aneurysm."
"I come back from the dead." Atticus scrubbed his short hair dry.
"We don't know if you come back if you're poisoned." Ru picked up another towel and wrapped it around Atticus's waist.
It was the barest brush of Ru's fingertips over his hip, the warmth of his touch gliding across skin, that undid Atticus. It was like a large wild animal awoke in him and shoved him aside to use his body for its own pleasure. It pushed Ru roughly against the wall, bruising his mouth with Atticus's lips, tugging impatiently at his clothing with Atticus's hands. Tasting blood, he tried to stop, but his body continued, leaving him mentally crying No, damn it, no! Only after the first, frantic, rough union did he manage to wrestle control back.
