Wolf’s Honor: Caedmon Wolves Book Six

by Amber Ella Monroe

  She turned right at the curve up ahead where she expected to find a sidewalk full of eateries. Any cuisine one could imagine eating was offered on this strip. Anything from Italian to Indian. And, it was fast food where you could walk up and order an entire meal to go. The convenience was fitting for a city district that consisted mainly of tourists and college students, like herself.

  “Hey,” a young guy stepped in front of her holding something in his hands.

  He was a head taller than her and about twice her size, so he blocked her entire view and her destination up ahead. She made quick eye contact with him, passing a look of annoyance, but didn’t consider him a threat.

  She frowned.

  He continued talking to her anyway and held up a small black electronic device. “You need a Bluetooth speaker? It’s quite nifty and it—”

  “No.” She brushed passed him.

  “You sure? It’s usually fifteen bucks, but I’ll give it to you for ten.” He was persistent. They all were—college students looking to make a quick buck to pay the next semester’s bill or to ensure they could eat the next night. Just like her. But she wasn’t interested in buying, and one look at the countdown on her wristwatch told her that this street merchant was wasting her time.

  Antonia sidestepped him once more and caught sight of Andrew’s back again. There was a tall guy with a chalky white complexion leaning against the wall just a few feet in front him. A patch with a dark red symbol was displayed on the cuff of his jacket. The symbol was what they’d been trained to look for.

  She kept walking, but the annoying street merchant brushed into her again, whether intentionally or unintentionally she wasn’t sure. He made contact with her arm and tried to reach for her hand.

  She snatched her arm away, offended and irritated. “Look, usually I give people ten seconds to get the fuck out of my face after I’ve told them no, but since this is your lucky day, I’m giving you five.”

  As she expected, the street merchant immediately disappeared from her sight. At only five-six with a small frame and dainty demeanor, she attracted a lot of people, both men and women, but never for the right reasons. The moment she was crossed or threatened, she brought out the Scorpio in her. The side and wall she built with cinder blocks because she had no choice but to. Growing up and moving from group home to group home had taught her how to fend for herself, even if that meant being as sweet as pie one moment and then as aggressive as a wolf the next.

  When she looked up again, she didn’t see Andrew or the chalky man with the red symbol on his wrist. Right above where he’d been standing was a sign. It read Dockhouse Bar. She’d heard about this place, but had never been. Word on the street was that you needed to know someone to get in. There were rumors of strange happenings occurring inside, but these events never aired on the news. People only heard about it through the grapevine.

  Antonia drew a small card the size of a stamp out of her back pocket. Apparently, this was her ticket inside.

  As she walked up toward the entryway, she still felt uneasy about not being able to see Andrew anymore. Whatever it was they were delivering was to be done in two separate shifts fifteen minutes apart. Glancing down at her watch, she noted that Andrew would be making his drop right around this time. Now it was up to her to look inconspicuous in the club without bringing too much attention to herself for another fifteen minutes. Maybe she should have pretended to be interested in what the street merchant was trying to sell her. That would have bought her some time. Waiting around wasn’t her thing, and the pounding crescendo of her heart was all the reminder she needed of that fact.

  “Pass?” the security guard barked at her when she reached the front of the line.

  She handed him the card but she couldn’t help but notice the way he sized her up. He also smelled of something feral, like mud and pine trees. It wasn’t a nice combination to the liquor breath he also possessed.

  “Take off your hood,” he commanded in a gruff voice.

  Antonia pushed her hood back, looked him straight in the eye and smiled sweetly. “Is that better?”

  He chuckled deeply then nodded toward a second security guard, who opened one of the double doors. As the doors closed behind her, she could have sworn that some invisible breeze was pushing her forward into the bustling nightclub. The sound of her heartbeat was drowned out by the electro-fusion beat, and she felt claustrophobic in the mob of bodies around her. Something was a little off with the way some of the patrons looked at her as she passed, or maybe she was the one that looked a little awkward to them.

  She held her chin up and attempted to put on an expression of what she hoped was confidence about where she was and her familiarity with her surroundings.

  In less than thirty minutes, she’d be on a bus back home. Tonight, she’d be a few thousand dollars in the green. Tomorrow, she’d speak with her manager about reducing her work hours a bit. Right now, she didn’t even want to think about the disadvantages. There was no time to fail.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The air was thick with more than just the pending thunderstorm, and as Connor lifted his gaze to the sky he hoped this night would bring him some answers. He was running out of time, and no word had been given regarding whether the extended deadline would be granted. The request had been made this morning, but he was uncertain how quickly his dad could get the message up through the chain of command. Or even if such a request would be approved at all.

  “Max?” Rodney, one of the men on tonight’s squad, walked up behind him. “The van will be waiting at 6th and Everett Street after the mission is completed. Should I send the driver on his way?”

  Connor turned and nodded, observing as five other men piled out of the van and dispersed in the direction of their pre-determined post. The gun holster and the belt around his waist were heavy as he strode down the sidewalk and through a dark alley. But it wasn’t heavier than the burden that would follow if he were to fail this mission.

  Rodney, his trusted sidekick, was right behind him.

  They trudged further up the alley until they reached a busy corner. The Dockhouse bar was just a couple yards up ahead. Two from Connor’s team had already arrived at the post and he observed as they walked inside with little to no flack from the guards. Both had passes, but Connor had to admit that the screening process sucked. Neutral territory or not, one of the leaders needed better control over this place if shifters from both Packs were roaming around in it.

  There were a few cars parked curbside. Probably valet cars. Near the other end of the block, he spotted a squad car. This was no surprise; human cops were always on patrol here given that the bar had become a popular hangout for college students. What Connor worried about, was that shit kept sliding under the radar on their watch. Someone had sent in a tip that afternoon about this place, according to his connection at the local police station. It wasn’t a big enough tip for the human authorities to act on it, but a hunch that something might be amiss here would not leave Connor.

  At this point, there shouldn’t have been anyone else intervening. Not the local cops, at least. But with no word back from the Feds, he was still on edge about the whole thing.

  Connor pressed the bud in his ear. “Can I get someone to investigate the squad car on 18th and Vancouver? Who’s inside, and how many of them? Report back ASAP.”

  There was static on the other end. “Copy.”

  Connor and Rodney entered the club with no issues from the guards, who were shifters he’d known to regularly man the doors. Several years ago, when the bar had been first opened, the owner’s had contracted the security side of things to Maxim Securities while his dad had still been in charge. Following the last Alpha's death, owners had changed twice since then, and now the Dockhouse bar operated under a new organizational structure, equipped with its own full-time employees, including the bouncers. After the first change of ownership, Maxim Sr. lost out on a contract bid to another firm, so Maxim Securities no longer secured the club.
Since then, the firm had never placed another bid.

  As Connor scanned the thick patch of bodies, he counted about four bouncers, one at each corner. They stood at their posts as their only purpose was obviously to prevent and break up fights. And fights happened frequently here with so many different cliques under one roof. Shifters, both Caedmon and Arnou. College students. Mobsters. Rich socialites…

  All four bouncers were human. That wasn’t a surprise since, on any given night, most of the patrons were human, as well. To get in, you needed to have a referral or be a regular. The place wasn’t as selective as it had been when Maxim Securities oversaw safety, and, as a result, the Dockhouse bar had become less of a place where shifters could be themselves. There were separate gatherings and private parties for those types of events.

  “M-9?” a voice called from the bud behind Connor’s ear. “No cops found in the squad car.”

  “Any cops in the vicinity?” Connor asked.

  “Negative.”

  No presence of cops, when they were clearly around here somewhere could’ve meant several things. Either they were patrolling the area on foot or they were inside one of the nightclubs. There was a strip club several blocks up the street; the only place besides the Dockhouse bar that got extremely rowdy.

  “Check behind the back of the bar. Send someone down the street to check out The Wild Horse.”

  “Copy.”

  After giving the orders, Connor made his way to the bar. Several people brushed and knocked passed him, but there was really no way around it. Fire marshals had already warned the owners about the cap on the number of people that could be in the bar at one given time, but the folks in charge seemed to ignore it.

  One of Connor’s men was already seated near the end of the bar with a drink in his hand. Connor snagged an empty seat with half of his attention diverted to the happenings in the bar. People were pre-occupied everywhere, on the dance floor, in every corner of the room, and in every private nook near the back. The whole place smelled of sweat, smoke, pheromones, testosterone, and furniture polish. The interior of the place had undergone some major renovation. He didn’t remember the surfaces being so shiny the last time he’d visited here.

  “What can I get you, sexy?” the woman behind the bar asked.

  Connor caught her gaze, and she winked. She was an attractive girl who didn’t look more than two days over twenty-one. He supposed they hired them young and attractive like that to attract bigger tips.

  “Gin and tonic,” he replied, then turned his attention back to the swarming crowd.

  His job was to pick up on anything that seemed out of the ordinary while keeping his appearance low-key. The tip Connor had received from another cop and long-time friend of his wouldn’t have piqued his interest if it weren’t for the fact that the location in question was the Dockhouse bar, a hotspot where both shifters and humans were known to mingle together. The place was also outside of either Alpha’s domains.

  Apparently, the local cops had a robbery suspect with a long rap sheet of violations under his belt in custody. When they’d been searching through his belongings, his cell phone had rung. Five calls from the same number in one day, not even one hour apart was rather suspicious. The location of the calls was traced to a cell tower nearby, and linked to the Dockhouse bar. His friend had contacted him right away and given him access to the voicemail.

  The voicemail message was the reason Connor was here right now: We need you to make the drop, man. Graham is dead. They shot him. Where are you?

  A man ID’ed as Graham Muldrid was found shot dead a couple days ago and thrown into a dumpster with two shifters who had apparently suffered the same fate. A bullet lodged in the eye socket of one of the wolves matched the bullet found at the murder scene of another shifter. These were details the local cops may have missed, but they were pieces to the missing puzzle that Connor was attempting to solve.

  “Here ya go, sexy.” The attractive bartender put his drink down on a coaster and slid it towards him.

  Connor slid a fresh twenty-dollar bill on the counter toward her. Tipping the glass to his lips, he took a couple swigs. Before long, he’d have to move locations. He didn’t want it to appear like he was watching others. Instead, he needed this to look more like he was simply enjoying himself in the place. He wasn’t. Nightclubs had never been his thing.

  He put his unfinished drink back down on the bar and just as he was preparing to get up he saw her.

  From what Connor could see of her face in the darkened interior, she was pretty. Her beauty stunned him first and foremost, but there was something else about her that had him frozen in place. Despite all the activities going on around her in the bar, she stood out like a blazing light. As she glanced left and right around the club, Connor got a good look at her profile, which was accented by her aura. Every living being had some type of aura—the thing that made that person unique and different from everything else. She was no different, of course, but Connor was drawn to her on a level that he couldn’t fathom.

  Static sparked through his earpiece and he thought he heard a voice, but nothing else came through after a few seconds. Eyes still on the woman, he pressed the earpiece firmly into his ear and spoke in a low voice. “Repeat that.”

  There was no reply.

  “Rodney?”

  Once again…nothing.

  The woman was a lot closer to Connor now, and he could almost make out all of her features. She appeared young and was small in frame and short in height. She carried a tote, a little large in size, but something that most of the campus kids carried around. That made him wonder if she were just a college girl, but the way she carried herself with such grace, she appeared to be more than that. She had a woman’s body and was dressed for the occasion. She had on a dark gray hoodie and tight black jeans, which was likely the reason he hadn’t seen her at first. She wore flat boots that were almost knee high.

  Connor followed her gaze to the right corner of the club. There was a hallway that led to the back offices there. Connor knew because he’d once done business in those same offices when Maxim Securities had had a connection with the place. Her attention didn’t remain on that spot long though because she soon looked down at her wristwatch.

  On a hunch, Connor straightened his back and his pupils expanded. His gaze focused more on her face. She appeared to belong here, but did she? When she looked up again, he noticed her eyes were filled with apprehension, and not quite fear, but hesitation. A worried look crossed her face mere seconds before she started in Connor’s direction. Of course, it took him no time to figure out that her path led to the right corner of the club where those back offices were located.

  She moved quickly and with purpose, slicing her way through a throng of bodies with minimal disruption to the people she passed.

  “Connor?” Rodney’s voice came through the bud in his ear, followed by the same scratchy noise with interference.

  The women drew nearer until the only thing separating them was about two feet of open space. Connor took a quick breath the same moment her amber eyes met his. Why did he feel that he knew her from somewhere? The electric energy between them was charged with some invisible force, and every part of him, even his wolf, wanted to follow her…wherever she led.

  As he’d expected, the amber-eyed beauty made a beeline toward the back offices. A man with a chalky white complexion that Connor hadn’t seen before was standing right near the entry to the hallway. The bright red symbol on the cuff of his leather jacket wasn’t hard to miss once he flashed it.

  Connor had been in this line of work long enough to know what the symbol signified. There was no doubt the man was linked to some members-only group. Connor had seen the symbol before, and all hunches led to an underground crime ring that had become virtually impossible for the Feds to expose.

  The man turned and walked down the hallway, and the woman followed. Odd. Very odd. Connor rose from his stool, his suspicions on high-alert.

&
nbsp; “Con—”

  This time, Rodney’s voice was cut off by the sound of gunfire in the bar. Pop! Pop, pop, pop! Screams followed, and a rush of night air pushed into the bar as the doors burst inward.

  “Fuck!” Connor ducked down to the ground as the shooting continued. Glass burst and shattered near the bar as the gunshots rung out continuously. The smell of liquor, ale, and cold-blooded fear permeated the area.

  Caught off guard and stunned beyond belief, Connor pulled out his loaded gun and glared toward the door, trying to identify the source of the shooters. The metallic scent of blood flowed under his nose full-force, causing his wolf to rear up against his skin.

  At the entrance, five men in police uniforms held guns, urging the crowd to vacate the club while they pushed inside. There were just too many panicked people to give instructions, and most of them fought frantically in an unorganized fashion to exit the bar.

  In his line of sight, Connor witnessed a group of bodies fall to the ground as two masked gunmen burst from the hallway of the back office and opened fire on the police.