Omega's Wolves: Hell's Wolves MC

by J. L. Wilder

   Copyright 2018 by J.L. Wilder- All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Omega’s Wolves

  Hell’s Wolves MC

  By: J.L. Wilder

  Click to Receive a Free Copy of Brother’s Wolf (Full length)

  Table of Contents

  Omega’s Wolves: Hells Wolves Harem

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About The Author

  Omega’s Wolves: Hells Wolves Harem

  I looked over my shoulder, back toward the compound, knowing that if things went according to plan, I’d never lay eyes on that damn place again.

  My heart raced, and hair matted to my forehead.

  It’s now or never, I told myself.

  And then, from the depths of the compound, I heard Brock’s roar. Nothing good ever followed that sound.

  The time had come; I had to run.

  Rain pelted my face as I took off, bolting toward the steel wire gate, which was at least six feet tall with deathly sharp points at the top. I steeled my thighs and leapt. In mid-air, I shifted, my bird-like bones elongating, my brown, unfussy hair becoming matted fur, my simple nails transforming into claws.

  I was no longer woman; now, I was Wolf. And in Wolf form, I managed to clear the entirety of the fence, feeling only the barest of pinpricks from the deadly steel scrape against my underbelly.

  My paws smacked down on the other side of the fence. I didn’t pause to celebrate my victory, to rejoice in the fact that this was my first time outside the compound in at least a year. There was no time. Brock knew I was gone, and his little army of fellow bear shifters would be after me within the minute. I’d celebrate when I was safe.

  If I can ever be safe, I corrected myself mentally, never breaking my stride.

  Where I was going, there was no guarantee things would be safe at all. In fact, I was taking a risk so stupid as to almost be lethal.

  Because, despite every sound piece of advice I’d ever received, I’d decided to do the one thing a shifter never did.

  I’d hired the Hell’s Wolves MC as protection.

  And, if my timing was correct—and it was—I’d be meeting them at the nearest gas station, fifty miles from here, in the next five minutes. This would be an impossible feat for anyone who couldn’t move ten-mile a minute, but I was one of the fastest runners I’d ever met. Even as a Wolf, I was lithe, slippery. Members of my old pack used to joke that I was more fish than Wolf.

  That had been when they were still talking to me, before I’d linked up with Brock and been abandoned by everyone else in my life. At the time, I had spat at them, insisted they didn’t know what they were saying.

  Now … now, I owed them all an apology.

  If I made it out of this escape alive, that is.

  The rain was growing ever thicker[LR1], the sky becoming the same stormy gray as my coat, with flashes of silver interspersed. That was some kind of small blessing. Hopefully, I’d be camouflaged by the storm.

  There was a deep, ominous growl not far behind me.

  My ears, sensitive to the faintest of noises, pricked up. The growl came again.

  Brock.

  He was on my tail, literally. I couldn’t turn around, but I knew that if I did, I’d see him in bear form, running on all fours, spit flecking from his jowls, his entire pack behind him, at least fifty men and women strong.

  I increased my speed, pushing my body past its limits. I was running along a nearly abandoned highway, the only one in and out of the compound. The location had been selected based on the fact that no one could drive by the area accidentally; it wasn’t on any map still in existence. I’d need to cross sheer desert to get back to the minor freeway nearby, and from there, to the gas station.

  The four-pronged cactus, the one the Wolves had told me to look for, appeared in my eye line. Our communication had been spotty, limited. Their only instruction: break through at the cactus. Keep running until you see the neon trident. We’ll be waiting.

  I gulped, and pressed forward. This was my moment. Hopefully, Brock and crew wouldn’t be expecting this sharp veer into uncharted territory. Maybe, just maybe, it would give me the ground I needed to evade them.

  My paws hit wet sand as I turned off the road and into the desert. Stones and even pieces of glass caught in between my pads, but pain was irrelevant; the fear of being caught was far more daunting than anything so minor as a cut.

  Even through the thunder of the storm I could hear the growls behind me growing fainter. The bears were thicker, less agile. They could give chase all right, but that was only if they were going straight ahead and had the chance to pick up speed. If not, they were slowed down by their ungainly forms.

  I had the advantage, and I took it. Darting through errant cacti and bounding over stones, I crossed the next thirty miles of sheer desert without issue. The bears were still somewhere behind me, but it was clear they were struggling to avoid all the obstacles the land erected.

  Soon enough, I saw a faint, neon blue outline against the late afternoon sky. It stood out like fire from a gas stove, an unnatural cobalt.

  My safe haven.

  My heart threatened to thump out of my chest from exhaustion, but I couldn’t give up now, not when I was so close. I found a reservoir of strength I hadn’t even known I had and redoubled my pace.

  You’re nearly there, I told myself. You’re almost free.

  Suddenly, I was out of the desert, and onto a freeway. If there were cars in the distance, I didn’t see them; I had blinders on for everything, save that blue trident.

  Now, somewhere in the mix between the growl of the bears and the clap of the thunder, I heard another noise; the distinct revving of engines.

  My Wolf eyes were just able to make out, beneath the glowing trident, the shapes of several large figures beneath. God willing, that was them.

  There was only five miles left now, but the going was faster out on the open road. As I closed in on the gas station, my eyes focused, and the shapes resolved into clear images.

  Three men, each astride an enormous, black, shiny motorcycle, each poised, ready for battle, warriors in the storm. Were these the men with whom I was to entrust my safety? They seemed like they could be as much, if not more, of a threat than even Brock. Who was the lesser of the evils?

  And then I heard Brock’s roar behind me once again. Goddammit, they’d cleared the desert and were making up for lost time on the concrete. I couldn’t rethink my decision, not now, not when I’d been planning this for months. Even though the Hell’s Wolves looked like they really were ripped straight from Dante’s Inferno.

  I bounded toward the gas station, every collision of my paws on pavement a shock through the system. I would just barely have the strength to make it to the station. Though I’d been allowed to run within the compound, Brock had forbidden me from open land,
for the obvious reason that it’d be harder for his guards to monitor me there. My limbs had grown weak with disuse, and I cursed his name for the millionth time.

  No man would ever make me weak again.

  The gas station was now just a few hundred feet from me, and over the gaining growl of Brock and his boys, I heard one of the men on motorcycles bellow, “Shift now, shift!”

  I ignored him, and kept running. Brock would gain on me if I were in my human form for more than even a moment.

  But the voice was persistent.

  “Shift. NOW,” it ordered.

  My instincts screamed that this was a dangerous idea, that my Wolf form was the only means I had of defense.

  However, I’d agreed to trust the Hell’s Wolves, however temporary that allegiance might end up being. And that meant playing along with their orders.

  Reluctantly, and still at top speed, I shifted mid-air, fur rippling back down into smooth skin, hackles retreating. I hadn’t bothered to keep a spare pair of clothes on me, the way I normally would when I planned on shifting. It wasn’t as though I’d have time to stop and change in the bathroom.

  So, that’s how I found myself, running naked, in the middle of a desert storm.

  Brock was at my heels, the motorcycles in front. And without warning, the men on bikes revved their engines, and swooped toward me.

  I was about to wonder what they were doing, what their big plan was, when one of them left, disappeared from my vision and—

  A set of arms clasped around my bare waist. I screamed, a sound so piercing I couldn’t believe it’d come from my own throat. I thought I’d lost the ability to scream like that long ago.

  My body was being lifted onto a bike, my legs forced to straddle a large leather seat. Strong thighs gripped behind me, protective arms caged around my own. I couldn’t turn around, I was too dazed, but I saw sizeable hands gripping handles in front of me.

  On the middle finger of the left hand was a hefty, engraved silver ring.

  In a looping scroll, it read: Hell’s Wolves MC.

  That was my last memory before I saw an enormous bear throw itself in front of the bike, and I blacked out.

  Chapter 2

  Voices filtered through my ears, their sounds coming and out, like the echoes of church bells.

  “Daniel, let off, she’ll wake up in time.”

  “No, she’s coming to.”

  The voices receded.

  Later, they appeared again.

  “Any change?”

  “No.”

  “Is she dying?”

  “Maybe.”

  Dying? Was I dying? Maybe. I couldn’t seem to lift myself out of sleep long enough to figure it out.

  The voices returned once more.

  “Just wake her up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we can’t have Brock’s dead girlfriend on our hands. It’d almost be worse than having a live one.”

  The voices were clearer than they’d ever been. I felt a sharp pang, somewhere around my heart, then again, near my brain. Slowly, I curled a single toe, just to see if I could. Success.

  “Tristan, I think she’s waking up. For real, this time.”

  I could feel bodies surrounding me, my claustrophobia intensifying.

  “She wiggled her toe, I swear.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  I blinked, just a little bit, enough that a tiny amount of light filtered into my vision.

  “Look! She blinked. A definite blink.”

  There was an annoyed sigh somewhere overhead, then a sharp tone.

  “All right, then. Wake her up.”

  Fingers touched my shoulders, and there was hot breath near my ear.

  “Wakey-wakey, time to get up.”

  I tried to move, but failed; my body wasn’t cooperating.

  “Jesus, let me do it.”

  The fingers moved away, and now, there was breath near my other ear, though further away than the last.

  “Emma Adams. Get up, now, or we’re leaving you behind.”

  That finally did the trick.

  My eyelids burst open, my vision struggling to focus as someone else crowed with delight. There was a large, industrial light overhead, and somewhere on the edges of my vision, beige shades.

  Faces, I corrected myself. They were faces.

  “It worked,” a voice further off said.

  “Yeah, duh.”

  A face moved closer to mine. There was a set of clear blue eyes that jangled with laughter.

  “Hey, kid,” the face said. “Welcome home.”

  “This isn’t her home.” Another face appeared in my vision, this one harder, broader. It appeared to address me as it said, “And don’t you forget it.”

  A third face emerged, somewhere in the background. It was swathed in black hair, and I couldn’t make out anything else. That face quietly replied, “She can hear you both. Can’t you, Emma?”

  I found myself nodding, and through a throat drier than the Sahara, saying, “Yes. I can.”

  “See?” he said, turning to his comrades. “She’s not thick, just—”

  “Just lazy?” asked the one with the crew-cut.

  Well, that was just about enough of that.

  I cleared my throat. “Ahem. Still here.”

  “Good,” Crew-cut replied. “Then sit up and prove it.”

  Jesus, I’d been passed out on a table, with just a sheet for coverage, for at least a few days, and now I was being bossed around? Not exactly a charming bedside manner. But I knew I had to prove to them, these people—my saviors? Or my captors? —that I was strong. Mentally, if not physically.

  With a great heave that I suppressed somewhere in my chest (noises of struggle weren’t fitting for the moment), I sat up on my forearms, managing to lift my neck which was heavy with sleep. Once in a slightly more upright position, I was able to scan the room.

  We were in … well, I hesitate to say ‘lair’, but hell, it was a lair. The area was expansive, almost like a gothic loft—rambling, fitting a kitchen, living room et. al in one space. I spotted a door or two; sniffing out possible exits was a skill I’d been forced to hone during my time with Brock.

  The whole place was done up in black and silver; from what I’d seen, this was a rather standard color scheme in the shifter world. I was, however, surprised that they managed to make anything appear even remotely cohesive, given the fact that it all seemed to be sourced from different places. I saw a black leather couch with silver studs and long, almost tribal, woven tapestries with images of Wolves. That’s a bit on the nose, I thought with a snort, but said nothing.

  Other than the couch and the tapestries, nothing struck me as particularly informative. The kitchen was standard fare, and there was a single rickety dining table. It wasn’t a home but a rest stop. Thinking of the scope of the Hell’s Wolves, I wondered if perhaps this was a route situation, wherein the pack had different properties throughout the United States where any HW could stop for a night.

  “You still there?” the one with the blonde hair and sweet blue eyes joked.

  How long had I been analyzing their decorating scheme? Oops. “Yeah, sorry,” I apologized slowly, my mouth still sticky. “Just … getting my bearings.”

  “I thought you were done with bears,” he replied, his white teeth shining through a large grin.

  Cheekbones, as I’d lately dubbed him, scowled. “Caine, that’s a fucked up joke.”

  Blue eyes dimmed. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “The mood is fine,” the militaristic one cut in.

  He turned away from his compatriots and faced me. The three of them ringed me, and I felt equal parts fear and delight. I’ve done it, I thought, realization dawning for the first time. I’ve escaped Brock. God, it hadn’t been easy, but here I was.

  Though, whether they were any improvement had yet to be seen.

  “I’m Tri
stan,” the one with the clean brown hair and darker brown eyes announced. “I’m the alpha of this chapter of Hell’s Wolves.”

  I nodded to acknowledge this. I’d already guessed that he was the alpha; he just had the air about him. The other two seemed to orient around him, not in subservience but with a subtle, respectful acknowledgment of his leadership position. Plus, it was obvious in the way he held his shoulders: rigid, straight to a fault. You could put a bullet in his chest, and his spine would never waver (and then, in short time, the bullet would’ve been spat out by his rapidly healing body).

  “I’m the one you’ve been communicating with,” he explained, his words clipped.

  That made sense. I’d been in contact with the Wolves for months, and every message from them had been militaristic in its precision—they even used military time to plan the escape. Tristan had expectations of his pack, and I could see that those expectations would transfer to me. Alphas were complicated creatures. You wanted to obey them, because that was just the Wolf in you, and being an omega, the alpha had a special draw for me, one that flickered deep within my womb. But when I extricated my omega self from my human self, I knew I was scared of alphas because of people like Brock, whose leadership had morphed into manipulation and abuse.

  Tristan nodded to the blonde man to his right.

  “This is—”

  “I’m Caine,” the blonde interjected. I raised a brow at this; no one in Brock’s troops would’ve dared to interrupt their alpha. I couldn’t tell if this minor disobedience promised a healthier pack structure or meant there was fracturing in the ranks.

  “Hi,” I murmured.

  “I’m the fun one,” he added with a wink.

  Tristan sighed. “You’re the reckless one.”

  “Same difference,” said Caine. “I’m also the beta.”

  Interesting. I wasn’t sure I would’ve guessed that. What other instincts had I lost in the time away from my people? Just because they’re Wolf shifters doesn’t mean they’re your people, my brain corrected.

  That was true. I couldn’t let myself get complacent, or let my guard down, just because when we got naked we became the same weird animal.