by J. L. Wilder
“What the hell is a comptroller?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? The point is, they have money and a nice house. But it’s still them. I mean, hell, can’t you smell them?”
Five noses inhaled. Emmett knew they were catching the scent. It was potent. There was no way they could miss it.
“All right,” he said. “We can’t all go in at once, we’ll scare them off. Xander, you and I will go.”
This provoked a babble of protest. “Why him?” Judah demanded.
“Because he’s the youngest,” Emmett said. “No offense, Xander, but you’ve never scared anyone in your life.”
Xander shrugged amiably. “I bet you hadn’t either when you were sixteen.”
He’d lose that bet. Emmett had been intimidating his peers since he was a toddler, a fact he hadn’t always enjoyed. It wasn’t fun to have other kids running away from you because you hadn’t yet harnessed your alpha instincts. But that was life, and he was used to it. He turned to the other four. “The rest of you, wait here,” he said. “We’ll signal you if you’re needed.”
“Signal us how?” Judah asked.
“Just watch the window,” Emmett said. “I’ll have Xander give a sign.”
Judah didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t argue. Emmett was the alpha. Emmett’s word was law.
Xander and Emmett headed up the long walkway that led to the house’s front door. “Do you think they’ll hire us?” Xander asked.
Emmett shrugged. “It’s always a toss-up with these rich types,” he said. “They don’t want to get their hands dirty. They don’t want to stain their reputations. So, if something needs doing, yeah, they’ll hire us. But they’re so obsessed with keeping their noses clean that they might not need anything from us at all. We’ll have to wait and see. Ring the doorbell.”
Xander, who was standing closer to the bell, reached out and pushed it.
No answer.
Xander rocked back on his heels and looked at Emmett. “Do you think they’re not home?”
“No, I think they’re blowing us off,” Emmett said. “There’s a light on in the upstairs window, see? Someone’s in there.”
“Maybe they just left their lights on.”
“I don’t think so. Ring the bell again.”
Xander did so. This time, Emmett could hear footsteps inside. He wanted to pound on the door and shout, to let whoever was inside know that they’d been heard, but he controlled himself. Don’t scare them off.
The door opened. Just a crack, just enough for a man to peek out. “What?” he asked. “We’re not buying anything.”
An inauspicious beginning, but never mind. “I’m not selling,” Emmett said. “My name is Emmett Burke. I’m the alpha of the Hell’s Wolves, Itinerant Chapter.”
“I don’t know what that is. Is that a gang?”
“We’re shifters,” Xander said, his voice teenage and eager. “Like you.”
“Hush,” Emmett said, regretting what he’d said about a rich pack like this not caring about keeping a low profile. He’d probably given Xander the impression that this man didn’t care who knew he was a shifter.
The man did indeed look deeply suspicious. “What do you want?” he asked.
“We’re just passing through town,” Emmett said, trying to keep his voice low and soothing, trying not to intimidate this man. “We’re in search of odd jobs that might need doing. We knew there was a pack here, and thought we’d stop by and see if you needed anything done.”
“Odd jobs?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Like what? Lawn maintenance?”
“If you like,” Emmett allowed. “Although, the kind of jobs we’re usually hired for are a little more...covert.”
“You mean illegal.”
“I mean, services you can’t necessarily find on the internet.”
“Who did you say you were with?”
“Hell’s Wolves. Itinerant Chapter.”
“Itinerant?”
“It means, we travel from town to town,” Xander said helpfully.
The man scowled. “I’m aware of that, thank you.” He turned back to Emmett. “When did you arrive in town?”
“Last night,” Emmett said. “Well, this morning, technically. We spent the night on the outskirts.”
“You weren’t here last week?”
“No,” Emmett said, confused. “We were on the West Coast last week.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Why would you think we were here last week?”
“Wait, I can prove it,” Xander said. He fished in the pocket of his jeans for a moment and pulled out a receipt. “Here. It’s from a convenience store in Omaha, see? And there’s a date.”
The man opened the door enough to snatch the receipt from Xander’s hand. He looked it over carefully, handed it back, and then opened the door all the way, suspicion still written all over his face.
“I’m Matthew Lang,” he said slowly. “I’m the alpha of the Coywolves.”
“Nice to meet you.” Emmett held out a hand and tried to conceal his shock. This cringing, fearful man was an alpha?
Lang hesitated, then shook Emmett’s hand. “Why don’t you two come in and sit down,” he said.
Emmett followed Lang into an ornately appointed living room. He shot a look at Xander, hoping to communicate that the boy should keep his mouth shut. Xander had gotten them in the door, and Emmett would give credit where credit was due, but now, it was time for the men to talk.
He took a seat on the couch. Xander sat beside him, and Lang perched on the edge of an uncomfortable looking armchair opposite them. “I apologize for my skepticism,” he said. “You’ve arrived at a strange time.”
“What do you mean?” Emmett asked.
“Our pack’s omega has gone missing.”
Emmett leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Lang had spoken as though he expected Emmett to be shocked, but the truth was that the kidnapping of an omega was such a regular event that it was almost boring. Most packs wanted an omega to call their own, and omegas were rare enough that plenty of them were willing to resort to unethical measures to get one. “Do you know where she is?” he asked.
“No,” Lang said. “But it’s crucial that we get her back. She just came of age, and she’s very valuable.” He leaned in as though confiding a secret. “She’s a direct descendent of the line of Cavallon.”
Emmett had no idea what that meant, so he didn’t respond.
“You can understand how the timing looked suspicious,” Lang said. “Someone kidnaps our omega, and then, a week later, someone shows up offering to do under the table odd jobs for us? If you were the kidnapper, it would be a good way to get paid for her return.”
“Sir, if I’d kidnapped your omega, I wouldn’t go through all this rigamarole to juice you,” Emmett said. “No offense, but it’s obvious you’re loaded. I’d just ask you to pay me for her return.”
Lang sighed. “I guess that does make more sense.”
“We’ve tracked kidnapped omegas before,” Emmett said. “Do you want us to find yours for you?”
“How much do you charge for that?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
Lang hesitated. “Ten thousand,” he said. “Ten thousand if you bring her back safe and whole.”
Emmett blinked. He didn’t want to let his astonishment show on his face, but ten thousand was more money than the Hell’s Wolves had ever had. He could feel Xander grow tense beside him, waiting to hear his response.
“Fifteen,” Emmett said, his voice cool as steel.
“Okay, fine,” Lang said. Inwardly, Emmett shook his head. He’d known this man had no mettle. “Fifteen. That’s fine. Just get her back, will you?”
“Is she yours?” Emmett asked. “Your mate?”
“What?” Lang shook his head. “No, no. Not mine. She just belongs to our pack. She’s ours.”
“I see,” Emmett said. There was something unpleasant about the way
the man talked about his omega, as if she were a piece of property, but that wasn’t any of Emmett’s business. “All right. Give me a photo of her and something with her scent. We’ll do what we can to get her back for you.” He didn’t like Matthew Lang, not one bit. But a job was a job, and fifteen thousand was fifteen thousand. The rest of the Wolves weren’t going to believe this when he told them.
Chapter Three
HAZEL
No one had ever taught her what to do if she was kidnapped.
All her training had been to avoid being kidnapped. Stay in the house. Always travel in groups. Don’t go out at night. And now, she had violated all three of those rules. It was the very first time she had gone against Matthew’s wishes.
He never gave me an order, she thought miserably. He assumed I would just obey. He assumed my fear of being kidnapped was too great to break these rules.
She had been reckless.
What would happen now? No one had ever told her that either. Everyone had always talked about kidnapping as the worst thing that could happen to an omega. It had taken on an almost mythical quality in Hazel’s mind. But now the kidnapping was over. They’d gotten her and they’d taken her...taken her somewhere.
No one had taught her what to expect next.
Because there was no reason to talk about it, she thought. Because everyone knows that once you’re kidnapped, there’s nothing you can do. It’s all over. That was the only thing that made sense. Her life as she knew it was over, and whatever came next would be part of a new life.
Hazel didn’t imagine it would be a very good life.
SHE WASN’T SURE HOW much time had passed. It felt like forever, and she was pretty sure she’d slept at least three times. She should have started keeping track of that right away. But would it have mattered? She didn’t think she was staying awake for a full day at a time.
The problem was that there was nothing to do.
The problem was that it was dark in here, fully dark, so dark that she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face.
There was so little to cling to. So little to give her comfort. There was the frayed and torn hem of her birthday dress, which she clutched in her fingers as she tried to sleep. How much time had gone by since Rita and Paisley had helped her into this dress? It had been so beautiful then. What did it look like now?
Every now and then, the door opened, and a shadow appeared, silhouetted against the dim light from outside the room where Hazel was being kept. He never spoke to her. Sometimes, he carried a tray, which he set on the floor before leaving.
The first time the tray had come, Hazel had ignored it. What if the food was poisoned?
The second time it had come, she’d been too hungry to care. She’d crawled toward the door, found the tray with the tips of her fingers, and felt around carefully to see what was on it. She had found a cup and had suddenly realized that she was desperately thirsty. She raised it to her lips, her hands shaking. The water tasted warm and rusty, but it was still water, and she finished the entire cup.
Further exploring uncovered two slices of bread. Here, she’d hesitated. They were soft in her hands. Might they be rotten or moldy? Hazel had seen moldy bread only once. Her pack was usually good about replacing groceries before they had a chance to go bad. Rita had quickly thrown the bread away and ordered one of the boys to take it out of the house, and Hazel had been left with the impression that mold was one of the worst things that could happen.
What would happen if she ate it? Would she die?
They don’t want to kill me, she thought to herself. They wanted her alive. They must. Why go to all the trouble of kidnapping her just to kill her with moldy bread? It wouldn’t make sense. If there was one thing Hazel knew, it was that she had value as an omega. Whatever they wanted her for, it must have something to do with that. They weren’t going to let her die in this room.
The thought filled her like warm coffee, spreading to her extremities. She hadn’t realized, until that moment, how frightened she’d been of dying. But having the fear alleviated was such a relief that she felt tears spring to her eyes. They’re not going to kill me, she thought, and she knew it was true.
As long as she was alive, there was still hope.
Maybe Matthew would come for her. She had value to her old pack too, and they cared for her, didn’t they? They wouldn’t abandon her to this. Someone would come. Someone would find her and bring her home to her family.
She just had to keep moving forward. She just had to hang in there until her rescuer came.
Reassured, she took a bite of the bread. It tasted fine—not good, it was plain and mushy, but fine. It would sustain her. Relieved, she ate both pieces and then crawled back into the farthest corner from the door of her little room and fell asleep.
SHE WAS AWAKENED SOME time later by a gruff voice. “Up.”
She blinked, confused, achy from sleeping on the cold cement. The light seemed brighter than usual coming in through the doorway. Was that just because she had been in the dark longer now?
How long had she been here?
“Get up,” the voice said again.
He was bigger than she was. Hazel believed now that they weren’t going to kill her, but what would they do? She wasn’t sure. It would be best to cooperate, she thought, and got slowly to her feet.
She felt weak and exhausted. Her time in the cell had clearly taken a toll on her. Her legs trembled as she stood, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure they would support her. Was it fear, or was it hunger? Or both?
“Come here,” the man said.
She didn’t want to. The last thing she wanted was to approach that ominous figure. But she hated to think what might happen if he had to come in and get her. She forced herself to walk toward him, feeling with every step, as though she might pass out.
When she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm. He turned and dragged her unceremoniously out of the cell and into a long hallway. Hazel stumbled over her own feet, trying to keep up with the pace he set. She didn’t think he would stop if she were to fall.
At the end of the hall, he opened a second door and flung her inside. He stepped in after her and pulled the door shut behind them.
Hazel’s pupils contracted painfully. She couldn’t believe she’d thought the hallway was bright. This room was white—white walls, white tile floor—with silver instruments that caught the bright fluorescent light and threw it back at her. It felt as if the lighting was attacking her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she could see the brightness behind her eyelids, stabbing at her.
Slowly, she managed to ease her eyes open.
The room was small. Its main feature was a chair that reminded her of trips to the dentist. This sat empty and partially reclined in the middle of the room. There was a stool beside the chair, and a tray full of utensils. But they didn’t look like dental tools to Hazel.
She turned to face her captor. Now, in the light, she could see him clearly. He was tall, well over six feet, and wore a black tank top and black cargo pants. An ugly scar ran across his face from forehead to lower left cheek, and Hazel thought it looked as though it had probably been made by a claw.
Some wolves fight. She knew that. Matthew had often gathered his pack together around the fire after dinner and told them stories of uncivilized wolves, the ones who lived wild and didn’t have jobs or homes, the ones who fought with other packs. They were the ones to be afraid of, he’d always said. They were the ones who would do things like hurt or steal from decent packs.
Or kidnap an omega. He had never said that. Kidnapping an omega was an unspeakable thing. Matthew would never have brought it up casually like that, as part of a fireside story.
But it only made sense. Of course, that was who had taken her. It was a wild pack.
She expected her captor to put her in the chair in the middle of the room, but he didn’t. He stood there, arms folded across his chest, waiting. Watching.
Was she su
pposed to say something? She wasn’t sure. Maybe if she waited, he would ask her a question. She would tell him anything he wanted to know, she thought. She didn’t have any secrets. It wasn’t as if they didn’t already know she was an omega, and that was the most closely guarded thing about her.
But the big man didn’t speak, and he didn’t move an inch. He was like a statue.
Just when Hazel thought she couldn’t take the silence a moment longer, the door opened again, and another man came in. This one was smaller, although still several inches taller than Hazel herself. He had a trim but fit build. If she had to fight one of them, she thought, she would take the bigger one. This one looked like he might be fast.
Not that she’d stand a chance against either of them, really. God, please don’t let it come to a fight.
“Ah, good,” the newcomer said. “I was worried you’d have started without me.”
“No, sir, Edgar,” said the bigger man. “Orders were to wait and so I waited.”
“Very good,” Edgar said. He walked to the tray and picked up a pair of scissors. “These are sharp?”
“Plenty sharp.”
“Wonderful.” He approached Hazel. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. She wanted to kick out at him, to fight him off, but he was holding scissors. How could she?
Edgar glanced at his friend. “What is she wearing?”
The big man shrugged. “Dress.”
“I can see it’s a dress, you fucking nimrod. Jesus, look at this thing. Must have cost someone a few grand.”
“Family’s rich, I think. One of those old money lines.”
“Maybe they’d pay to get her back,” Edgar mused.
“They would,” Hazel said quickly. “I’m sure they’d offer.”
The point of the scissors pressed against her throat. “Quiet, omega,” Edgar growled. “Did I ask you a question?”
“No,” Hazel whispered.
“Then keep your mouth shut. Spike, get the needle.”
Needle?
“Stand still,” Edgar said, and raised the scissors. Hazel froze, afraid to move. What was he going to do to her?
