by J. L. Wilder
“Denied. No one’s a better shot than you.”
“He’s not so much,” Rick objected. “I can peg a tin can from fifty yards.”
“Yeah, and Weston can do it from sixty. Shut up.” He inhaled, then puffed out a few clouds of smoke that definitely weren’t rings. “So, tomorrow evening at around nine, you pick a couple of guys and ride to Hal’s Liquors. Make sure you park around the side, so the security cameras don’t see the bikes. You’re to carry concealed. Wear something over your faces. Once you’re in, pull the gun on the guy, get the money, and get out of there pronto.”
Hawk was always so conscientious about phrasing everything as an order. There was no evading his instructions. He left no back doors, no way of getting out of it. “Okay,” Weston agreed.
“And make sure you’re finished and back by ten-thirty,” Hawk said. “O.’s coming over, and we need cash handy.”
“Right.” O. was the Hell’s Wolves’ dealer. Weston didn’t know his real first name—he had always just introduced himself as “O.” Why he felt the need to be so covert about his identity, Weston had never known. He was only bringing them small amounts of pot. It wasn’t as if there was anything hardcore about him.
Then again, the Hell’s Wolves were pretty close-lipped with O. too. They had to be. They couldn’t let him know their true nature. It was a little tough to explain why so many grown adults were living together in a cabin in the woods—that was the kind of thing humans tended to be surprised by. Hawk’s idea of a solution seemed to be to keep most of the others out of sight when O. came over.
Which was entirely fine with Weston. He didn’t like the look of the guy and had no desire to meet him. Nor did he want anything to do with the pot Hawk bought weekly. It was a strange place to draw the line, he knew, given how much he liked to drink. It was just that he’d seen the others get high too many times. He’d seen how indolent and obnoxious it made them. He wasn’t touching that. Maybe he liked to get loaded, but at least he wasn’t a lazy bastard.
He stood in the doorway, waiting, knowing what would happen if he tried to leave without being dismissed. For several minutes, Hawk seemed not to notice he was still there. He reclined on the couch and took several drags on his cigarette, filling the air with more smoke. Weston forced himself not to breathe deeply. If he coughed, Hawk would get offended.
“You can go,” Hawk said finally.
“Thanks.” Weston turned and fled the den.
Robbie was waiting for him in the hallway. “What did he say?”
“The usual. It’s Hal’s this time.”
Robbie groaned. “Hal’s a single father, man.”
“I know.” And he was always kind to Weston, too, when he came in to buy something. So many liquor store owners acted as though they didn’t give a damn. Hal was more like a friendly bartender, always asking Weston how he was doing and how his bike was running these days. It would be torture to steal from him.
“At least he won’t know it’s you,” Robbie said.
“That’s almost worse. Now the next time I go in there he’ll be looking at me like I’m not the guy who cleaned him out. I’ll have to stand there and empathize and hear all about what happened to him, and I won’t be able to admit I’m the one who did it.”
“It sucks,” Robbie agreed.
“Come with me?”
“What?” Robbie drew back.
“Hawk didn’t tell me who to bring,” Weston said. “He’s letting me choose my own crew.”
“Oh, come on, Weston, don’t make me do it.”
“I’m not making you,” Weston said, offended. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I just thought it would be easier,” he admitted. “If I had someone I actually trust with me.”
Robbie groaned. “Why you gotta say it like that?” he asked. “You know I can’t say no when you put it that way.”
“I know you hate to do it, Robbie. Believe me.”
“Yeah, but he’ll be just as burgled whether I’m there or not,” Robbie said. “I get it. Doesn’t much matter whether I come, does it, when you think about it?”
“You don’t have to carry a gun,” Weston said, much relieved at the thought of having a friend by his side.
“Hawk won’t like that.”
“Hawk doesn’t even have to know about it,” Weston said. “He left me that much wiggle room, at least. And it’ll only take one weapon to scare the poor guy into emptying the register.”
“Yeah, true enough.” Robbie cocked his head at Weston. “You want to go for a run, maybe? Get out of here for a while?”
Weston was tempted. Things were always easier on a run. Shifting to wolf form was relaxing—the anxieties and complicated thoughts that went along with being human faded away and baser instincts took over. And then, too, there was the effect of the physical exertion of running. It would work his muscles and wear him out, forcing him to pay attention to simple things like keeping his breathing steady. It would take his mind off harder, more upsetting things, like whether Hal would be able to buy his kids new shoes for the upcoming school year after Weston robbed his store.
But it wouldn’t be a good idea, he knew. As good as it might feel, taking off for a run right after getting an assignment from Hawk would draw attention to Weston in a way he didn’t like. No doubt Hawk would want to speak to him again when he returned, to find out why Weston had felt the need for a late-night run. And the last thing Weston wanted now was another audience with his alpha. That would give Hawk the chance to hem him in with more specific instructions about tomorrow’s job. The looser the terms, the better, always. Hawk hadn’t, for example, insisted that Weston fire his weapon. He could give that order if he wanted to, and Weston would have to obey it.
“No,” he told Robbie. “I’m in for the night, I think. I’ll probably just head up to my room and try to get some sleep or something.”
Robbie nodded. “Probably a good idea. You’ll want to be alert for the job.”
Weston nodded. Quite apart from wanting to keep from being caught, staying alert was the best way to make sure that everything went smoothly and that none of his crew or victims got hurt on jobs like these.
He said good night to Robbie and headed to the attic room at the top of the house that had belonged to him since childhood. It had been all of theirs then—his and Robbie’s and Hawk’s and the rest of the male wolves born in their generation. But as they’d grown up, one by one, the others had moved into different rooms in the house.
They might think they’d stuck him with this room, Weston thought. They might think it was some sort of punishment, or a sign of weakness. But the truth was, he loved his attic room. It was one of the few remaining things he really loved about being one of the Hell’s Wolves.
The space was massive. Although the ceiling was low—so low that Weston could barely stand upright—it was wide. It was the only room on the top floor of the cabin, so it had windows that faced all four directions. Weston loved to open and close the curtains according to the time of day so that he had the best possible light shining in. His room was the perfect retreat when the rest of the pack became too much to take.
Some days he still couldn’t believe how bad things had gotten. How far they had all fallen.
Hawk had been tipped to be the alpha since childhood, of course. It was what they had all expected. And when his name had been announced at the ceremony, it had been almost anticlimactic. Weston and Robbie had discussed it then and had agreed that Hawk would have to do some growing up to be an effective leader, but they had fully expected that that growing up would happen.
Instead, here they were, six years on, and Hawk still wanted to do nothing but party.
Life under Karl had been peaceful and pleasant. Karl had been an alpha Weston could trust. He had always known, always felt sure, that Karl wanted the best for the pack as a whole and for all its members.
But Hawk w
as completely different. Hawk only cared about himself.
Weston lay down on his back and stared at the ceiling. How much longer could they possibly go on living like this, he wondered, before something finally forced a change? And when that change came, would the pack be saved? Or would it be utterly destroyed?
Chapter Two
CHARITY
“Good night, Charity!”
“See you tomorrow!”
“Get home safe!”
Charity raised a hand in farewell to her coworkers, who were still finishing up their closing duties at the restaurant and headed out onto the sidewalk. It was only a few blocks’ walk to her apartment, which was a good thing since she didn’t have a car. The walk was always a good way to clear her head after a long day at work.
Charity had never expected to have a job at all, much less one as a waitress. And yet, she found, she enjoyed the work. She liked interacting with the customers, some of whom were regulars and knew her by name, others of whom were dining with her for the first time and relied on her expertise about the menu. She liked the intricate dance that was ensuring all her tables were well cared for, never allowing one to fall behind or go lacking.
And she liked working with people. She liked being a part of a team. Life in the city could be so isolating sometimes. Charity had to remind herself often that this was what she’d wanted. This was what she’d chosen.
Sometimes she thought it was almost shocking that she hadn’t adjusted to her new life yet. After all, she’d been on her own for more than half a decade. Shouldn’t she have settled in?
But that was doing herself a disservice, Charity knew. Most days she was perfectly comfortable living in the city, working at the restaurant, coming home to the apartment where she lived by herself. Most days, in fact, she delighted in it. It was very freeing to be on her own. It was gratifying to see that she could make it, that she had the skills necessary to get by without any help.
Most days.
Some days it wasn’t delightful at all.
And by the time Charity reached her walk-up apartment, she knew that today was going to be one of the latter sorts.
It was because of the family who had come into the restaurant today, she knew. The moment she’d seen them, it had set off a visceral pain in her gut. They would have been shocked to realize they were having that effect on her, probably. The mother had been tired and harassed, barking at her four children, all of whom had been hollering and throwing things at each other across the table. The father had looked distracted and annoyed.
Still, there had been something enviable about them. They belonged to each other, Charity thought. That was what it was. They belonged to each other in a way that she belonged to no one.
And that was still a new sensation. Charity had grown up in a family far bigger than the one that had come into the restaurant today. There had always been someone around to talk to, someone to fight with, someone to hug, someone to share ideas with or make plans with. She had never before felt alone with her thoughts. But since she’d moved to the city, that feeling kept cropping up.
Her friends at the restaurant were nice. She liked them. But they weren’t family, and there were things she couldn’t be honest with them about. There were secrets in her past that no one could know.
Maybe it was time to consider dating apps again.
This was an old idea, and one she revisited, from time to time, when her loneliness grew unmanageable. She had profiles on a few popular dating apps. But the men she met were always disappointing. It never seemed to work out.
Of course, she had had love once...
But she pushed that thought away. It was too painful to think about him, and too difficult. She had decided to leave her old life, and her old love, behind. There was no point in lingering on unpleasant thoughts. There was no reason to dwell in memories of things that could never be.
Instead, she flopped down on the sofa in her living room and pulled up the Tinder app on her phone. The best way to put the past behind her, she knew, was to focus on building the present and the future. Her job already served her in that regard. If she could manage to find a man to love, maybe this life would start to feel like a real one.
There were a whole bunch of new messages. She had expected that—it had been weeks since she’d logged into her account. She flipped through the profiles of the men she’d matched with, hoping one of them would catch her eye.
But none did. Oh, they were good looking enough, she supposed, but their messages were so inane. Hey, girl! one of them had written, and Charity wondered if this was a greeting he copy-pasted into the chat windows of every woman he matched with. Several of them had made lewd suggestions, and one had even sent a naked picture of himself.
Assholes.
She tossed her phone down in disgust. What was she supposed to do with these men? She couldn’t possibly be expected to settle for any of them. Was this really all there was? Did her whole new world, her new life, consist of disgusting perverts and vapid idiots?
They were just so...human.
And the frustrating thing was that Charity had wanted to be human. She had wanted to embrace her human side fully, to live in an apartment in a city and have a job and feel like the master of her own fate for once in her life. She had wanted to leave her wolf side behind and forget all about it.
And now she missed it desperately. She ached for it every day.
Even on the days she was happy in her new life, there was a wildness inside her that yearned to break free. It was like an itch she could never scratch, always at the back of her mind, always clamoring for some kind of relief or satisfaction.
She had tried to tame the feeling. The only thing that seemed to help, even marginally, was running, so every night she did three miles around her neighborhood. Her runs exhausted her, and by the time she got back to her apartment, she was usually able to sleep without any trouble. But she always woke up feeling just as restless and itchy as she had the night before. It was impossible to quell the wildness for any prolonged period of time.
It was the wolf inside her, she knew. It ached to burst forth, to stretch itself, to howl at the moon. And Charity—human Charity, waitress Charity—was refusing to let it.
It had been six years. Six years since she had shifted. Six years since she had gripped the earth with paws instead of feet. Six years since her nose had taken in the full spectrum of scent, she was able to smell in her animal form. It might as well have been part of another life. Charity had believed that as time went by it might grow easier to go without those feelings, to ignore the wolf that lived in her heart and her gut. Instead, it had only gotten harder. The tension seemed to be mounting inside her. One day, she was afraid, she wouldn’t be able to suppress it any longer. The wolf would burst forth.
God forbid that happens while I’m at work, she thought wryly, although she didn’t think that was likely. Work was a decent distraction from the constant clamor of the wolf. She felt relatively human when she put on her uniform and memorized complicated drink orders and socialized with her coworkers. It was only after hours that her human facade began to slip.
With a sigh, she got to her feet and went into the kitchen. Charity was not a good cook, and most of the food she kept in the house was of the instant meal variety—microwaveable pot pies, frozen pizzas, and little pre-mixed salad bowls that she could add croutons and cheese to before shaking them up. She chose one of these for her dinner tonight. The bowl even came with a little fork attached to the lid, so she wouldn’t have to get any dishes dirty. She mixed up the salad—it was the work of only a few minutes—and took it into her bedroom to eat.
At times like these, she really missed her family. Her pack.
Dinner time with the pack had always been an event. There had been meat every night, hot meat, fresh off the stove or out of the oven. There were starches—buttery mashed potatoes or bowls of rice seasoned to perfection with herbs and spices. And there was company. Everyone ate t
ogether, always, crowding around the table, fighting over the bowls as they went around, sharing stories of their days.
For all their flaws, she thought, the Hell’s Wolves had done dinner right.
And they were probably sitting down to a meal right now, she thought. Maybe some nice venison steaks, or maybe pork or ground beef. Or pasta, drenched in sauce and with nice, thick, juicy meatballs. One of the wonderful things about being part of a pack was that there was always somebody who knew how to cook. There was always somebody who knew how to do everything important. It was just a function of having so many people around.
Charity liked being independent. She liked fending for herself and knowing that she had earned the money that put the food on her table. But it would have been nice, too, to feel as though someone had her back.
Like Weston. Weston used to have her back.
The thought of her childhood sweetheart was more painful than any other memory—more painful, even, than the thought of running wild in wolf form. She tried never to think of him. Because the truth was that Weston was the one thing Charity hadn’t wanted to leave behind. It had broken her heart to do it.
She and Weston had fallen in love young. It had been entirely unexpected. Although they’d grown up together, Charity and the rest of the young girls had been kept separate from the boys of the pack throughout much of their childhood. Most of her interactions had been with the women of the pack. The boys her own age had regarded their female counterparts as objects of curiosity, and more than once she’d spied them peeking through her bedroom window, trying to get a look at her and her sisters.
In her teenage years, the restrictions around the girls had loosened somewhat. Her alpha, Karl, had warned them to guard themselves and advised the boys to keep their hands off. It hadn’t been an order, but by and large, it had been obeyed. They would face the alpha/omega ceremony when they turned eighteen, after all, and the two most vital roles in their generation would be decided. One young man would be declared the rising alpha, with the power and the knowledge to one day take over the pack. And one young woman would become the omega, the bearer of the next litter of pups.
