Chrysalis (Men of the Wilds #2)

Prologue

EZEKIEL

Two years before Seth.

Fourteen years before Aurelia George…

All right. Here it is,” Thorin announces. He pans the laptop’s camera around the sparsely furnished room. The line is silent as Khalil and I try to think of something to say that won’t make Thorin regret signing away his life to the fucking Marines.

The dorm room is depressing as fuck and pretty much what you’d expect, but if you pictured the poverty line as the ocean’s surface, Thorin and I are somewhere around where the Titanic sank. It’s impossible to reach it without imploding. Needless to say, military barracks are a giant leap up.

At least now, he’s guaranteed three meals a day and a roof over his head that he doesn’t have to share with Annalise’s smoker friends.

It would get so bad at times that he’d come home from school and find that he’d have nowhere to sleep because the house, along with his room and his bed, had been loaned out for a fix.

The three of us would usually run them off, but that would only solve his troubles on the surface and none of the ones that ran deep.

We have that in common—except Thorin can remember all the reasons why.

Khalil is the only one of us who came from a stable, loving home, and even though he’s doing a better job masking his thoughts, his background inside the five-star hotel suite stands out in stark contrast to Thorin’s.

The cinder block walls of Thor’s room remind me of the cells I spent a lot of time in as a kid along with the simple wooden twin bed, nightstand, desk, and four-drawer chest. He has a better view than I did though—a single window with a view of the neighboring barracks brick wall.

“It’s um…bigger than I expected,” Khalil lamely remarks.

“That’s what she said.” Khalil and Thorin groan at my even lamer attempt at humor while I peer into Thorin’s background. “I don’t see another bed. It’s just you?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a sigh as he takes a seat at his desk. “Most of the rooms are doubles, but I lucked out and got a single.”

“That’s pretty cool. You can jerk off whenever you want. I know how much you like your alone time.”

Thorin flips me off.

Khalil laughs with his fist poised over his grinning mouth. He says something, but I only catch half of it.

On the path to become a boxing champ, his background is currently filled with the voices of his ever-growing entourage and groupies hoping to be chosen. When Thorin and I give him a questioning look, Khalil suddenly looks over his shoulder and snaps, “Can y’all shut the fuck up?”

The small but loud group that was standing nearest him moves away with mumbled apologies, but the rap music blasting from speakers still makes it hard to hear him, so he shakes his head in frustration before getting up and leaving the room.

The noise fades until he shuts himself inside another room.

“Sorry about that,” he grumbles once he’s alone. “I asked if the girl is cute, and if you hit it yet.”

Thorin cocks his head with a deceptively innocent look. “What girl?”

“The one in charge of room assignments of course.” Lucked out my ass. No way they were handing out single rooms to a grunt.

Khalil is showing all of his teeth when he sticks his face so close to the camera, I can count his nose hairs. “She clearly has a crush on you, my boy.” He pulls back and waggles his brows. “So are you gonna fuck or what? What’s her rank? Is she higher than you? Y’all gon’ role play?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thorin dismisses Khalil’s prying with a wave of his hand. “How’s the shoulder?”

Khalil took a pretty nasty hit during his match tonight and still managed to knock out his opponent. I caught the whole thing on a friend’s TV since I don’t have cable.

Or power.

Or running water.

The only reason I’m even on the video call is because the girl I occasionally screw let me borrow her laptop and internet while she hangs out at her boyfriend’s place.

Khalil’s win is the reason for the celebration unfolding in his hotel suite, and even though I miss him more than I’ll ever let on because Khalil will only feel guilty for leaving, I’m proud and happy for him. Khalil was living his dream—even if his dream took him far away from me.

Thorin too, except the Corps was no dream come true. It was an escape. But it also took him the farthest away, to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.

I’d gone from being one-third of a pack to a lone wolf. Six Forks just wasn’t the same without them, and even though Khalil’s dad had given me a job at his construction company, it was still getting harder to find a reason to leave bed every morning.

I was happy for my best friends. Truly.

But some days, I lost the battle with the tiny seed of resentment over being left behind. It’s been two years since we graduated from high school, and they’ve already figured out what the fuck they want out of life. Who does that?

It’s unfair for me to feel this way. I know that. But knowing doesn’t help it go away.

Thorin, Khalil, and I talk for an hour before there’s a knock on Thor’s door.

He gets up to answer it, and when he returns, he isn’t alone.

Only half of the room is lit by a lamp, so I catch the silhouette of a woman as she shyly sits on the edge of his bed.

She’s short in stature with dark hair pulled back in a bun, a cute button nose, pouty pink lips, and a sergeant rank emblazoned on the front of her uniform.

She clearly has a few years on Thorin too, appearing in her late twenties.

“One sec,” he tells her before turning away to face the laptop. Thorin leans down so that he’s eye level with the camera, blocking our view of the nervous girl.

“My boy,” Khalil covertly praises with a grin.

Thorin winks. “Gotta go.”

“Remember your safe words!”

“And wear a condom!” I shout just before his screen goes black.

Khalil and I are silent for several seconds before we erupt in a roar that lasts until I have a stitch in my side.

For someone who acts like he’s no good with charming women, Thorin sure works fast when he wants to.

His Nordic features and those muscles he flaunts make him look like he’s stepped straight out of a Viking romance.

He’s also mean as fuck, which…I guess some girls like too.

Once Khalil and I quiet, I notice a second too late that he’s watching me with an assessing gaze that wasn’t there before Thorin hung up. “So what’s up, man? Everything cool over there? You good?”

“Yeah.” My gaze shifts to the side as I rub the back of my neck. “Everything’s…the same,” I finish lamely because I can’t even think of a lie worth telling when I spend my days on autopilot.

Khalil is quiet for a moment before he eyes me hesitantly, and I know what he’s going to say before he even speaks. “You know my offer still stands. I’ve got a few months before my title fight. Say the word and I’ll send you a plane ticket.”

I laugh him off like I always do to keep from feeling like a total fucking loser.

My mom died when I was nine, and I barely remember her.

My memories of my time with her are fragmented, inconsistent, and covered in rain clouds.

There are pieces that whisper terror and others that promise love.

But all those pieces have done is left me confused and torn—like I could split right in half—until I taught myself not to think about her at all.

After she died, I was bounced around foster homes—when I wasn’t in juvie—so I never stuck around in one place long enough for any of the countless faceless people who sheltered me to encourage me toward more.

I can’t blame it all on the broken system though. I stopped caring long before they did.

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty about leaving, and you fucking shouldn’t,” I tell Khalil.

“I’m a grown man. Besides…” I force a smile as I wink at the screen.

“We can’t all be destined for greatness, and I have no interest in being your baggage.

” When Khalil says nothing and the silence stretches on, I realize all I’ve probably done is give him more reason to worry about me.

“Look, I’ll find my own thing,” I promise softly.

“You and Thorin did. I’m just a little slower to get off the stoop. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I hear you, man,” he says unconvincingly before switching the subject. “How’s work?”

I shrug noncommittally. “Fine.”

Khalil’s eyes narrow. “My pops told me you’ve been showing up late or not at all sometimes. What’s up with that? You know he loves you like a son, but he will fire your ass, Zeke.”

“You checking up on me?”

“Of course. You’re my brother.”

“Well, don’t bother. I’m fine. I was just… I’m fine. Okay?”

“I know you are, man. It’s just…” Khalil blows a breath and shakes his head but doesn’t finish whatever he’d been about to say. Suddenly, he looks stressed and cornered, and now I’m the one worried.

“What?” I prod urgently.

His eyes flash with annoyance. “Has it even occurred to you that I’m offering to bring you with me because I fucking miss you too? Being on the road isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I get homesick. I get lonely. It isn’t just always about you.”

“You literally have like fifty people in your hotel room right now.”

An intense look of aggravation suddenly crossed Khalil’s handsome face. “Man, I don’t know them fucking people,” he gripes.

I snorted. “Well, who invited them?”

“Gary.”

I groan. “Dude, I told you making your cousin your manager was a mistake. He’s a drunk. All he ever wants to do is party.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I know. But he has a good head for business. Plus, if I fire him, my Aunt Cherise is going to kick my ass. Thanksgiving already be nothing but drama.”

“Another reason why you shouldn’t have hired him.”

“I know, I know.” He thinks about it for a little while and then adds, “I might have to fuck him up a little bit and then we’ll be straight.

” Khalil yawns, and something that feels like panic spears through my chest. He’s been so busy lately.

This is our first time talking in two weeks.

It was the same with Thorin, who had just finished his MOS training.

His unit was getting ready to deploy, so there hadn’t been any leave for him to come home before he had to report to his duty station either.

“Hey, uh…you want to call Thorin and see what he’s up to?” I ask, scrambling for a reason to keep Khalil on the phone.

Just a few minutes more. I don’t want to be alone.

Khalil shoots me a weird look. “You get hit on the head recently? He’s fucking, remember?”

“Yeah, but I think I can hack into his account and turn the camera on.” I’m already bringing up the web browser on Whitney’s computer and typing in an address. “Trace showed me how.”

“That’s not at all disturbing,” I hear Khalil say.

I’m already downloading the program Trace designed when I knowingly toss back, “So you don’t want to watch?”

Khalil pretends to consider it for a moment before a slow smile takes over his face. “Nah, I definitely want to watch. Do it.”

Later, when I’m walking home with my head down, hoodie up, and hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans, I’m staring at the ruptured sidewalk of my street like I always do, counting the cracks because it looks the way I feel inside.

Up ahead, I hear a bottle roll, and in this neighborhood, no matter the time of day, it always means something when you’re not alone.

I lift my head, but the red Porsche 911 parked on the street up ahead doesn’t give me pause.

It’s not unusual to see a nice car creeping through here, someone looking to score.

The true eyesore is the man leaning against it, sporting a Colgate smile, a thick wave of sandy brown hair, and Ray-Bans.

I keep my eyes on him as I dodge the deep gouges in the sidewalk like a rehearsed dance, and even behind the dark shades, I know the man is watching me back. His smile brightens with each step that brings me closer to him until I’m officially weirded out.

“If you’re looking for Molly, that’s two doors down,” I tell him as I point.

I don’t wait for a response as I turn down the broken path with overgrown weeds sprouting through to the crumbling shack I once shared with my mother.

It was a home she’d inherited from her grandmother, and the only reason it passed on to me was because it didn’t.

I was squatting in my own home.

“I wondered if I’d know it was you,” the man says mysteriously. I keep walking since I know better than to engage with anyone lurking around here. “You look just like your father!” he calls out when he realizes I’m not going to stop.

My foot pauses on the first broken step as I twist to look behind me. “What did you say?”

“Your father,” he says. “You look just like him, Ezekiel.”

Completely aside from the fact that he knows my name, he’s wrong.

I’ve never met my father, but I’ve seen pictures of my mother.

I have flashes of her face in my head—sometimes contorted in rage and others smiling softly down at me.

I have everything of hers except for her dark brown eyes.

My green eyes I must have gotten from my father, who I hear has or had strong Italian ancestry.

I still don’t know if the bastard is alive or dead.

“I’m sorry… Who are you?” I ask rather than correct the stranger. It’s clear this meeting was no accident, and I’m not telling him shit until I know why he’s here.

Reaching up, the man removes his sunglasses and tucks them inside his shirt pocket.

The shock of seeing my own green eyes staring back ripples through me, as does the wound that spreads into a spiderweb of cracks.

It’s not just the same color. It’s a twin set—as if someone used a dropper tool to match the spring shade.

“I’m Isaac,” he supplies casually. “I’m your brother.”