Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Neil
By the time Doyle is set to arrive, everything is in place.
Well, as “in place” as things can get when there are bunch of unpredictable variables that are completely out of my control.
There’s only so much I can do to prepare when there are about a million tiny details that could go wrong, and most of them involve trusting Taylor’s word about an Alpha I’ve never met.
Because what if he’s wrong?
Taylor said Solomon couldn’t possibly be corrupt, but that could be his crush talking and a lot of what happens next depends on the Rockcastle Alpha having impeccable integrity.
In my experience, that’s not a very common quality, but I don’t really have any choice but to trust he’ll do the right thing and not be swayed by Doyle.
I’m short on allies, so I have to take what I get.
At the moment, I’m still locked in the bedroom in what I’ve come to learn is the house where Blake and his brother used to live, waiting not-so-patiently for them to be ready for me at the main house.
There’s always some initial posturing when Alphas are involved, so I’m stuck here until they get the Alpha-to-Alpha small talk out of the way.
And I hate it. The waiting. The uncertainty. The feeling that everything is going to go wrong and I won’t know until it’s too late.
Anxiety scratches at my chest and twists in my stomach, the sensation driving me to my feet. I pace from one side of the room to the other, clenching and unclenching my fists as my head spins with what-ifs.
What if Doyle doesn’t show up? What if he doesn’t fall for it?
What if Solomon screws me over?
What if I never see Blake again?
My wolf recoils at the thought and pain flares in the back of my neck. I stop, close my eyes, and grit my teeth until the feeling passes, going right back to my pacing once it does.
I’m so wrapped up in my agitated spiraling, I don’t hear the door unlock, and I jolt when it swings open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
The two praetorians from earlier stride into the room.
The one who did the talking last time approaches me, a glint of wariness in his eyes as he walks closer.
“You remember what you’re supposed to say, right?” he asks.
I glare at him. “Yeah.”
“And you’re going to come quietly?” He detaches a pair of shifter handcuffs from his belt. “Or do I need to use these?”
“I’ll come quietly,” I say stiffly. The handcuffs might be good for optics—poor helpless Neil at Doyle’s mercy—but getting out of the damn things can be a real pain in the ass, so I’m going to skip them.
The praetorian takes hold of my upper arm and pulls me toward the door, his silent buddy falling in beside me as we exit the house and start along a narrow path through the trees.
About five minutes later, the path widens and dumps us out in a circular clearing with a single structure in the center: an oversized cabin with an entire wall of windows, a porch, and a deck.
The two praetorians march me right up to the front door.
A female praetorian I haven’t met answers their knock and gestures for us to enter.
She flashes me a tight smile then leads us toward the back of the house.
We pass through a living room decorated with what you might expect to find featured in Lumberjack Monthly.
The focal point is a massive stone fireplace, and the rest of the room is made up with lots of wood grain and earth tones. Thankfully no animal heads, though.
The woman who let us in stops by a closed door and taps her knuckles on it.
A gruff voice bids us to enter, and we file inside what I’m assuming is the Alpha’s office.
There’s a dark wooden desk set in front of another large window that looks out into the trees, and behind the desk sits a man who must be Solomon.
The Rockcastle Alpha has dark skin and golden eyes.
His presence is both imposing and somehow calming.
It’s certainly not hard to see why Taylor has the hots for him.
Solomon briefly meets my eyes and dips his chin maybe half a millimeter.
He returns his attention to Doyle, who’s lounging in a chair opposite, seemingly without a care in the world.
Doyle doesn’t even bother acknowledging our entrance.
His lips are curled in a smug smile, and he has an air of easy confidence as he continues telling Solomon about his casino.
“It’s really a lovely building. If you’re ever in Vegas, you should come by sometime.
I’ll have my people comp you a room, one indicative of your status. ” He smirks. “And our new friendship.”
I swallow, anxiety tightening my throat. This whole buddy-buddy routine is not doing my nerves any favors.
“Perhaps once I’ve gotten the remaining issues straightened out and the triumvirate no longer requires my services here,” replies Solomon, his tone bland but pleasant enough.
“Well, the offer is open anytime,” says Doyle. His gaze slides to me and his expression grows even more smug. “It appears my wayward pack member has finally arrived. Now, as I was saying earlier, there’s no need to wait for an official magistrate. I’m perfectly content for you to hear my case.”
Solomon nods to the praetorians who escorted me here and tilts his head toward the empty chair to Doyle's left. The praetorians maneuver me closer, shoving me down in the indicated chair before moving back to position themselves on either side of the doorway.
“You’re dismissed,” says Solomon, waving at the praetorians.
The two of them exchange a look, then file out of the room.
Once they’re gone, Solomon returns his attention to Doyle.
“If you waive your right to have a magistrate hear your case, you must agree to accept my judgment, no matter the outcome. Do I have your agreement?”
“Of course,” says Doyle, ignoring the formality of the question. “You seem like a reasonable man, and this matter is simple enough.”
Face blank, Solomon says, “Very well then. Please explain why you believe this young man should be given into your custody.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” I blurt out, the words escaping before I have a chance to hold them back.
Both Alphas glance at me, the intensity of their attention almost a physical weight on my shoulders. Doyle barely holds back a sneer, but Solomon only gives me an impassive look. Either the guy’s a really good actor or I’m about to get screwed here. I’m crossing my fingers it’s option one.
“No,” says Solomon. There’s no inflection in his voice, but he meets my eyes for a second before he returns his focus to Doyle. “Go ahead.”
Doyle lets out a soft chuckle. “Thank you for your consideration, Solomon. Neil here has spent too much time in the company of a feral for me to be confident that he can make his own decisions.” Solomon doesn’t respond, so Doyle keeps talking.
“As I explained when I called the other day, a feral shifter passing through my territory kidnapped the boy, and I’m simply requesting he be returned to me as is proper under shifter law. ”
I bite back a growl. This “boy” is twenty-two years old.
Solomon shifts in his chair, his gaze flicking to me, then back to Doyle.
“The feral is another issue we need to discuss,” he says, a bit of his impassive facade falling away as his eyes narrow.
“Under whose authority did you utilize triumvirate officers on Rockcastle territory to capture and retrieve the feral? It certainly wasn’t mine. ”
Doyle coughs. “Ah, well, I knew you had enough on your plate getting Rockcastle back in shape, so I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I’d save you the hassle by dealing with the feral myself.”
Solomon makes a humming noise and simply stares at Doyle with an indecipherable expression.
The edges of Doyle’s mouth twitch, his smile faltering for half a second. “Of course, I should’ve asked permission, and if you’d like me to, say, pay some sort of restitution for the slight, I’d be more than happy to. Just name your price.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Solomon, waving his hand dismissively. “I do have one more question regarding the feral, though.” He pauses, letting the silence draw out. “How is it that you knew the feral was headed here?”
There’s a flicker of panic in Doyle’s eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears. “I was fortunate in that I managed to put a tracker on it.”
A tracker? But we got rid of the collar, so how… I mentally face-palm.
Doyle chipped Blake like some kind of dog. I was so convinced they tracked us to the junkyard because of the stupid collar that I didn’t bother to check for anything else.
“Fortunate indeed,” says Solomon. “And rather… convenient as well, yes?”
“I suppose you could say that,” says Doyle, followed by an awkward chuckle. “Now, going back to—”
The phone on Solomon’s desk lets out a sharp ring, and the Alpha holds up a hand to forestall any more words from Doyle before picking up the receiver.
“Yes?” He listens for a few seconds. “I see. And the rest of what we talked about?” Another quiet pause, and Solomon’s eyes dart to me. “Very well then. I’ll take care the rest.”
Solomon hangs up the phone and leans back a little in his chair, intently studying Doyle’s face for a beat before asking, “What was your relationship with the former Rockcastle Alpha Mate, Wanda Jenkins?”
Doyle blinks, confusion etched into the lines of his face at the seemingly random shift in the conversation. “I didn’t have one. I don’t believe I ever met her.”
Solomon continues in that nonchalant tone. “And the former Alpha, Earl Jenkins?”
“I never met him either,” replies Doyle, eyes narrowing a little. “It’s my understanding that they both were removed from their positions because of mismanagement of pack resources.”
“Something like that,” says Solomon. One corner of his mouth twitches and he continues staring at Doyle.
The longer the silence drags out, the more flustered Doyle gets. He flounders a bit as he tries to put together a response. “Why are you asking? Like I said, I didn’t know either of them.”
“And I believe you,” says Solomon in a matter-of-fact tone. Just as Doyle starts to relax, he adds, “Because you dealt with the humans and not directly with Wanda.”
Doyle sputters. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That single dark brow rises again, and Solomon smiles, the expression like a predator about to pounce. “Oh, but I think you do. You see, that phone call just confirmed everything Neil told one of my betas about your involvement in trafficking and illegal fights.”
Doyle’s nostrils flare and his upper lip curls. “You’re taking the word of some mongrel over a fellow Alpha?”
“No. I’m taking the word of one of my people over the word of a pathetic excuse of an Alpha who doesn’t deserve that title.” He smirks. “And I’m also taking the word of the triumvirate’s very thorough investigators who have been working on this case for months.”
Doyle jumps to his feet, huffing with indignation. “How dare you accuse me of such nonsense. I don’t have to stand for this. I can see now that you’re not objective enough to oversee this dispute.”
“Suit yourself,” says Solomon, shrugging one shoulder. “But Neil Cahill stays here.”
“We’ll see what a magistrate says about that after I inform the triumvirate about this… farce of yours.”
“Farce? You requested for me to hear your dispute and agreed to accept my judgment. This is my judgment. Neil Cahill does not belong to your pack. He never did.” He flashes sharpened fangs. “And the feral does not belong to you either.”
Doyle sneers. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, or however the saying goes.” He pauses, and a slimy smile spreads across his face.
“Not that it matters. By law there’s only one thing to do for ferals—put them down—and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
” His gaze moves to me. “That is, unless you’d like to go with me voluntarily? ”
I start to get up, but Solomon speaks. “Sit down, Neil.”
My butt hits the chair before I can even process the fact that Solomon used an Alpha command on me. Asshole. That’s twice in one day I’ve had my free will stolen.
“I’m not letting him kill Blake,” I snap at Solomon, my wolf pressing forward to give my words an underlying growl. “He isn’t feral.”
Doyle snorts. “I’d like to see you prove it.” He sends a scathing glare at Solomon. “If that’s all, I’m leaving.”
I struggle against the command keeping me in this stupid chair as Doyle stomps out the door. “Let me up! He’s getting away!”
“It’s all under control,” says Solomon, his voice calm. He stands up from his chair and gestures toward the doorway. “Come."
I flash my teeth at him, barely holding back a snarl. “I’m not a dog.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” He gestures toward the doorway again. “Please, join me.”
Grumbling under my breath, I follow the Rockcastle Alpha out into the living room where two praetorians have Doyle by the arms. One of them is the woman who answered the door and the other is an older man I haven’t met.
The woman jerks her chin up in greeting. “We’ve got it from here, Solomon.”
“Thank you, Yang.” He nods at the man. “Smith.”
The two praetorians start escorting a strangely passive Doyle toward the front door as Yang says, “Cormac Doyle, you are under arrest for kidnapping, assault, trafficking, illegal gambling, and exposing humans to shifters.” She snickers.
“There are probably a few more things to tack on later, but I can’t think of them right now. ”
Smith opens the front door, and they tug Doyle outside. Something they see just past the doorway causes the praetorians’ steps to falter. Doyle uses that split-second hesitation to break free of their hold, pulling his arms free and running forward.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but that asshole is absolutely not getting away.
I sprint out the door, pushing past the two praetorians still standing on either side of the doorway, then freezing in place when I take in the scene outside.
Doyle didn’t make it far. He’s on his back in the gravel, only a few feet off the porch, with a huge golden wolf holding him down, one I’d recognize anywhere: Blake.