Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Rhodes Van Doren
“How is our guest doing?” I ask, looking in the rearview mirror.
All seven dogs shift in their seats to look at the terrified governor tied up and strapped into the back seat, with Schnookums on one side and Velvet on the other. Poor Lee is up front with me.
Not that Lee minds being in the front seat.
I think he actually really loves it. But the front seat isn’t designed for a hundred-and-seventy-pound wolf dog.
My poor baby’s back feet stick out in front of him.
Which means I’ve only snapped a hundred pictures because he’s cute as fuck, sitting like a person with his tongue sticking out.
Our precious governor tries to yell at me through his gag. Schnookums growls, which makes him shut right up.
“Tsk tsk. I know you’re saying something quite rude when Schnookums takes offense. Best to watch your mouth or he’s going to take an early bite.” My precious pup bares his teeth, and I’m pretty sure I see a bead of sweat trail down the good governor’s temple.
His eyes shift around at my big loves as they drool and lick their jowls, all while staring at the governor. I smile. “Any requests for a last song, Governor?”
He screams behind his gag, earning himself a chorus of growls. I smile, loving the deep, rumbly chill that their snarls fill the truck with.
It’s dangerous having a man tied up in my back seat. If we get stopped, I’m not sure that I or my dogs would get off scot-free, even with my family name. Especially not with a corrupt governor who will probably tell all kinds of exaggerated truths.
He doesn’t know what the truth is yet. I can promise him it’ll be far worse than what he can dream up. I’m going to save that surprise for when we arrive at our destination. Can’t spoil all the fun so early.
I’m fairly certain that we’re home free as far as running into any cops. We’re on the back road of a back road in the middle of nowhere Canada. Oh, and we’re surrounded by dense forest.
“Let’s just see what’s on the radio,” I say, flicking the switch, and one of the most upbeat songs in existence fills the cab. “Excellent. Truly encompasses the vibe for today, don’t you think?”
I turn the dial up and sing along as best I can. There are only like eight words in this song, I think. “I’m walking on sunshine, wooah!” I bob my head along for a minute and wave my hands at the dogs so they sing along, too.
My voice is immediately joined by the most beautiful chorus of howls a human has ever had the honor of hearing. The sound of my pack singing in perfect unison.
Probably. A mother only hears perfect harmony in her children, after all. At least, I think so. What do I know about mothers?
“And don’t it feel good?!” I shout-sing.
I turn the dial down when the song ends. “Good job, babies. Such beautiful voices. And just in time. Look at that. We’re here.”
The pack shifts in their seats, adjusting themselves so they can see into the forest. Very nice.
A good spot. It’s been dozens and dozens of miles since we passed another living person.
My truck is pulled off onto an overgrown road that has my curiosity piqued.
Where does it go? What will I find at the other end?
“Good spot, right?” I ask.
Several yips agree with me.
I kill the engine and pocket my phone and keys. “You have the door, Lovey Cakes?”
In answer, the side door slides open. No, Lovey Cakes doesn’t have thumbs. There’s a handy little button that I’ve taught her to push with her nose, and the door is entirely automatic.
“Good girl. Come on, my sweet babies. Let’s give the good governor the lowdown on the game we’re going to play.”
I shut my door and circle to the back hatch.
It opens as the last of my dogs leaves the truck, and Lovey Cakes hits the button to close the door with her nose.
Such smart babies. They’re going to need a good treat when we’re finished here.
Good thing there’s a stream nearby. They’re also going to need a good bath.
I press the button on the back of the third row that makes the back fold down flat. Reaching beyond our tied and gagged governor, I unbuckle his seat belt. “Safety first,” I told him when I buckled him in. The look he gave me will forever make me laugh.
The plastic bag under him crinkles. I always line the seat under my targets. They tend to piss themselves when my sweet babies pile into the truck around them. It’s like they’ve never seen a pack of dogs before.
I haul the governor of Florida out of my truck and drop him onto the ground. He’s on his side, looking up at me as I unfold a hunting knife. My pack surrounds us, making a semicircle and enclosing us at the back of the truck.
Crouching down, I begin cutting him free, starting with the gag around his neck. I enjoy the tears that fill his eyes when I slide the knife between his skin and the ropes. That terror… It’s so beautiful.
“Humans are like sheep,” I tell him as I slowly cut him free.
“The hateful ones need a hateful leader, and they’ll flock to the polls to make sure you and your hateful agenda progress.
If you were a better person, you’d care about the hurt you’re causing millions of people in your state.
Instead, your only goal is to hurt other people who are doing nothing to you. ”
This man is smart enough not to argue.
“One of my most favorite adages of the day is this—there’s no hate like Christian love.
I must say, would your god approve of all the hate you spread in his name, Governor?
Would your god really condone all the cruelty and nastiness that you pass into law?
” I lean forward. “Would he approve of what you get up to in your spare time?”
Fear flickers in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters.
“They never do. Pity. You should probably say your prayers and beg your god for forgiveness. Although, if he’s truly a good god, you’re going straight to hell no matter how much you beg.
The bad don’t deserve heaven, no matter how many times they apologize.
You’ve ruined and taken far too many lives for an afterlife of paradise. Don’t you agree, Governor?”
He presses his lips together, but my babies agree. All seven of my giant wolf dogs yap.
“Get up,” I tell him as I straighten. He slowly gets to his feet, staring at me warily.
“Here’s the game. You get a twenty-minute head start.
You best spend your time running and praying your feet carry you a very long distance.
Please look for help, too. We love it when they scream pathetically.
” I lean forward again, and he catches his breath.
“I’m about to show you the same kind of mercy you show the queer community in your state, Governor.
Not to mention your own personal victims. I have quite the list. Shall we talk about them? Do you remember their names, Governor?”
He doesn’t answer.
I take a step back, and three of my babies move to open the circle. The governor stares at the open spot with big eyes. Silence surrounds us, though I’m sure I hear his heart trying to beat its way from his chest.
“Run,” I say.
It takes him a beat before he turns and bolts deeper into the woods. We don’t hear his screams, though my babies listen closely.
It was tricky getting this disgusting man into Canada. I obviously couldn’t cross the border with him tied up in my back seat. It’s hard enough crossing the border with seven giant wolf dogs in my truck.
Thankfully, I have dual citizenship, and half my pups are Canadian-born residents. It took me a while to acquire my dual citizenship, but thankfully, with genetic testing and connecting family trees online, it proves that I’m forty percent Canadian. That means Mommy Dearest was Canadian.
Not for the first time, I wonder where my father met her. I wonder if he even remembers her name. Was I dropped off on his doorstep?
I spend the next twenty minutes cleaning any sign of this man from my truck. With ropes in hand and the plastic bag balled up—clean, by the way—I slide my backpack on and we wait for the twenty minutes to end.
Now I’m bored. I should have given him less time.
“Do you still hear him running?” I ask. My pups don’t answer, of course. “Floofy Pants, you’re taking lead today. Everyone else hear that?”
I meet all seven dogs’ eyes. Yes, they heard that. Training dogs so that you are the absolute authority at every single minute is difficult. Training dogs that are upward of being genetically ninety percent wolf is even more challenging.
It’s also the most rewarding. And also why they’re my chosen weapon on any given hunt. They trust me as their alpha because I provide for them what an alpha does. Discipline when needed. Love and entertainment always. And, of course, the hunt.
“Now, don’t get distracted with rabbits this time, Sweetums.” Her ears go down briefly. “There’s plenty of the good governor to go around. Let’s go.”
My pack and I move into the woods on the governor’s trail. I wonder what strategy he’ll choose. Run until he can’t run anymore? Run until he’s out of sight and then walk because he’s hopelessly out of shape? Climb a tree, thinking that height will keep him safe?
We don’t run after the governor. We prowl.
Okay, my pack prowls. I walk at a leisurely but somewhat brisk pace, as much as the foliage allows.
As always, my footsteps are the loudest. I don’t know how they manage to be nearly silent given that they have four paws each and weigh more than I do, but such is the disadvantage of being human, I suppose.
Floofy Pants gives the alert that he’s picked up the trail. It’s not long after that when he’s in sight. He’d chosen to stop for a breath, leaning against a large tree. As soon as he sees us, he’s screaming, begging, and trying to stumble off.
Unfortunately for all of us, my phone rings. Honestly, I’m impressed with the places I have reception. The best thing in the world was the Van Doren satellites we launched. We truly have bars everywhere.
“Silence him,” I say.
There’s a moment of very loud chaos before the governor’s screams gurgle into silence. Pity. He deserved to suffer far more than that. But fucking Lloyd Thakrar. Damn man is always interrupting my fun.
“Hello, Lloyd,” I greet him, though I’m not sure it’s a greeting.
“Van Doren,” he says, and I roll my eyes. My only identity, as far as he’s concerned, is my last name. “How are you, mate?”
This guy thinks he’s British. I’ve heard him try on a British accent from time to time and attempt to play it off like he just happened to pick it up from vacationing in England.
For a week, mind you. A week.
“Peachy,” I say.
Three of my dogs are staring at the governor, two big paws on his chest. Almost daring him to make a sound. The remaining four are watching me.
“I’m in the middle of something here. What do you want?”
“So crass,” he says. I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. It’s not like he can see me. “I’m checking in on whether you’ll be able to spare some time for your old classmates. Our reunion is in a week, and you haven’t RSVP’d.”
Because I don’t want to go.
“You do want to attend, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve accomplished a lot and have the most spectacularly perfect little family, Van Doren. Are you really going to miss this opportunity to brag about your life and show up all the little people?”
There’s humor in his taunts. My life, like those of every member of my family, has a fan site. Fan social media accounts. Fuck, I’ve even seen fanfiction! We all know I don’t have the perfect little family he’s alluding to. Which is his point.
As far as he’s concerned, I’m failing. He’s winning.
“Yes,” I say and scowl. “I’ll be there. As will my partner. You can mark us down for nine.”
“Nine?” He’s almost horrified.
“Nine,” I confirm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I really am in the middle of something. I don’t have time for your charming chatter, Lloyd. I’ll see you next week.”
I hang up before he can answer and stuff my phone into my pocket. Annoyed. Fucking Lloyd Thakrar. I hate him.
Remembering where I am, I meet my pack’s eyes. “Sorry, babies. Can he still run?”
The pups back away, and the governor whimpers.
I sigh. “Fortunately for you, you remained silent during my phone call. I’ll afford you a somewhat quick death.
Not too quick, because you really have hurt a fuck ton of people.
Yes, that’s an actual measurement. You have another five minutes to use as you please. ”
All seven dogs sit right where they were standing and wait patiently for the five minutes to pass. Meanwhile, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. I need a date. One who can lie convincingly.
I huff. Nope. This isn’t going to work. I pull up the Heart2Heart app and adjust my profile.
[In need of a long weekend date—Friday night to Monday morning. All expenses paid. I’m going to need a lot of orgasms to get through this miserable weekend. Also, you need good acting skills. You also need to be far more upbeat than I’m going to be and not let my mood bring you down.]
I tap my chin for a minute. Ah. Yes.
[Must like dogs—this is nonnegotiable.]
Once my profile is updated, I begin scrolling through potential matches. Who the hell exists with enough impenetrable happiness to counterbalance my gloomy, dark mood that’s going to hang around all weekend? This is going to be a disaster.