Chapter 4 - Dash
CHAPTER 4 - DASH
Trigger warning: mention of the kidnap of a secondary character’s sister and the accident of the primary character.
One goddam toe in that ring and I was a goner. Lone wolf no more. Moon matched to a female I didn’t know or might not like. Women were a hassle and a drama. I loved once, paid the price. Never again.
Wary of the ceremony, I stood under the canopy of a sturdy Eucalyptus, far away from the pairing circle as possible. Claws of moonlight pierced the shivering leaves, monstrous and deadly, seeking the flesh of my shoulders to drag me to my fate. The moon hovered above like the eye of an angel of light, watching me, judging me for my sins and promising to punish me.
Father’s Alpha command got me here, completing my duty for Pack Lumbry. Hair combed neatly and fused in place with wax, rocking suit slacks, shiny shoes, collared shirt, topped off with a spritz of spicy aftershave. Though, he didn’t entirely get his way, and I made a statement in pure Dash Lumbry style. Tattooed fingers floated down my motorcycle cut over the top of a dress shirt.
Unmated males and females gathered on the circle’s edges, waiting for the priest to commence the ceremony when the moon hit full apex and light. Several cast admiring glances at the shifters they hoped to be matched with. A lack of silvery bite marks indicated their unmated status, and they rubbed at their necks, feeling the burn of the moon’s call. Female perfumes scented the air, cloying my throat and nose, and my wolf growled, prowling beneath the surface, ready to take his mate into the woods and make her ours.
Ten pillars braced a domed ceiling with a circle in the top allowing moonlight to feed the nightshade tree growing in the center. The tree bore witness to all our ceremonies dating back over two hundred years, when we colonized the area and the Lycans gave birth to our species.
Small plants and flowers glowed pink and purple in the dark, illuminating the sacred site, gifts from the Lycans to continue their traditions, which the priests were entrusted to protect and preserve.
Thirteen members of my pack attending the ceremony hovered around the stones marking The Grove. Five awaited entry into the circle for pairing, two who attended were stationed as sentries and guards.
The remaining four of them worked under me in the Jackals’ Wrath MC. Steele, my vice president and second-in-command, prowled the perimeter, no sign of his stoic, broody demeanor. Vengeance blazed in his eyes as he glanced at his watch and crunched his knuckles, waiting for the fucking Malice mutts to show.
His sister went missing nine months ago with no trace, and we had suspects but couldn’t pin a damn thing on them. Losing his missus almost two years ago, he broke down when Whitney disappeared, and was out for justice tonight.
Arden, player, jokester, and my club sergeant-in-arms, hooked a hand over Cindy’s shoulder, chasing off interest from surrounding females. Like me, he didn’t want to be tied down and made a fucking statement about it. Damn pack slut hung off him, rubbing her tits into his arms, cooing in his ear, desperate to earn a position as the club’s sweet butt. Fury scorched my veins. I’d rather stick hot pokers through my eyes than make her one.
Ryda, club road captain, had to look after his family since his dad was up for fraud charges and facing jail time. Solicitor fees drove his family into debt, and Pack Lumbry dug deep to contribute to their legal funds.
Beau, club and pack enforcer, held back, sticking close to me, guarding me, wary of making trouble. Fresh out of jail, thanks to his barrister winning an appeal, exonerating him for murdering his asshole dad, Beau steered clear of any danger that might land him back in the slammer. Another pack member we rallied through financial strain, testing our limits.
Edgy and impatient, Steele tugged at his collar and twitched his hulking shoulders, his muscles threatening to burst out of his sharp suit.
Redneck hollers and jeers marked the arrival of the Malice mutts. Twenty of them to be exact, crowding their coward Umbra, who offed his dad to get top dog spot. Tension hardened every muscle in Steele’s body like tempered metal. Fuckers strode into The Grove like they owned it, modeling classic Malicewear—handlebar mustaches, shirts with no sleeves, fishing vests, ripped jeans or coveralls, filthy boots, sports caps or bandanas. TJ, a mess of shaggy, greasy hair, rumpled clothes, stinking of beer and stale smokes, flicked his half-smoked cigarette into The Grove. An act of desecration that wouldn’t be received well by the Lunar goddess.
Growls hammered in my throat at my wolf demanding out to spill this shitstain’s blood.
Steele barreled over to The Grove’s edge, fist clenched and shaking at his side. “Where’s my sister?”
Fuck. All hell would break loose if my VP didn’t keep his cool.
TJ Malice glanced up at Steele as if he were a fly he swatted away. “Who the fuck are you, bruh?” he drawled in his thick, country accent. Fucker knew exactly who our second-in-command was. He attended plenty of Shifter Council meetings.
A growl tore from my throat, and I turned to address my enforcer. “Beau, make sure Steele doesn’t cause a scene. Those Malice cocksuckers will hurt his sister if they have her.”
My enforcer’s body quivered with the desire for a fight and revenge. He and Whitney had crushes on each other growing up, but never acted on them until right before he got locked away for two years, trampling any hope of a relationship.
“Yes, President.” He gave me a sharp nod without cutting his focus from his new target.
Heavy, purposeful steps carried him to Steele, driving him from chaos and back to my side, the two of them flanking me.
TJ spat on the ground and gloated at our backing down. “Pussy.” Cocksucker strutted off like a man about to drink down his brother’s dick.
“They’ve got Whitney.” Steele’s wolf raged along our pack link. “I can smell her on them.”
Months of searching met dead ends every time. Useless cops losing or tampering with evidence roused our suspicions of law enforcement interference and pay-offs. Nothing new for the Lithgow Police.
Pack members infiltrated the authorities over a hundred years ago to keep our family abreast of matters concerning our survival. Strain between pack families divided us, and Beau’s father, the goddamn bastard, vied for power in the community and our pack. Three Lumbrys working for the police fell for his lies, sided with him and caused hell for the rest of us these last three years.
I rested a palm on Steele’s quivering shoulder. “Take it easy. Don’t start a fire we can’t put out.”
Leaves crunched behind me at someone’s approach, silencing any talk on the matter. The familiar scent of cedar drilled into my nose, only this time, it burned.
After the attack on our border, Father refused to retaliate against the Malice assmonkeys or launch a rescue mission to retrieve Whitney, weakening his stance in Pack Lumbry. Factions built within our ranks.
Father’s gaze roasted my back, and I imagined his eyes flaming as hot as his temper. “I thought I told you not to wear that filthy vest.” His razor-edged growl attempted to club me into submission.
Steele muttered and shook his head. Compromise was his game, rebellion, mine. Father didn’t encourage individuality and expected us all to dress and behave like soldiers.
I patted the Jackals’ logo on my chest, proud to represent it. “Association with the Jackals’ Wrath MC burns fear into the hearts of men and keeps rivals off our turf, Pop.”
Father didn’t see it that way. “They’re dirty bikers .” Cue the stereotype rant. Three, two, one… “Violent outlaws that sell drugs and ruin lives. Loud, obnoxious men who beat their wives and kill rivals. Ruthless drivers who flout road rules and harm people.”
I laughed in his face at the last one. Fuck him. I’d rather spend time with an outlaw than listen to my father preach. “Been watching a bit too much ABC news, have you? Bikers are the safest drivers on the roads. They have to be to protect their body from harm in a crash.”
He did have me on one point, though. The Jackals bought into the whole drug dealing stereotype, manufacturing and selling Pharaoh, a good-time drug with no side effects or chance of overdose. I took it a couple of times and enjoyed it. Product my men and I were going to deliver on a test run in three days’ time. A deal Pack Lumbry sorely needed to get back on our feet.
After a spate of shitty luck, the tides finally fucking turned for me. Slade Vincent, hot head, devil in the flesh, and president of the Jackals, put a lot of faith in me to start up his new chapter in Lithgow. Crucial grounds that defended his turf from invaders inching west from Sydney and absorbed lands previously owned by the extinct Savage Wolves.
The Jackals were the Central West’s most notorious biker club, and one of the top clubs in Australia, courtesy of the drug, Pharaoh, they invented and sold across two states. Run by demigods, or avatars as they called themselves. Men we didn’t want to end up in a war with. Power that promised us safety from threats along our borders and those that wanted us dead.
Fucking up this opportunity was not on the cards. It risked Slade destroying me, my club brothers, and possibly my pack, out of retaliation. He already destroyed the Winters Devils, the Wolves, and eighty percent of Hellfire MC. The kind of man you wanted on your side, not hunting you.
Failing to fulfill our contract and get the new Jackals chapter up and running within the six months agreed with Slade Vincent meant Pack Lumbry forfeited land and assets to our debtors. This had to work, for my father and my damned pack.
Father didn’t see this as my initiative in solidifying a critical and potentially lucrative deal to solve our debt. Noooo. This was another of his son’s dumb ideas. Fuck that. The little boy in me cried out for recognition, while the jaded man shrugged it off and did my own thing like I always had.
Business aside, membership in and leading an MC gave me meaning and purpose, fulfilling the longing in my soul to ride. Finally, I felt the warmth of sunlight, the clouds from my brother’s shadow as the perfect son moving on.
Paternal pride never entered mine and my father’s relationship. Nothing I did pleased him. I had no illusions regarding what I was good for. Just a tool for his legacy to persist, hence the pressure to find a mate, settle down, and rear an heir for Father to assume control of, and mold him into the obedient soldier he wanted, then shove me aside.
I shook off his Alpha hold and hid my curled fists inside the hip pockets of my cut. “Just sending Pack Malice a little warning.” If they fucked with us again, we had powerful allies that would come to our aide if we called.
Heat seared between us. Hate. Disappointment. Frustration. I held my ground and didn’t bend. That asshole treated me like an ignorant child who displeased him, instead of his twenty-four year old son.
“Watch the pack and keep them in line.” Father’s command quaked in my muscles, the last blow I could handle. Condescending asshole battered me with orders like I didn’t know what to do instinctively as the Umbra’s son.
My ribs puffed out at my chainsaw rumble. “Where are you going?”
Father clobbered me with more dominance. “Attending to business.”
The tooth-cracking clench of my jaw turned my wolf feral. “Thought this was business.”
Wasn’t that why we were here? Pair up unmated members. Bring fresh blood into the fold. Raise new soldiers. We needed some Hester pure blood to strengthen our line when they were the closest to our Lycan ancestors.
“I’ll be back.” Father left the mystery hang the air and disappeared into the forest. Old bastard was up to something. Negotiations to find another heir maybe. Fine by me. I was happy to run the Lithgow Jackals’ chapter.
Movement out the corner of my eye primed my muscles with more tension. My brother, Chase, limped into the circle, bracing himself on his cane. Guilt gripped my throat and squeezed, crushing my windpipe at his uneasy smile.
Dressed to the damn nines, he went all out to impress for his matching tonight. Crisp grey slacks, blue shirt left unbuttoned at the collar, and a charcoal vest. Hair combed and parted to the side, sealed with a light coating of grooming clay scented with citrus notes. The good son who presented like a gentleman, not the wild child.
Chase shuffled to my side and came to a stop. “Why do you goad him, baby brother?” Asshole liked to remind me of my status. “He’s doing his best to protect the pack.”
And I wasn’t? Resentment thickened in my gut.
Father brainwashed him young to command respect with his clothes and manner. Wear slacks, buttoned shirts, and jackets only. No son of his wore sweatpants and hoodies. Address others as sir or ma’am. Shake hands, make eye contact, be polite. Lead by damn example. Rules. Always fucking rules.
Ignoring the reprimand, I whistled low and panned him up and down. “Look at you, big brother. All dressed to impress a fine fox.” I patted his welted chest pocket. “Wait. You’re missing something.” I plucked a flower from the vine crawling over the stone arch encompassing the circle and tucked it in.
My brother tugged at his hair with an unsteady hand, messing up the neat part on the side. “Thanks, baby brother.”
Where I was dark like Father in complexion and hair, Chase was fair like Mom, with sandy-blond hair contrasting with darker brows, and our Leelaw’s whisky-colored eyes.
The knot on his tie sat crooked, and creases ran the length of his shirt, imperfections father would criticize. Nerves about a mate rejecting him for his ruined leg got the better of Chase, and regret rattled against my ribcage. After the accident, the brother I knew faded into oblivion, replaced by the shy hermit who rarely ventured beyond the pack’s lands.
Bullshit .
Shifters might see these as imperfections, but I saw them as strengths. Beyond the physical, my brother had so much to offer. Well-educated and successful with his cold-climate vineyard. Respectful and kind, possessing the patience of a fucking saint to put up with my dad. Chase would make the perfect mate, husband, and father.
I’d give my right leg for him to lead Pack Lumbry. Assume his injuries if it meant freedom from the regret cursing me daily.
“You missed your tie.” I reached out, fixing it for him, loosening the knot and folding the lip into a tight knot. “Better?”
“Yeah.” His rocky words made shame wreak havoc on my intestines.
“You’ll make a good mate.” I clapped him on the shoulder, a pitiful attempt to hammer confidence back into his soul. Back into mine.
His jaw ticked and he nodded. My chest cracked open that he didn’t believe me when I told him this or what an amazing brother he was.
Real men didn’t voice their fears or cry. They worked with what God gave them and didn’t complain. Practiced gratitude daily that they were alive. Attended church and got involved in community issues like an upstanding member of society. Donated to those less fortunate. The only damn thing we didn’t do was volunteer because work around the pack’s commune and our businesses demanded most of our effort.
My arm fell limply to my side. If I had a damn dollar for the amount of times Father lectured us on his service buddies coming home with injuries and disabilities and how lucky we were. Sentiments I didn’t disagree with, but we could have done without having them shoved down our throats. Early on, we learned to shut our traps and internalize our own challenges or be smothered with his guilt.
Chase tipped his head at the circle. “You’re not participating?”
My body wound tighter in preparation for my brother to start on me like our father did. “Got too much on my plate.”
Agony seared through my heart at his next question. “Setting up the new motorcycle club?”
A dream we used to share when we were young. The accident put a dent in those dreams. Nailed the fucking coffin shut. Buried that sucker under six feet of dirt and ash.
Torment charred my insides. “Yep.”
“Good for you, baby brother.” Chase gave me a sloppy clap on the shoulder once, all he could manage when he needed the cane for leverage. “Bikes are your life.” The last part came out with an underlying sting aimed at me since his accident left him unable to ride a motorcycle and participate with us.
Shame scratched at the back of my throat as my gaze fell to his mangled leg. It should have been me in the accident. What I wouldn’t have done to change the events of that day. Save up for a reversal spell? Sell my soul? Whatever it took to release this fucking guilt.
The priest struck the gong, and the resounding chime echoed throughout the courtyard. Moonlight shone through the hole in the circle’s structure, lighting ninety percent of it. Almost time for the ceremony to commence.
Shifters swarmed around the edges of the circle, including two familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years. Liv damn Hester. Huddled on the edge, arm wrapped around her younger sister, Heather, patting her shoulder . What the fuck was Liv doing here? Shifters like her didn’t attend these types of ceremonies. I tensed, scanning The Grove for her cocksucker betrothed, my muscles swelling to transform and snap his damn neck.
Reality snapped me back to the present. Calm the fuck down. Avoid her at all costs. The last thing I needed was another reminder of my constant failure in life to live up to my father’s expectations.
Chase’s gaze sailed to her, his amber gaze warming, shoulders lowering. “Wish me luck, brother.”