7. Morgan #4
“He doesn’t remember much before they put him in the ring. But he remembers being human. Remembers breaking his leg and having to have it pinned.”
There’s something about the way he says it that has me narrowing my eyes. “Tell me.”
“I think they made someone change him with the metal pins still in his leg. They’re out now,” he adds quickly, “but it’s not healed right, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to fix it.”
For fuck’s sake.
It’s not enough that they snatch lone shifters to fight in their fucking death rings.
They’re now taking humans and forcing the change on them too?
Where are the hunters when you need them?
Changing a human without written consent is punishable by death according to their laws.
That should apply to humans who force shifters to do their dirty work too.
I doubt Nico Ward had any fucking choice in the matter.
“Will he be all right to travel when we move Cox?”
“Physically? Yes. Though I’d like to see how much that leg affects his mobility.” He runs a hand over his short hair. Another thing that reminds me of his brother. “But mentally? I’m not sure.”
I gesture for him to explain.
“He’s... broken. For want of a better word. I don’t know what those wankers did to him in there, but he’s not in a good place. The fact that he can’t remember his life before isn’t helping.”
“What are you saying, exactly?”
“I think we should keep him here for a bit. I’m not comfortable shipping him off to one of the other packs in the condition he’s in. This is the first safe place he’s had in who knows how long, and I don’t want to take it from him.”
“Then he stays.” I’d be a hypocrite if I said otherwise. Half the club, the pack , were rescued from one fight ring or another. If Nico needs time, then he can fucking have it.
“Thank you.” Corey’s tired smile reminds me that he needs to rest too.
“Maybe have someone else take over so you can get some sleep, doc.”
“Jet’s up there.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Jet?” I love him like a brother, but he’s more of the strong silent type. I can’t imagine his bedside manner is all that soothing. And he’s not a fan of humans.
“He’s been surprisingly good with Nico.”
“What about the others?”
Corey winces. “He’s not paid much attention to Tyler and outright ignored Morgan.”
I snort, because that’s more like it.
“But to be fair, Morgan’s still unconscious.”
“Doubt it’d make much difference if he was awake.”
Corey grins. “You’re probably right.” He glances behind him back through the house. “I’m also supposed to tell you that Mal, Flint, and Callum are waiting to talk to you.”
“Great.” I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less. “Inside or out?”
“In.” With that he stands, giving my shoulder a squeeze on the way out.
The three of them are already sat around the huge oak table when I get there. It has a stylised wolf’s head carved into the middle with the name of our club underneath.
It was Callum’s idea.
He’d read somewhere that motorcycle clubs had a room where the top dogs met.
Church .
And apparently, we needed a fancy fucking table to do it around.
Goddess, we didn’t have a fucking clue what we were doing when we started this: a mismatched group of outcasts and ring escapees.
We formed our own pack, forged from trust and loyalty instead of familial ties. But you can’t have that many people living together without raising a few eyebrows in the human world.
So the Wild Wolves motorcycle club was born.
And five years later, we’re stronger than ever.
“Close the door,” Callum says before I can take my seat.
Ahh. It’s like that, is it?
This room is soundproofed more than any other. I’ve got a good idea what they want to talk about. Not that I’m in the habit of keeping secrets from my pack, but some things are delicate enough to warrant careful planning before we reveal it to the rest of them.
And Morgan Webb is one of those things.
There’s an air of tension in the room, thick enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. My wolf stirs, the alpha in me ready and waiting to rise to any challenge, but I push it down.
For now.
“Webb is a problem,” Callum states, getting straight to the point. “What’s the plan?”
I trace a groove in the wood, taking my time to get my thoughts in order.
I walk a fine line between pack alpha and club president.
You wouldn’t think there’s a difference, but there is.
“You asking as my beta or my VP?”
Callum glances at the other two before saying, “Does it matter?”
Not everyone in our pack is a member of the club, for varying reasons.
Over the years, our rescue missions have become club business.
Some pack members don’t want to be involved—they’ve had enough trauma in their lives and that’s absolutely fucking fine.
I don’t share the details with anyone outside of the inner circle.
But bringing a human into our home affects everyone.
“I guess not.” I sigh, already knowing this is going to be unpleasant. I’ve jeopardised the safety of everyone here. They have a right to be pissed off with me.
I picture Morgan lying on the forest floor, bloody and broken. Hear his whispered plea for help and know that I’d do the exact same thing every single time. I also know that his fate here isn’t going to a fucking vote.
Callum leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Having him here puts everyone at risk.” He curls his hands into fists, muscles pulling tight. “If he finds out what we are and starts shooting his mouth off around town, we’re fucked.”
“I’m well fucking aware.”
He pins me with a glare not many would get away with. “And yet you still brought him here.”
The hard edge to his voice raises my hackles, and I can’t stop the low growl escaping.
Not that I would because I’m not the only one walking a thin line.
We might have formed this club together, but I’m still his fucking alpha.
“He’s covered in bites and claw marks,” I hiss, gripping the arms of my chair to ground me.
“At some point the FBs who attacked him were at least partially shifted. There’s a good chance he already knows that we exist.”
“So why not finish him off or leave him to die in the forest? That way there’s no risk of him telling anyone.”
“And what would the authorities think when they found him?”
“Nothing if you’d buried him like Jet suggested,” Mal offers.
I guess we weren’t as quiet as we thought we were.
“And who gives a shit anyway? Feral Beast DNA was all over that scene. It’d be their problem, not ours.” Callum taps the table, voice rising. “The last thing we fucking need is hunters finding him here and jumping to conclusions that’ll get us all killed.”
I swallow the instinct to snarl and put him in his fucking place for talking to his alpha like that, because for one, he’s right.
And two, that’s not how I want to run my pack.
They can voice all the opinions they want without fear of retaliation.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to agree or like it, but I still want them to feel secure enough to speak up.
I take a moment to calm my wolf, to breathe in the familiar scent of both my closest friends and pack mates. How honest do I want to be?
Ordinarily it wouldn’t even be something to consider. I’ve never kept anything from those seated around this table.
And you shouldn’t start now.
I’m not sure when that voice in my head started sounding more like Bale than my own subconscious. I can almost hear the Yorkshire lilt to the words. Goddess, I miss him.
But Bale was always blunt as fuck, and usually right. I know it’s not his thoughts I’m hearing, but that doesn’t make them any less true. The day I start lying to the people I trust most is the day I step down as both president and alpha.
“I had to save him.” My heart constricts, that gentle pull behind my ribs making itself known for the briefest of moments, but it’s enough to draw a hand to my chest to rub the ache away.
Three sets of eyes follow the movement.
“Seriously?” Callum stares at me wide-eyed.
Mal closes his eyes and groans.
Flint laughs. “Of fucking course.”
“I won’t act on it,” I snap, needing to make that clear. “I couldn’t leave him there to die, but that doesn’t mean anything else is going to happen. I’m not going there again, especially not with a fucking human.”
It’s like I cast a spell with those words. All three of them sober instantly, expressions morphing into something that looks dangerously close to pity.
Fuck that .
“He can recover here until he’s well enough to get on his bike and fuck off. If he mentions anything resembling shifters or men with claws and huge fucking teeth, we feign ignorance and persuade him it’s his imagination brought on by the concussion.”
Callum scoffs. “And you think he’ll fall for that?”
“You think he’d rather believe he saw men turn into wolves?”
“There are rumours in town—” Mal starts.
“I know there’s rumours, but no one wants to be the first to say it aloud and risk being laughed at. Deep down, no one wants to actually believe we exist. That’s what nightmares are made of.”
“All that aside,” Flint starts, “someone’s going to be missing him soon if not already.” He pulls something out of his pocket. “Jet found this when he went back for Morgan’s bike.” He holds up a phone.
Morgan’s phone, I’m guessing.
“All we need is to have someone tracking him on that Find My app and we’re shafted.”
“Why not leave it in the forest?” Mal glares at him over the table and Flint stared back like he’s an idiot.
“Surrounded by all that blood? Even if we cleaned the area up, they’re bound to find something. Now that we’re saving him, it’s better to find him here and alive than assume he’s missing. No?”
I stare at the phone. “Has anyone tried to call him?”
Flint laughs again. “Oh yeah. About ten million times. And sent multiple texts. That’s why we’re here.”
“And you’ve waited until now to bring it up?”
The phone vibrates on the table as if to drive my point home. Ash flashes on the screen and I wonder who that is to him. Family? Friend? Boyfriend? The last one makes me want to smack the fucking thing, so I sit back and away from temptation.
“Shall I answer it?” Flint reaches for the phone, but a chorus of no stops him. He raises his hands. “Just a thought. Fuck’s sake.”
Eventually the call goes to voicemail, but it’s immediately followed by a text. We all lean forward to read the message on the screen.
Ash: Call me, you dick. Or at least answer a text. Starting to get worried now
“Who’s that?” I jab a finger at the phone.
“Friend?” Mal offers. “Family? Boyfriend? I don’t fucking know.”
“Best friend,” Callum says, and we all turn to stare at him.
He shrugs. “I told you I asked about him.” He nods at the screen.
“Ash Norton, lives in North Oakley with his family. Morgan lives with his dad. Mum died when he was sixteen. Although when he came here, he said his dad lost their house in a card game.”
“Who the fuck bets a house?” Mal looks between us. “Is that even legal?”
Fucked if I know. “Was he telling the truth?”
Cal nods. “Seemed to be.”
Another message comes through before we can debate it further.
Ash: You’re still at the fucking compound? Ffs. Look, if you don’t reply by morning, I’m coming to you, and you know how much I’m gonna hate that. ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE!!!
Silence.
“Well,” Flint says, folding his arms. “That’s going to be a problem.”
He meets my gaze, both eyebrows raised, and the weight of my selfish decision suddenly feels suffocating.
Instincts or not, I should’ve left Morgan Webb to die in the forest.