Chapter Six #2
I emerged from the trees onto the edge of town, the quiet streets just beginning to stir with early morning activity. A newspaper delivery van rumbled past, and somewhere a dog barked at the disturbance. I checked my phone—5:47 AM.
I'd been searching all night.
Without conscious direction, my feet carried me through the waking town. Each alley got a cursory glance, each dumpster a moment's consideration. Where would a frightened, homeless shifter hide in an unfamiliar town?
I was so focused on my search that I didn't notice the subtle changes in my surroundings—the increased graffiti on the walls, the broken bottles littering the gutters, the lingering scent of marijuana and cheap beer.
It wasn't until I spotted a tag spray-painted across a boarded-up storefront—a stylized "DB" surrounded by dollar signs—that reality came crashing down.
Dough Boys territory.
I'd wandered straight into rival gang turf without even realizing it. My exhausted brain finally registered the danger, adrenaline cutting through the fog of fatigue. I was alone, injured, and deep in hostile territory.
If any Dough Boys spotted me here—a Soldiers of Fortune member without backup—I'd be lucky to escape with just another concussion.
I turned to retrace my steps, my senses suddenly hyper-alert. That's when I heard it—footsteps behind me, trying to match my pace. Someone was following me, attempting to stay just out of sight.
My heart rate kicked up another notch. I quickened my pace, scanning the street ahead for escape routes. The wharf was visible at the end of the block—warehouses and shipping containers that could provide cover, but also dead ends and perfect ambush spots.
The footsteps behind me sped up too.
At the next alley, I ducked in without hesitation, pressing myself against the brick wall just inside the entrance. My breath came in shallow pants as I prepared to ambush whoever was tracking me. I might be exhausted and injured, but I was still a bear shifter—dangerous even at my worst.
The footsteps approached the alley mouth. I tensed, timing my move. As a figure passed the entrance, I lunged, grabbing a handful of fabric and yanking hard. The person yelped as I spun them around and slammed them against the wall, my forearm pressed against their throat.
"Bug?" I gasped, immediately releasing him when I recognized the wide, startled eyes staring back at me.
Bug coughed, rubbing at his throat where my arm had pressed. "You... you fast for big man," he wheezed.
"Jesus Christ," I hissed, glancing frantically toward the street to see if anyone had noticed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Bug tilted his head in that bird-like way of his, as if the answer should be obvious. "You leave, I follow."
The simple logic of his statement left me momentarily speechless. I grabbed his shoulders, lowering my voice to an urgent whisper. "Do you have any idea where we are right now? This is Dough Boys territory! Do you know what they'd do if they caught you here?"
Bug nodded calmly. "Bad things. Cut open. Take pieces."
His blunt assessment made my stomach turn. "Exactly. So we need to go. Now." I tugged at his arm, already planning the quickest route back to our territory. "Does Bear know?" I asked suddenly, freezing mid-step. "Does Bear know you followed me?"
The thought of Bear's reaction if he discovered his mate had disappeared sent a fresh wave of panic through me. The sergeant-at-arms was protective on a good day. If he thought Bug was missing, he'd tear the town apart looking for him—starting with anyone he considered a threat.
Bug shrugged. "Left note. Said 'help Rooster find kitten.'"
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to contain my rising anxiety. "A note. You left a note and then followed me into rival gang territory in the middle of the night."
"Yes." Bug nodded, apparently pleased I understood.
"Bear is going to kill me," I muttered. "If the Dough Boys don't do it first." I tugged on Bug's arm again, more insistently this time. "Come on. We need to get out of here before—"
Bug planted his feet, refusing to budge. His hand went to his stomach, pressing against it in the way I'd seen before when his instincts were warning him of danger. His eyes widened slightly, focusing on something beyond me.
"We no go," he whispered urgently. "We hide."
I didn't hesitate. When Bug's instincts kicked in, you didn't question them—you just moved. I'd seen the kid's gut feelings save lives before.
In one fluid motion, I scooped Bug up and over my shoulder, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through my skull at the sudden movement. Three quick strides brought us behind a large metal dumpster tucked against the back wall of the alley.
The container reeked of rotting fish and diesel fuel—pungent enough to mask our scents from anyone who might be hunting us.
I deposited Bug in the narrow space between the dumpster and wall, then positioned myself in front of him, creating a human shield with my larger body.
"Stay behind me," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "No matter what happens, don't make a sound."
Bug nodded, his eyes wide, but focused. Unlike most people in dangerous situations, Bug never panicked—a strange calm would settle over him, as if he'd switched to some other mode of existence. Right now, he was completely still, barely seeming to breathe.
I peered around the edge of the dumpster, careful to keep most of my body hidden.
The mouth of the alley remained empty for a long moment, the early morning light casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.
Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—multiple sets, some steady and measured, others stumbling and erratic.
A well-dressed man entered the alley first. Even in the dim light, I could make out the quality of his dark suit and the gleam of an expensive watch at his wrist.
He moved with the confident stride of someone used to being obeyed, stopping about fifteen feet from our hiding place to light a cigarette. The flame from his gold lighter briefly illuminated sharp features and cold eyes.
Behind him came two burly men in leather jackets, dragging a third man between them. The third man's face was a mess of blood and bruises, his legs barely supporting his weight as they hauled him forward.
"Here's good," the suited man said, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet morning air. He took a long drag from his cigarette, studying the beaten man with clinical detachment. "Drop him."
The thugs released their grip, and the man collapsed to the pavement with a pained groan. I felt Bug tense behind me, his fingers digging into my back.
The suited man crouched down and grabbed a fistful of the beaten man's hair, yanking his head up to force eye contact.
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," he said, his tone conversational, almost friendly.
"I thought we had an understanding. You deliver packages, you get paid, nobody gets hurt. Simple arrangement."
"I did," the man—Tommy—gasped, blood bubbling from his split lip. "I swear I did. Just like always."
"Yet here we are," the suited man continued, still in that eerily pleasant tone. "With you lying to my face."
"I'm not lying!" Tommy's voice cracked with desperation. "I delivered everything to the drop point, just like you said. Same as always. I didn't take anything!"
The suited man sighed dramatically, releasing Tommy's hair and standing up. He brushed imaginary dust from his knees before taking another drag of his cigarette.
"Then explain to me, Tommy, why my buyer received only half the product they paid for." He flicked ash onto Tommy's trembling form. "Because someone took my drugs. And if it wasn't you, then who was it?"
I felt my jaw clench as the pieces clicked together. The Dough Boys had been pushing harder into our territory lately, trying to establish drug routes through Fortune. This must be their supplier—the man pulling the strings behind their recent aggression.
"I don't know!" Tommy sobbed. "I swear, man. I just did the delivery like always. Maybe—maybe someone intercepted after I left? Or before I picked up? I don't know!"
The suited man circled Tommy slowly, like a predator toying with wounded prey.
"Here's the problem with your theory, Tommy.
My own men wouldn't dare cross me. They know what happens to thieves in my organization.
" He gestured vaguely to the thugs standing nearby.
"So that leaves you, the only outsider with access to the product. "
I recognized him now. Victor Kaine. I'd heard his name mentioned in club meetings—a new player trying to establish himself in Montana's drug trade.
Rumor had it he was ruthlessly efficient and completely without mercy.
Some even whispered he had connections to government agencies that gave him protection from local law enforcement.
More concerning were the rumors that he'd somehow learned about shifters and was particularly interested in territories controlled by shifter gangs. Whether he knew what we were or just thought we were ordinary MCs with unusual strength wasn't clear.
"Please," Tommy begged, "I didn't take anything. I wouldn't steal from you. I'm not stupid!"
"No," Kaine agreed, "you're not stupid. Which makes me think you've found yourself a powerful new friend. Someone who made you promises of protection." His voice hardened. "Someone who doesn't understand the consequences of stealing from me."
Bug shifted behind me, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "He looking for our club. Thinks we took drugs."
My blood ran cold. If Kaine believed the Soldiers of Fortune had stolen his product, he'd come after us next. With Liam missing and half our members still recovering from yesterday's attack, we weren't in the best position for another confrontation.
"Check his phone," Kaine ordered one of his men. "I want to see every call, every text, every contact."
The thug pulled a smartphone from Tommy's pocket and handed it to Kaine, who scrolled through it with deliberate slowness.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You've been in the area around the Soldiers of Fortune clubhouse quite frequently this past week." He showed the screen to Tommy. "Location data doesn't lie."
"That's—that's just because I live near there!" Tommy protested. "I'm not involved with them, I swear!"
I felt Bug stiffen behind me again. His hand pressed against his stomach, his warning system clearly in overdrive.
"Bad man," Bug whispered. "Knows about us. Hunting."
I nodded slightly to show I'd heard. We needed to get back to the clubhouse as soon as possible. Butch needed to know about this—about Kaine's suspicions and the missing drugs. If someone was setting us up to take the fall for a theft, we needed to find out who and why.
Kaine handed the phone back to his thug and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small switchblade. The blade snapped open with a click that echoed in the quiet alley.
"I want my drugs, Tommy," he said, yanking Tommy's head back by his hair and bringing the blade close to his throat. "Where are they?"
I pressed Bug further back into our hiding place, my mind racing. We couldn't help Tommy without revealing ourselves, and getting caught by Kaine would only make things worse. We needed to stay hidden, to survive long enough to warn the club.
As the sun climbed higher over the wharf, I found myself caught between a man I couldn't save and a mate I couldn't find, with only Bug's steady presence behind me keeping me anchored to reality.