Chapter Eight
~ Rooster ~
I dragged myself through the compound gates as the first fingers of dawn stretched across the sky. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, the baseball bat injury a constant reminder of last night's fight.
Even worse was the hollow ache in my chest—I'd spent the entire night searching for Liam, and I had nothing to show for it. My mate was still out there somewhere, alone and afraid, running from words I wished I could take back.
My boots scraped against the gravel as I stumbled across the yard, exhaustion weighing on me like a physical burden. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept. Was it before the attack on the clubhouse? That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
The compound was beginning to stir. Lights had clicked on in the clubhouse windows, silhouettes moving behind the curtains. Someone—probably Ink—had already started the coffee maker.
On any other day, the familiar morning rhythms would have comforted me. Today, they just emphasized what was missing, of who was missing.
The back door swung open, and Butch stepped onto the porch, his expression darkening when he spotted me. He opened his mouth as if to call out, but then his eyes shifted to something over my shoulder, and his face hardened into something more concerning.
I turned just in time to see Bear storming across the yard toward me. His massive frame moved with the focused intensity of an approaching storm, each step deliberately placed, fists clenched at his sides.
Behind him trailed Bug, his thin form almost comically small next to his mate. Bug's face showed none of Bear's anger—just a quiet concern as his eyes met mine.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Bear growled, closing the distance between us. "Do you have any idea what you put us through? What you put Bug through?"
I winced, not from his words but from the truth behind them. In my desperate search for Liam, I hadn't considered the consequences of Bug following me—what might have happened if Kaine's men had spotted him, what Bear must have felt when he realized his mate was missing.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words feeling inadequate even as they left my mouth. "I didn't know Bug was following me."
"That's not good enough." Bear stepped closer, his face inches from mine. "You went into Dough Boys territory alone, concussed, in the middle of the fucking night. What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't," I admitted. "I was just looking for Liam."
"Your stray?" Bear's voice dripped with frustration. "The one who ran off? You risked everything—risked Bug—for someone who chose to leave?"
The words stung like salt in an open wound. I felt my bear rising within me, bristling at the dismissal of my mate, but I was too exhausted to summon proper anger. Instead, I just sagged, my shoulders dropping as the fight drained out of me.
"He's my mate, Bear," I said quietly. "He didn't know what that meant. I explained it badly, scared him off. What would you do if Bug ran?"
The question hit its mark. Bear's expression shifted, the fury giving way to something more complex. He took a step back, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.
"Fuck," he muttered, then glanced back at Bug, who hovered a few paces behind. Something passed between them—one of those silent communications that mated pairs developed.
Bug nodded slightly, and Bear turned back to me with a sigh.
"You look like shit," he said, his voice gruff but the edge gone from it. "When's the last time you slept?"
I shook my head, unable to remember. "Doesn't matter. I need to keep looking."
"What you need is rest," Bear countered. "You're dead on your feet. And that head injury isn't getting any better with you running around all night."
As if on cue, a fresh wave of pain throbbed through my temple. I winced, swaying slightly.
Bear's large hand shot out, steadying me with a grip on my shoulder. The anger in his eyes had transformed completely into concern. "Listen to me. I'll help you search for him. We'll all help. But you need to clean up, eat something, maybe get a few hours of sleep first."
Bug stepped forward, tugging at Bear's leather vest. "See bad man," he said urgently. "In alley. Knife man."
Bear's expression sharpened. "What's he talking about?"
I exhaled slowly. "I ran into Victor Kaine in Dough Boys territory. He was... interrogating someone. Thought the guy had stolen his drugs, was convinced our club was involved somehow."
"Shit." Bear's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Butch needs to hear about this. Last thing we need is a drug war on top of everything else."
I nodded, then glanced down at Bug. "How did you know to follow me? About Liam, I mean?"
Bug touched his stomach, a gesture I'd come to recognize as his reference to his uncanny intuition. "Mr. Rooster sad. Kitten scared. Both need help."
Despite everything, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. Bug's simple wisdom often cut straight to the heart of things. "Thanks for trying to help, Bug. But Bear's right—it was dangerous."
Bug nodded solemnly. "Know danger. Choose anyway."
The simple declaration hit me hard. Bug understood the risks, but had followed me anyway, driven by loyalty and concern. The realization made me feel even worse about inadvertently putting him in danger.
Bear seemed about to say something else when the sound of tires on gravel drew our attention to the main gate. A sleek black sedan with tinted windows rolled into the compound, moving with deliberate slowness, like a shark circling potential prey.
The three of us tensed, instinctively moving closer together.
Bear pushed Bug slightly behind him, a protective gesture that was second nature to him now.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Butch straighten on the porch, his hand moving subtly toward the small of his back where I knew he kept a pistol.
The sedan stopped in the center of the yard. For a moment, nothing happened—just the soft ticking of the cooling engine breaking the morning silence. Then the driver's door opened, and a man stepped out with casual confidence.
He was tall and lean, dressed in an expensive tailored suit that looked wildly out of place in our dusty compound.
His dark hair was perfectly styled, his clean-shaven face handsome in a cold, calculated way.
As he turned to survey the compound, sunglasses hiding his eyes, recognition slammed into me like a physical blow.
Victor Kaine.
The same man I'd watched torture Tommy in that alley just hours ago. The same man who suspected our club of stealing his drugs. Here, at our compound, striding toward our clubhouse like he owned the place.
My fists clenched at my sides as my bear roared within me, clawing at my insides with rage. Every instinct screamed to attack, to eliminate the threat before it could harm my family. Only Bear's steadying presence beside me kept me in check.
"I'm here to speak with Butch Cassidy," the man called out, his voice pleasant and professional, as if he were arriving for a business meeting rather than walking into the heart of rival territory. "About some mutual interests."
My throat tightened as I watched him approach Butch and got a closer look at the man. This wasn't Victor Kaine. The features were similar, but this man was younger, with subtle differences in his bone structure and bearing.
"Victor Markus," Bear whispered beside me. "Preston Markus's nephew."
The revelation sent a chill down my spine. Preston Markus—the man who had experimented on Treat, who had hunted omega shifters, who had nearly destroyed our club. And now his nephew was standing in our compound, smiling that same cold smile I'd seen in the alley.
Something told me the timing wasn't coincidental. Victor Kaine in the Dough Boys territory at dawn, and now Victor Markus cousin at our doorstep hours later?
My bear growled a warning, sensing danger coiling around us like an invisible snake. Whatever was happening, I had a sickening feeling that Liam had run from one threat straight into something far worse.
I couldn't sit still while Victor Markus smooth-talked his way through a meeting with our leadership.
Every cell in my body screamed for action—to keep searching for Liam, to confront the Markus kid about his connection to the attack on our compound, to do something besides wait helplessly while threats circled us like vultures.
So I paced. Back and forth along the perimeter fence, my boots kicking up little clouds of dust with each turn, my eyes constantly scanning the tree line as if Liam might materialize if I just looked hard enough.
Bear had ordered me to get some rest, but sleep felt impossible with my mate missing and a Markus in our clubhouse. The concussion still throbbed behind my eyes, vision blurring occasionally when I turned too quickly, but the pain was almost welcome—a distraction from the hollow ache in my chest.
Where was Liam right now? Huddled in some makeshift shelter?
Hungry? Hurt? The questions tortured me with each step.
I'd seen how he lived—scavenging, hiding, always on alert.
But something about knowing he was my mate made it unbearable to think of him out there alone now, especially after I'd been the one to frighten him away.
"I should have been more careful," I muttered to myself, scrubbing a hand over my beard. "Should have explained better."
My fifteenth circuit of the perimeter brought me to the northeastern corner of our property, where the fence line met the beginning of the dense forest. I paused, leaning against a fence post to catch my breath.
The woods beyond our compound had always seemed almost sentient to me—watching, waiting, harboring secrets in its shadows. Liam had disappeared into those trees last night, vanishing like a ghost.
Something moved.