Tempest
The old sugar factory loomed like a dead giant at the edge of the water.
The bricks had blackened with age, windows were punched out, the wide loading doors half-collapsed into the entryway, and were hanging crookedly.
The city had tried to forget that this place existed, but that didn’t mean it was empty.
In fact, she knew for a fact that it wasn’t.
“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “I smell you too.”
There were lights, but they were only battery lanterns that were set low, their glow creating an island of visibility in the middle of the vast darkness.
And standing in the ring of light were two men.
One leaned against a rusted pallet jack like he owned the place.
The other stood straight with his hands loose at his sides, and his head angled like a predator watching its prey.
“Evening,” she said, her voice flat. “If this is a trap, it’s not a very good one.” She knew that taunting them might not be her finest move, but if Howler needed her help, she was going to have a little bit of fun first.
The man against the pallet jack smiled with too many teeth. “You always this friendly, Tempest?”
Her gaze stayed on the one who hadn’t spoken yet.
He was tall with broad shoulders and had his silver hair pulled back at the nape.
His hair wasn’t that color due to age, though, because wolves didn’t gray the way humans did.
It was a mark—a distinct warning to those around him.
His eyes were pale—almost the color of ice, and she knew exactly who the man was who was staring her down.
“Howler,” she said.
His mouth twitched like it wanted to be a smirk, but didn’t. “Prez.”
“Don’t call me that, like you know me.” She tipped her chin toward the second man. “And you brought company. If I had known, I would have brought a friend too.”
Howler didn’t look away from her. “That’s Wraith. He’s my Enforcer.”
Wraith pushed off the pallet jack, his boots scraping the floor as he walked toward her. “Heard a lot about you, Tempest, and your Dark Chaos club.”
Tempest’s wolf growled, low in her chest. How has he heard about us? That was always the problem with making a name for yourself. People thought they knew who you were just from what they had heard about you, but most of it was just gossip or plain wrong.
“All good things, I hope,” she said sweetly, mocking him.
Wraith’s smile widened. “Now, that depends on who you ask.”
Howler lifted his hand, as though telling them both to be quiet. “I didn’t bring you here to trade insults.”
Tempest took in the space around them and realized that she probably should have brought backup.
The warehouse was too open, too exposed, and way too quiet.
She didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Then talk,” she ordered.
“Quickly, because I’ve got a club waiting on me.
” She wanted them to believe that she was smart enough to bring backup, even if she hadn’t been.
“How many of them did you bring?” Wraith asked, his gaze flicking past her shoulder toward the entrance.
Tempest didn’t blink. “Enough.”
Wraith’s nostrils flared. He could smell the lie.
She hadn’t brought anyone with her. When she left her clubhouse, she didn’t give much thought to bringing one of the other women along.
In fact, she thought that it would probably be a bad idea.
A meeting like this didn’t need an audience—and if it went sideways, she didn’t need her sisters walking into an ambush.
Howler’s stare sharpened. “You came alone.”
“I’m here, and that’s all that matters. Now, what do you want, Howler?” she asked.
For the first time, Howler’s gaze dipped to the patch on her vest—DARK CHAOS MC was arched over a snarling she-wolf, with its eyes painted red.
It was meant to look like fresh blood. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of her wolf and the faint trace of other females on her leather—club scent.
She knew that he was picking up her pack’s collective scent, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Nice jacket,” Howler said.
Wraith shifted impatiently. “We didn’t come to admire her jacket, Howler.”
Tempest’s smile sharpened. “You’re right. We’re all here because you need something from me and my club.” Wraith’s grin faded, and Howler’s jaw flexed.
“How bad is it?” Tempest asked.
Howler exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “The D.C. club is making a move on the Silverfang Brotherhood.”
Tempest’s brows lifted. “That’s not news. D.C. is always breathing down your neck.”
“This is different,” Howler said. “They’re not just pushing territory. They’re pushing authority—my authority.” Tempest’s wolf stilled. Even she knew that the D.C. club challenging Howler’s club wasn’t going to end well for any of the packs in the area.
Howler’s pale eyes locked onto hers. “They’ve got the city on a leash.”
Tempest’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.” She hated the thought of anyone trying to control her club besides her. If Howler needed her help, she’d find a way to give it.
Wraith stepped forward, voice rough. “Your mayor—she’s not just against you because you’re new. She’s against you because someone’s paying her to be.”
Tempest felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. She’d suspected corruption—Baltimore practically ran on it, but she hadn’t pinned the source. And she certainly didn’t think that they’d be coming for her and her pack.
“How do you know?” she asked.
Howler didn’t flinch, giving his answer.
“Because I watched a Silverfang brother get arrested last week with no cause and no warrant. Cops rolled in like they’d been waiting for an excuse to arrest him.
” His voice went cold. “And because two nights ago, a D.C. rider showed up on my street and told me, in very polite words, that if I wanted my people left alone, I’d fall in line. ”
Tempest’s fingers curled at her sides. “Fall in line behind what?”
Howler’s smile was mean. “Behind their Alpha.” His words hit the air like a slap in the face.
Tempest’s wolf lunged inside her, furious at the implication that her pack would also need to fall in line with the D.C.
pack. Wolves had alphas. Packs had hierarchy.
MCs had presidents and vice presidents, and when you started mixing that all up, things tended to become a bit skewed.
“You’re telling me a biker club is calling their Prez an Alpha?” Tempest asked, disbelief laced with disgust.
Wraith rolled his eyes. “Not their Prez. Their wolf Prez.” Tempest went still.
“Howler,” she said, voice low and dangerous, “why are you coming to me with this?”
Howler held her gaze. “Because they want Baltimore. And they want it cleaned up—sanitized under one banner. They’re threatening anyone who won’t bend the knee. That includes Silverfang Brotherhood.” His eyes dipped again to her patch. “And it definitely includes Dark Chaos.”
Tempest let the silence stretch between them, not sure what to say next. In that quiet, she could hear the distant hum of traffic outside and, faintly, the creak of the building settling like it was listening to their conversation too.
“So,” she said at last, “you need allies.”
Howler nodded once. “I need a united front.”
Wraith snorted. “Or there will be war.”
Tempest turned her head slightly, just enough to look Wraith in the eye. “Careful, you don’t know what kind of war you’re asking for. Dark Chaos can give you a fight too.”
Wraith’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t back down. “I know what kind of war they’re bringing. And I know that none of us will survive it alone.”
Tempest’s wolf paced inside of her. Her club was still so new.
They weren’t fragile, but they were still planting roots.
A full-scale conflict with a D.C. charter, especially one with city officials in their pocket, could bury Dark Chaos before it truly started.
But if she refused, they would have to stand alone, and that might not end well for any of them.
If she turned Howler away and let D.C. roll over Silverfang Brotherhood, Dark Chaos would be next. And then she’d be facing them alone, with no warning, no allies, and no time to get a new plan in place.
She glanced toward the shadowed rafters, the broken windows, the dark corners that could hide a dozen enemies if she’d misread this meeting. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” she asked. “How do I know Silverfang Brotherhood isn’t trying to use my club as a shield?”
Howler’s gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t. I guess you’ll just have to give us a little trust.”
Tempest’s mouth curved. “At least you’re honest.” Howler reached into his cut slowly, deliberately, making it clear he wasn’t going for a weapon. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out to her.
Tempest didn’t take it right away. “What is that?”
“Proof that this is on the up and up,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of proof?” she asked.
“That your mayor isn’t just a concerned citizen,” Wraith said.
“She’s meeting with the D.C. club.” Tempest finally took the paper.
It was a printout—grainy photos from a security camera.
The date stamp was two nights old. It was a side entrance to a building that Tempest recognized, at a private club near the waterfront where politicians went to pretend they didn’t drink too much.
In the photo, a woman in a coat stood near a black SUV.
Even in the blur, Tempest recognized her posture.
It was Mayor Lila Grant. Beside her was a man with his back to the camera, tall and built like a fighter.
The patch on his vest was just clear enough to read.
CAPITOL WOLVES MC. Tempest’s grip tightened until the paper crinkled.
Her wolf snarled so hard she tasted it—metallic and hot.
“How did you get this?” Tempest asked.
Howler’s voice lowered. “I have people in high places. Same as you.”