Chapter 1
One
Otillie-James
Six Years Later
T onight, I was going out. I was dressed in black. I had my make-up on. I was feeling fierce. Granted, the black I was wearing was a pair of skin-tight cargo pants with a thick, hooded sweatshirt, and my makeup was just boot polish smeared across my cheeks, so I could blend in with the darkness. At least, I was pretty sure that’s why they used it in all those action movies. My hair was tightly braided and pushed up into a knitted cap.
As I climbed the chain-link fence, I kept one eye on the road and the other on the junkyard in front of me. The steady thump of music from the mechanic’s garage could’ve been because the workers were tearing down cars late into the night, but I knew it wasn’t some hard-working employee.
When I’d heard about this place, it had sat heavily on my mind for weeks, until I couldn’t stop myself, despite the fact this was a terrible damn decision. My parents would have my skin if they knew what I was doing. They’d have me packed up and shipped off to Nebraska to Great-Aunt Trudie’s before the week was out.
Fortunately for me, Dad and Citrine were in Alaska on an assignment, doing research on the effects of drilling on the surrounding geo-something or other, and ecological landscape. They’d be there for at least a year, which meant I was down here without a safety net.
Lancelot had made me promise not to do anything rash, but this wasn’t rash. I’d thought this out. I’d planned. I’d surveilled from my Fiat. I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t rash, though it could be argued that it was stupid.
There was a burst of cheering from a hidden crowd, and I knew I had to hurry. Wiggling my way over the fence, I dropped down the other side and hoped there wasn’t a junkyard dog in here waiting to tear me to pieces. It wouldn’t be its fault, but I’d still rather keep all my arms and legs intact.
Bending closer to the ground, I moved swiftly through the shadows. Luckily, there were lots of places to hide amidst the banged-up, crumbled car bodies. I was Unshown, so the Alphas inside the garage shouldn’t really be able to scent me, but just in case, I’d sprayed a liberal amount of scent blocker all over myself. Even if I’d eaten an entire garlic clove for lunch and rolled in a puddle of essential oils, they shouldn’t be able to smell me over the rest of the scents here.
A cat scurried away, and I watched it go. Hopefully, it was safe from the people inside these fences, but I doubted it. One thing at a time, though.
Sprinting the open distance between the last car and the dilapidated building, I aimed for the tiny half-door on the side. Slipping in slowly, I let out a small sigh of relief. Step one was done.
Inside the garage, people were packed almost wall to wall, standing around the pit. I knew what was happening in there; I just couldn’t look. I tried to tune out the sounds of people cheering, the smell of cigarettes, weed, and cheap whiskey.
And blood.
Moving slowly, I hung back in the shadows. I knew exactly what I needed, and I knew where I’d find them. I just hoped I wasn’t too late.
Spotting the cages on the other side of the pit, I worked my way around slowly. Slow and steady, that’s what dad had taught me. He’d been talking about escaping mountain lions, but it probably worked for these kinds of predators too.
There was another roar from the crowd, followed by some people muttering curses and others boasting their achievements as two men climbed into the pit and returned with two roosters—one alive and one dead.
My stomach turned. Cockfighting. Barbaric and cruel. I wanted to cry over being too late for those poor creatures.
I’d done the responsible thing. I’d called the cops and told them what was happening. They’d thanked me for the report and then done nothing. Another cockfight had happened the following weekend—still nothing.
Now, I was taking it into my own hands. I couldn’t save them all, but I could save a couple. Maybe more. I had five sacks tucked into the pocket of my cargo pants. Five lives I could potentially save tonight.
They kept most of the cocks drugged, then strapped long knives to their feet, so they’d inflict maximum damage. Despite what people would argue, most roosters didn’t want to fight; they just wanted to wander around a farm, pecking at worms and living their best life.
As people collected their winnings, or placed new bets, two more birds were plucked from their cages and carried to the pit. I silently apologized to those birds, that their lives would be the distraction I needed to save their competitors.
Silently, I waited until everyone was hovering over the pit, watching the current fight, before I made a break for it. Most of the birds were banging against the bars of the tiny cages, or moving their heads up and down, trying to find a way out. All except the dead bird that lay beside its empty cage like discarded trash, and the victor of the last fight, who didn’t look much better. He was bleeding from all sorts of places, and looked dazed. He definitely needed medical attention.
Opening the cage, he didn’t even struggle as I picked him up. I slipped the barbed gauntlets from his feet, his claws still bloody.
“Poor baby,” I whispered. “You didn’t want to fight, did you?” Carefully, I tucked him inside one of the sacks I’d pulled from the pocket of my cargo pants.
That’s when the front doors of the garage flew open, and the night turned to chaos.
“FREEZE! POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!”
Oh, so now they decide to do something?
I threw an apologetic look to the still-caged birds, knowing they’d be okay now. Animal control would take them to some kind of rescue for fighting birds. They had them for dogs rescued from dogfights, so surely there’d be one for fighting birds? But I knew the bird in my arms would just be put down, his wounds too severe.
So I tied a knot in the bag, stuffed it up my hoodie, and crept to the back of the garage. I couldn’t go back to jail again; Dad would murder me. Hiding behind a beat-up car, I waited until they started cuffing people before I edged around the back, toward the manhole-sized door I’d originally come through. The rooster I was holding hadn’t even stirred, and I started to worry this had all been for nothing. That he was already dead.
I made it three steps before a torch illuminated my face. “FREEZE! Rock Hill PD!”
Fuck. I reached under my hoodie to grab the rooster in the bag, and shit escalated quickly.
“ Do not move. Put your hands up!” the cop shouted, clearly not caring that his request was impossible. I couldn’t not move and put my hands up.
“There’s a chicken in my sweatshirt. If I put my hands up, it’ll fall and get hurt. I promise I’m not reaching for a weapon.”
“Do not move! ” he repeated, edging closer.
I had one hand in the air, with the other cupping the bottom of my hoodie, and as the cop drew closer, I groaned internally.
“Juice?” Francis Gunner exclaimed.
Fuck me. Of course it had to be Francis.
“Hey, Frankie. I heard you became a cop. Congrats.” My voice was a little wobbly, but at least he wouldn’t shoot me. “I also heard you and Sarah got married. Well done.” That one, I meant a little less. Sarah Copeland—now Gunner, I guess—was a beautiful, picture-perfect Omega, who’d bullied the absolute hell out of me for the final two years of my education.
Frankie was okay, though, for an Alpha. He’d been on the varsity football team with my stepbrother Edison, and Truett, his best friend. Those two had been the ones to give me the dumb nickname of Juice, which had stuck all through my school years.
“Do you really have a cock in your sweatshirt?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yep. I’d appreciate it if I could get it out, though, before your partner shoots me.” The older man beside him looked like he was searching for a reason to stun me with his taser, and I didn’t relish the idea.
Frankie laughed. “Sure thing. It’s fine, Heff. I know Juice and her brother.” He holstered his weapon, and I frowned.
“ Step brother,” I gritted out, but pulled the sack containing the rooster from beneath my shirt. Untying the top, I looked in, and the rooster looked up at me dazedly. Shit, he doesn’t look too good. Tucking him back into the bag, I smiled pleasantly at Frankie. “Well, it’s been great to see you, Frankie, but I have to go.”
He reached around and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that, Juice… Unfortunately, you’re at the scene of a crime, holding incriminating evidence. You’re going to have to come down to the station with us.”
I blinked at him. “You can’t honestly think I had anything to do with a cockfighting ring, right? I’m the one who nailed Oliver Petra in the balls when he kicked that dog.” I’d shown him that a little kick could cause serious injury, no matter how much he’d argued that it couldn’t.
Frankie shrugged. “That’s between you and the detectives. For now, you better come down to the station and explain why the hell you’re in a junkyard at midnight with a banged-up cock.”
I ran a hand down my face. “Fine. On two conditions.”
“Juice, I’m not sure you get to make condit?—”
I held up a finger. “One, you swing by my place and drop the rooster off to my housemate, so it can get some medical attention. I don’t want it to die.” I held up a second finger. “Two, you don’t call my dad.” I paused. “Actually, three. You stop making cock puns, like ASAP.”
Snorting a laugh, Frankie nodded. “Sure thing. Otillie-James Baler, you’ll need to come with us down to the station.” He held out his hand, and I carefully passed over the chicken. With a sigh, I followed him and his beefy partner out to their patrol car and climbed into the back.
This definitely didn’t go to plan.
“So, you decided what? To rescue a bunch of fighting cocks?” the detective asked me again, incredulously.
“Yes.”
“And you intended to steal them out from under the noses of the organizers, then leave with five fighting roosters in bags in the dead of night, on the bad side of town?”
“Yes.”
“And then do what with them?”
In truth, I hadn’t gotten that far into my plan. I’d figured once they were at my house, we could come up with a stage two. “Uh, maybe send them to rehab?—”
The door burst open. “Otillie-James, be quiet .” I groaned as the Alpha in the doorway stepped fully into the room. I was going to kill Frankie. “I’d like a moment to talk with my client.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “No need. We’ve heard enough. Otillie-James Baler, you’re currently being charged with participating in disorderly conduct, and conduct against public decency. You are also charged with trespass and theft of an animal, as well as being in possession of cockfighting instruments, i.e. the cock.”
Truett Heathstone turned his disbelieving gaze my way, then back toward the detectives. “This isn’t going to stand up in court; we both know it. She’s a law-abiding citizen with?—”
“With a previous assault charge,” the detective finished. “Take it up with the DA at her bail hearing.”
“I’d like a moment to speak to my client before she’s taken back.”
The detective shrugged and left. Truett turned his gaze on me, his disapproval a physical thing. I struggled to hold his gaze and looked down at the shiny metal table. I hated when he Alpha-d me.
“Otillie-James, what the fuck were you thinking? ”
I lifted my chin, stubbornly meeting his gaze, even if it was only briefly. “That someone had to do something.”
“And you thought the best course of action was to break and enter on private property, steal a bunch of vicious birds and… what?”
“None of your fucking business, Truett. How did you know I was even here? At no point have I ever wanted or needed your help.” I already knew how, but I kind of wanted to be stubborn.
He gave me that droll Truett expression I’d seen more than a few times over the last six years. The one that made it no secret he thought I was an airhead. “Frankie called me. And it is my business, because you’re about to get a criminal record for being an idiot.”
Frankie, that traitor. I guess he’d technically followed my conditions, but had called Satan here instead.
“Fine. I’m sorry. Is that what you need to hear? I didn’t think it through.” That was a lie, but it was what he wanted to hear, and I could do without the ten-minute lecture. I’d rather be in the holding cell with Babette, who farted so loudly it echoed off the walls, as she slept off her drunk and disorderly arrest.
Shaking his head, Truett stood. “I’ll post your bail and then pick you up. Do not leave without me, Otillie-James. I mean it.”
Sure, sure. Haughty ass. Just because he was an Alpha and I was Unshown, it didn’t mean he could just boss me around and I’d say, “Yes, Sir.” I was going to lose this jerkwad as soon as humanly possible and go back to my life.
I gave him my most innocent look. “I promise.”