Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Justice
Two Hours Earlier . . .
The clubhouse is filled with tension. More so than normal. Things have changed in the past few years with Corbin, Tucker, and Dane finding their mates.
The fates have seriously lost their minds with the outcome of who they’re mated to.
Not that the women are horrible, just that they’re not exactly normal women.
Karsyn is an earth witch. Powerful and knows exactly how to use it when it’s needed.
Lake is the fucking daughter of a Fae and could command dragons if she so wished.
And Raine, she’s half dream walker. I don’t fully understand it all with her, but we definitely need her on our side.
Then there’s the new woman at our clubhouse. She’s the mate of someone, we just don’t know who. None of my brothers have come forward yet. It didn’t matter right now anyway. The woman was in a coma.
With all that was happening at the clubhouse, I needed to get out—needed to run.
The coyote in me agreed with me. He’s been restless, clawing at my insides to be let out lately. It doesn’t help that Sibley has been around the clubhouse the past few weeks helping with the woman. I knew she wasn’t my mate, but though she had irritated me, I had a soft spot for the woman.
Sibley enjoyed trying to talk me into searching for my mate. Claiming she saw her in visions. I wasn’t looking for my mate. I didn’t need or want one. The club was all I needed. They were my family and will always come first.
I didn’t need more. A mate at this point in my life would be a headache. Completely unwanted.
Coyotes typically did better on their own. They’re known for being solitary. But for me, I liked having my brothers. Other than them, I was good. Nothing and no one would be needed.
Especially a mate that Sibley wants me to find. Not happening.
I saw firsthand how coyote shifters were with their mates and young.
Growling, I pick up the pace, my thoughts going to where I rarely let them drift to. Only Corbin, and I’m sure Sibley, know what I grew up dealing with.
Growing up the way I had, I knew better than to think I’d be given something good, and I was content in finding what I have. The Spiked Raiders MC filled the hole that was left for me to deal with.
The family I grew up in was not the typical shifters. They were rogues who believed they could take and steal, hurt and kill without remorse—even those within its little group. My own mother gave me the scar that covers my chest, where she’s slashed at me with her claws, nearly ripping into me.
I was fifteen at the time.
After that, I’d left them, figuring I’d be better out on my own. I found my way to Redwich, where I found a safe haven within the club. Corbin was the one who introduced me to the rest of them and became my best friend.
It didn’t matter to any of those within the club that I was a coyote and grew up among rogues. To the club, we were all of various species, and still we were of one mind. One MC. One pack. One huge ass family.
The feeling of it healed me.
Now, with the dynamics changing, I was leery.
I didn’t do change well. Sure, things we do as a club aren’t exactly legit, and that didn’t matter.
We have businesses that are legit, but it wasn’t anything like what we made doing the protection runs.
Those who are members of the club have a code we live by, and that was fine with me.
Running through the trees, I hear the howls and snarls of others also running. Those who were patrolling the land surrounding the clubhouse. The club took the protection of those within it seriously. Now more than ever with the looming threat of the blood witches getting more.
Just the thought of a blood witch leaves a bad taste in my mouth. They’re worse than the rogues I lived with for the first fifteen years of my life.
I dart around a boulder, skid around a tree, when a scent fills my nose. It’s rancid and the scent of something familiar.
Rogue.
Fuck.
Rogues weren’t allowed in Redwich. The club made sure of it. We didn’t stop shifters from moving to town if they wanted to, but we didn’t allow rogues. They’re nothing but trouble, and we’ve got enough trouble on our hands with the likes of the blood witches.
A sick thought pops into my head, and I push it to the back of my mind for the time being. I have a rogue to catch.
I follow it, but it’s moving. Picking up pace, I chase after it, the foul smell, my gut tightens at the idea of who it might be.
I haven’t seen those of my past in years, and the smell is that of them.
Rogues like packs have a scent of their own.
Just like each individual shifter has a scent solely to them.
Snarling, I push myself faster, darting past the trees, jumping over fallen limbs. I start to gain on them when we make it to the road. I see them dart across to the other side, and I give chase.
Only to be hit by a truck. I could hear the screeching of the tires. The shout of the man who’d hit me. His curses. His concern.
None of that mattered, all things considered. I couldn’t move.
The pain radiating through my body is excruciating. Yelping, I feel my body skidding across the road, rolling.
With the human around me, I couldn’t shift back to help the healing process.
I try to get up, but there’s no moving for me. The only thing I can do is hope like hell one of my brothers heard me and comes to investigate.
Unable to keep focused, I black out, and darkness takes me.