Chapter 3 #2
“Jason Wright. You kneel before us today, accused of the following: damage to pack property, trespassing, and dishonor to our daughters. How do you plead?”
I raise my chin. “Guilty.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourselves?”
What else am I supposed to say? Buff fucked their daughters, and Froggy did destroy at least eight bikes, so telling him to go fuck himself doesn’t seem like a bright idea.
“You defiled our bloodline, shamed our name, and blew up my Harley,” Talon growls.
“I’m aware of the charges,” I say, keeping my tone respectful but not submissive. “We messed up. No argument there. But do we really need all… this?” I gesture lightly at the crowd. “We could talk it out. Maybe over a beer. Two, if Talon’s buying.”
A few wolves chuckle. Good. A crack in the tension.
I look between the alphas. “Look, your daughters are beautiful women. Buff’s an idiot, not a criminal. Nothing happened without consent. Let us pay you back for the damage to the bikes, and we’ll be out of your lives. You never need to see us again.”
Talon’s jaw flexes. Thorne’s nostrils flare as he gets off his makeshift throne. The crowd shifts like they’re waiting for the sky to erupt into flames.
Then Talon speaks, his voice low and razor-edged. “You think you can charm your way out of this?”
Thorne steps forward, looming over me. “You disrespect our daughters. You disrespect us. And now you want a beer?”
That crack in the tension seals up real quick.
“But since you’ve suddenly found your tongue,” Thorne gestures to the pack, “let’s see what the pack thinks of your… explanation.”
The pack roars in response, some angry, some amused, most bloodthirsty.
I knew this was coming. It’s how things are done. It still doesn’t bode well. And now I do want a beer.
A wolf howls to my right, low and deliberate, the sound meant to be felt rather than heard. Another joins in, louder. The verdict climbs in volume. The chorus builds. Three, then four. Then the whole damn pack, rising like a tidal wave of sound.
It slams into me, pressure spiking behind my eyes, my eardrums straining until it feels like my skull might crack open just to let the noise escape.
Talon smirks. “I think the pack has spoken. Although you wouldn’t know much about that, since you don’t have one.”
More laughter rings out, but this time it feels like it falls flat. Or that could just be my mood.
“My brother is right. The pack has spoken,” Thorne echoes. “We find you guilty. Your punishment will be hanging.”
My stomach drops straight through the mud.
Wolves don’t survive hangings.
It’s the one death you can’t fight, can’t heal from, can’t crawl back from.
My wolf presses into my ribs like he’s trying to retreat even further to somewhere I can’t follow.
Buff mutters something about never seeing the next Power Rangers movie.
Froggy snaps so hard you’d think Buff confessed to destroying the moon. “Are you stupid? We’re literally about to fuckin’ die and you’re still on about the goddamn Power Rangers?”
I ignore them. While they bicker with each other, I need to fight for our lives. At the very least, I needed to fight for their lives.
“You’re right, we don’t have a pack, but we are family.
And we have each other, and that means more to me than three hundred wolves who don’t give a shit about each other.
” It’s a dig, and if Thorne and Talon are smart enough, they’ll pick up on that.
I hold my breath, waiting for them to realize I’ve insulted their whole way of thinking.
But stupidity wins out. No surprise there.
“I’m responsible for Frederick and Beauford.
I appeal to you to let them go. Give me their punishment instead.
” I pause before I say the next words because everyone knows exile is worse than death, but I selfishly can’t watch them die.
“Mark them and ban them from the territories. If they’re seen, they’re hunted.
” Exile didn’t kill us when we were kids.
This would.
Because this wouldn’t just strip land or protection—it would tear apart the only pack we ever managed to keep.
Buff. Froggy. Me.
The last scraps of family we weren’t supposed to survive with.
Pandemonium erupts. Wolves howl, those who aren’t shifted shout in a chorus of disbelief and horror. I can’t meet the gaze of my brothers.
The alphas put their heads together and murmur. It feels like hours of deliberation.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Froggy all but snarls at me.
“I’m saving your life.”
“You’re dooming us to a life of exile.”
I turn my head to face him. “We’re already living the lives of the exiled. It’s just us. It’s only been us for years.”
“Yeah, but we’ve had you,” Buff grunts.
I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t know what to say, so I snap it shut again.
Thorne’s voice booms across the clearing.
“Fine. We agree. Beau and Freddie will be exiled. You will still be executed as leader of your little group of misfits.” He turns to face one of the enforcers who manhandled Freddie earlier, dismissing me like he hasn’t just sentenced me to death. “Grenade, get the branding irons.”
I snort. Grenade. My god, can they come up with any lamer names?
It takes less than thirty seconds for Grenade to return with the tools. I can’t help but wonder if they planned this, if they knew I’d beg for their lives.
The silver brand goes into the fire, and within moments, it glows white-hot.
Buff whines. “My ass still hurts from the bikes blowing up. My wrists hurt from these silver chains. Now they’re gonna brand me.”
“It’s going to be okay, Buff,” I mutter, though I’m not at all convinced it is. Doubt over whether I made the right decision slams into my body, but I keep my mouth shut. They might hate me after this, but I’d rather they hate me than die.
They drag Freddie first. He doesn’t fight when Grenade and Grant flank him, each grabbing a bicep. The bystanders crowd closer, making it impossible for me to do anything to save him. I don’t have an objection to throwing a punch for my family, but I’m no idiot. I know when I’m outnumbered.
The glow from the bonfire blazes across Freddie’s features, highlighting every curve and angle of a face that now looks to be set in stone. No expression except for absolute hatred.
Grant yanks Freddie’s T-shirt up and brings the iron closer to his skin.
He does it slowly, drawing out the anticipation of the pain, increasing the torture.
Freddie doesn’t flinch when they press the iron to his chest. The hiss of heat searing skin fills the eerie space.
Everyone seems to be in a trance, drunk on mob mentality.
The smell of burning flesh permeates the air, but it doesn’t mask the pheromones from the onlookers.
Freddie grits his teeth and glares at Grant.
The look in his eyes says “I’m glad it was your bike I fucked up”.
Pride surges through me, but is quickly replaced by utter hatred for those surrounding me.
I’ve spent my life wishing to be part of something more, but in this moment, I’m grateful this isn’t how I turned out.
As soon as they’re done branding Freddie, they throw him to the side like a crushed beer can and haul Buff closer. He raises his chin. “Fellas, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to ruin my good shirt. Can I take it off?”
Talon sneers at the crowd. “Loverboy’s worried about his shirt. Boohoo.”
“Let him take it off!” a woman calls. “We could do with a little show.”
“Yeah,” someone else adds. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
Buff has one of those gym bodies, but his body comes from hard work and has nothing to do with being a Mirror Mary. He gets by on brawn rather than brain and has a reputation in this part of the world for being sculpted by Adonis himself.
Thorne and Talon have one of their silent twin conversations, and I can’t help thinking they probably piss in unison too.
Eventually, Thorne nods. “Very well. But don’t try anything stupid, or what we just did to Freddie will look like a peck on the cheek.”
Grant slips on a pair of gloves to protect himself from the silver and unties Buff, who immediately shakes his arms out.
Then, he reaches behind his head and pulls his T-shirt off in one swift move.
I don’t need to use my shifter senses to tell that little move of his just turned on every female in the circle.
Maybe half the males too. It’s obvious from the whoops and cheers and indecent comments being flung at him.
Buff grins from ear to ear. He lives for this sort of thing.
He isn’t the brightest guy and has used his charm and good looks to get as far as he has up ’til now, so this fits right into his wheelhouse.
Quick as a flash, he whips his pants off, and then things really get going.
“Fuck this shit, let’s get this over with,” Grant growls. I’m starting to think Grant has a few size issues.
Before I can really turn my focus back on Buff, Grant has branded him with the iron and tossed him aside. Like Freddie, he doesn’t so much as flinch. In fact, he winks at one of the gals staring at his cock.
I’m still relishing my pride in Freddie and Buff when I’m whipped off the floor and hauled off to the nearest tree.
It’s then I see the noose taunting me as it swings from side to side in the wind.
I’m hauled up onto the flatbed truck again, and the noose is flung around my neck.
Buff and Freddie—who were lying on the ground panting a second ago—are on their feet and lunging toward me when meaty hands stop them.
They strain against their captors’ hold to no avail.
Someone jumps into the driver’s seat and starts gunning the engine.
The truck lurches forward in small increments, tightening the noose around my neck.
I wish I’d been like Buff and had the sense to ask to take my clothes off.
With my hands free, I could at least attempt to make more room between the rope and my neck.
No use choking before they get to hang me.
The cheering is deafening, and all I can think is that I’m going to die to the sound of people screaming obscenities at me.
No more birdsong. No more music. I’ll never again hear the sound of a woman’s moans beneath me.
Buff rages at them to let me go, and the more they restrain him, the worse it gets. Freddie starts hurling insults. If they keep fighting like this, the Terrible Two will have them executed anyway, and the humiliation and pain of the branding will all be for nothing. I have to calm them down.
Think, Jason, think.
Then it hits me. I’m probably going to regret this, but what have I got to lose?
“Guys, guys, relax. It’s okay. Once you leave, you can split the money between you two and sit pretty. You won’t even need a pack. I’m fine. I don’t want you worrying about me.”
They both gape at me in confusion. I hope they don’t blow this. I also hope it doesn’t backfire.
Talon narrows his eyes. “What money are you mouthing about?”
Okay, he’s taken the bait. It’s go time.
“Just a job we did a few months ago. Swindled a rotten businessman out of a few hundred thousand. But I’m sure you guys wouldn’t be interested in hearing about that.”
Thorne tilts his head. “Speak more.”
“It wouldn’t help you even if I did. I have it hidden in a location that only I know about.
” I hold my breath, making it look like a casual pause when I’m really praying to every god there might be that this is going to work.
I don’t even look at the guys for fear I’ll drop my pose and give it away.
“Unless…”
Three. Two. One.
“Unless what, dipshit? I’m losing my patience,” Talon growls.
“Unless you’d be prepared to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
Showtime.
“You let us all go to get the money and we’ll hand it all over to you. After that, you can do what you want with me. We can do this whole tragic dramatization again. Nothing like a good cliffhanger to get the crowds going.”
I hold my breath, expecting them to call my bluff, but they don’t. Or at least they don’t shoot the idea down immediately.
“Fine. You go. We’ll keep the others as collateral.”
Fuck.
I keep my face impassive. “No can do. I need those two to open the safety deposit box.” Please, don’t let Buff react to any of this. He’s as honest as he is na?ve. He must sense this is a matter of life or death because he doesn’t say a word.
“Fair enough. Then I’ll send Grant with you.”
I’m impressed. They aren’t as stupid as they look.
“Double no can do. There are instructions left that, should any of this happen and anyone else comes with us, then the money is to be destroyed. See, the guys and I decided long ago that we’d rather see the money up in flames than it going to the wrong people.
We took it from the rich to feed the poor.
Sort of a modern-day Robin Hood, if you will. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust us.”
The long pause that follows hums in the air.
“Fine. One week,” Talon declares.
Thorne stares at his twin like he’s sprouted a second head, but they know they have to present a united front to keep such a huge pack in line, so he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if Talon is about to lose another pinkie.
“One week, exiles. But try anything, and you all die.”
I nearly sag with relief, but that wouldn’t be smart. “You won’t regret it.”
“You better not fuck with us, or you will,” they say in unison.
How cute. That twin thing must be true.