I swallowed my growing panic and lowered my voice. “I do want out, and of course I want to see Iris again, but there are people here who need help too. I can’t just turn a blind eye and do nothing.”
“You can and you will,” Ryker hissed, invading more of my personal space. “Because if the boss catches wind that you’re plotting to release the captive women and children, I won’t be able to stop him from ripping you limb from limb. And he will. I’ve seen him do it.”
I envisioned the burly man choking Skervvy and shuddered, blinking away the image before I reheard the snap of his neck. “Maybe saving them would be worth the risk. Because I don’t think I can live with the alternative.”
He stared at me for the longest time. I barely breathed, praying I was getting through to him. He shook his head. “You’re insane.”
I shoved him away and stomped out of the building into the soggy evening. “Better insane than selfish,” I shot back, knowing he wasn’t far behind. Instead of wasting more energy on him, I mentally burrowed into my ability, feeling the tug that would lead me to Rollie.
If Ryker had one glaring flaw, it was overconfidence that I would follow his every move simply because he held all the cards. Well, it was time to exploit his weakness. I was done following him. From now on, I would make my own decisions.
Pack’s Tavern was in the debilitated heart of Asheville. The farther in we went, the stronger the smell. Rotten garbage and who-knew-what-else littered the narrow, vine-strewn streets. While the buildings grew in number, so did the city’s population. Perched on crumbling walls or loitering in groups, the men fell silent as we passed. Some followed us, but kept their distance.
Cars made visibility low, their rusted hulls practically touching as they sat waiting for owners who would never come. One of them was being used for target practice. A group of young teenagers whooped and hollered, dangerously brandishing their guns. They paused in their revelry as I approached. My chin lifted despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach. Did these boys fend for themselves? Were they deprived of parental guidance and left to become wild animals? The thought of Bren and Ryker growing up like this didn’t sit well in my gut.
As I drew even with them, one stepped into my path. I stopped, reaching for daggers that weren’t there. The boy was maybe thirteen, dirty with even dirtier clothes. I recognized his puffed-up confidence for what it was—a need to prove something to his peers. I would have put him in his place if it weren’t for the gun pointed at my boots.
He flashed crooked teeth. “How about you let me make a woman out of you, pretty thing?” Several whistles and catcalls followed. Ugh, group hazing at its finest. I debated removing my hood so they could see the tattoo, but they abruptly quieted. I scanned their faces, which were no longer looking at me.
From behind, a hand wrapped around mine. I recognized Ryker’s firm grip right before he said, “Touch her and you’ll never make a woman out of anyone.” If the boy wet his pants, I wouldn’t be surprised. Part of me wanted to laugh at all the male stupidness, but another part wanted to pull away and handle this on my own. Instinct told me that word of my disrespect toward the prince would spread quickly, though.
Ryker was right about us needing to present a united front. These boys might be intimidated by him, but if I didn’t obey him, why should they? He was only one man, after all. One who’d disappeared for two years without explanation. Even I could see how that must look to them. Like he didn’t care about his clan. Like he didn’t take his role as prince seriously.
How Ryker planned to win them over someday as head alpha was beyond me. It also wasn’t my problem. I couldn’t get distracted with worrying over his life when there were already so many people I cared for in trouble. Out of everyone, Ryker was in the least amount of danger—or so I told myself. I saw the way his father looked at him though, like a king demanding loyalty from his subject, even if that meant beating the crap out of him.
The same way Renold looked at me.
We left the gawking boys behind without further incident, but I wasn’t given time to relax my tense shoulders. Up ahead was a two-story brick building, so dirty and worn that the front was a nondescript, muddy brown. The sign over the grimy yet surprisingly intact glass door read: P-A-K T-A-V-R-N—still legible despite the missing letters. But it was the dogs on either side of the entrance that had my attention. Both were huge with black muzzles and ears, the rest of their fur a tawny brown.
Just like Bear.
A vision of his death hit me before I could stop it. Ryker took the lead, tightening his hold on my hand when I slowed. Both animals stood as we approached, but instead of greeting us with wagging tails, they let loose a flurry of barks. The vicious sound snapped me back to reality.
“No hesitation,” Ryker muttered, throwing me a quick glance as the dogs strained against their chains. “Not in the lion’s den. The only way out of here is to be as ruthless as they are. Don’t give them a reason to tear you down and feast on your weakness.”
“Wow,” I murmured, mustering bravado I didn’t feel. “You’re really great at this whole reassurance thing.”
He didn’t bother with a reply, which was a good thing since my ears stopped working the moment he pulled open the door and I saw what lay within. A couple dozen rough-looking men occupied a spattering of mismatched tables. Every single one of them was staring at me. Even the deer heads on the walls seemed to be looking at me.
The smell of the place—smoke, sweat, and testosterone—punched me in the gut, and I almost hurled. Spanning the back wall was a long counter with stools. None were empty. I stopped counting after thirty men when the room’s hazy corners swallowed the rest.
The silence was thick. Weighted. When a chair loudly scraped against the hardwood floor, I almost jumped. Ryker squeezed my fingers in warning. Boots stomped our way. I already knew who it was before my eyes found the broad, bearded man with an easy-going smile and piercing gaze.
“Ryker. Luna. I’m surprised you made it on time,” the boss’s voice boomed. “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t blame you for being late. Am I right, boys?” A chorus of shouts and lewd comments erased any confusion I had. If he was trying to unsettle me, then he chose the perfect thing to say. Flames fanned my cheeks, and by his chuckle, he noticed. “Come. Sit with me.”
Ryker stiffened. “I thought this was supposed to be a private conversation.”
His father slanted him a look. “You know that’s not how we do things around here. No secrets. What’s the number one rule?” He swept his arms wide as he addressed the room again.
Men from all sides answered as one: “Honor the code, respect the clan!” Cheers of camaraderie and clinking of glasses followed. I didn’t fail to notice several glares thrown Ryker’s way.
Rollie faced us again. “If you are to lead this clan one day, son, those hidden agendas of yours must stop. The men respect a transparent leader, not a snake in the grass.” He ushered us to a corner table with red-cushioned seating in the shape of an L. I slid across the cracked leather, unease slithering through me when Rollie took one end and Ryker the other, leaving me trapped between them.
To distract myself, I mulled over the term “snake in the grass.” It described Ryker perfectly, but hadn’t the boss raised him to be one? He was to listen and not be seen—and probably report back with what he heard. Maybe he wanted to tarnish his son’s reputation so he couldn’t succeed him someday. Or maybe the King of the Recruiter Clan simply didn’t trust his men.
Either way, the last thing I wanted was to become the princess of these morally questionable men, some who no doubt had a personal hand in kidnapping me and my mum. I could fake the union if I had to, but I’d never let it become real.
“Is it done?” the boss said, breaking through my ruminations.
Instead of replying, Ryker unwound the bandage from his hand, then reached over and undid mine without asking. Ire at being manhandled simmered beneath my skin, but I managed to keep from ki
cking his shin. A man plunked three full glasses on the table as Ryker turned our hands palm up, displaying the blood oath cuts—or bonding ritual.
Rollie scrutinized the marks. Without warning, he grabbed my hand and brought it to his face. I inwardly recoiled as he inhaled deeply. I was all too aware of the entire room watching us with bated breath, probably hoping the bond was a fake so they could tear into me. Stars, is that what would happen if the boss thought I was pretending? I fought off a shiver of dread.
A second later, he returned my hand to the table and picked up his drink, smoothly standing as he raised his glass in the air. “My son, Prince of the Recruiter Clan, is officially a bonded male!” he shouted to the room. “May their betrothal remain unbroken, sealed within the blood they have shared. May no one separate them on pain of death. They have my blessing. Good health to them both!”
“Good health!” the men chorused, raising their own glasses.
Still processing all that was said, I didn’t react when Ryker pressed a drink into my hand and wrapped my fingers around it. I peeked at him, tentatively following his lead when he brought his own glass up. “Good health,” he said to me, before tipping his drink back.
“Good health,” I muttered, quickly scanning the room to confirm my fear. All eyes were on me. Eager. Waiting. I brought the questionably clean glass to my lips and took a sip. Expecting water, I almost spewed the contents across the table. Fighting against every sane cell in my body, I grimaced but managed to swallow.
The liquid burned like acid down my throat. A fit of coughing overwhelmed me, and when I blinked the tears from my eyes, it was to see every single man in the room roaring with laughter. Well, then. Even more disturbing was the heavy warmth that settled into my gut.
Before I could ask what the drink was, Rollie returned to his seat and said, “If there’s one thing my men are good at, it’s making moonshine! It helps get us through the cold winters and days when game is scarce.”
Game. I wondered if he meant animals or people. Probably both.
“I’m assuming you don’t have spirits in that walled city of yours, right, lass?”
“The elites drink wine on occasion, but I’ve never—”
Ah. Crap.
The smooth-talker managed to get my incredibly stupid tongue wagging.
On the table next to mine, Ryker’s hand curled into a fist. I was done for.
“Secrets destroy trust, Luna. If you are to be a member of this clan, we need to be honest with each other,” Rollie said conversationally, then leaned toward me and whispered, “Or should I call you Lune?”
I stared at my drink, refusing to comment. But my tripping heartbeat was proof enough of his words.
“I think it’s time for tonight’s special entertainment,” the boss bellowed, startling me. Ryker laid a firm hand on my arm. I refused to look at him too. “Axe, if you’ll do the honors.”
Axe. Why did that name sound familiar?
As I heard the distant sound of clanking—like metal being dragged over wood—I remembered. The faceless man who’d tortured me for hours on end in that dank cell. And then I saw him: a stout bald man with tattoos covering his skull, along with several piercings in his face and ears. He carried a chain. No, he was pulling a chain, forcing something out of the tavern’s hidden depths and into the murky light.
One look at the man who materialized from the shadows and I was on my feet, pushing against the table that separated me from him. I heard my glass tip and lose its contents. I felt Ryker’s fingers dig into my skin. Yet I was blind to everything but the golden-eyed boy who shuffled closer and closer. Close enough for me to see the tattered state of his pants, the dirt and bruises on his skin. The weary lines on his face and the resigned slump of his usually proud shoulders.
My mouth betrayed me. I could no more stop the word that came from it than pause the beating of my heart. “Bren,” I whispered.
His eyes shot up and locked onto mine.
Bren didn’t fight to reach me. After that split second of open emotion, he quickly looked to the floor. He was still trying to protect me, but it was too late for that. Rollie knew of our past connection, and somehow knew who I really was. I doubted Ryker had told him, but maybe he’d tortured the information out of Bren. How else could he have found out?
“Sit down, lass. You’re only making this worse for him.”
I barely registered the boss’s words as Axe wrapped Bren’s chains around a sturdy beam—a position that left him vulnerable to a roomful of hostile men. Ryker yanked on my arm, forcing me to sit.
“Here’s what I know,” Rollie continued calmly. Too calmly. “A couple months ago, one of my young lads reported seeing you and my son leaving Tatum City together. Said you killed two of my men but spared his scrawny hide. That was a mistake. Never hesitate to finish the job if you want to cover your tracks.”
He took a swig of moonshine, watching as a few clansmen gathered around Bren. They didn’t touch him, but their close proximity was enough to make me nervous. Something told me they weren’t allowed to physically harm him unless their boss gave the word, though.
“Here’s what I don’t get.” He absently toyed with the rim of his glass. “Why all the secrets and sneaking around? We don’t hide what we do here. We make do with what the world has thrown at us, fighting against the predator gene that threatens to consume the last of our humanity.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he added with a chuckle. I swallowed as he cast that easy-going grin my way. “We know we’re beasts, barely men at all. Some of us embrace the simplicity of our animalistic nature, and others despise it. Bren has always hated how we round up women and children, breeding and selling them like cattle.
“But here’s what you don’t know.” He paused, waiting for me to give in. To look him in the eye. I did. “You’re working for the devil, and the devil doesn’t care what his servants endure—only that they do his bidding. He who holds the power holds the world in his hands, eh?”
Shock jolted through me. Was he referring to Renold? Did that mean he considered himself a prisoner too? But he was on the outside—a king—free of walls, cages, and chains. Unless . . .
“What is he to you?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Ryker tensed. I could practically feel his desire to knock me out so I wouldn’t ruin his master plan. But I knew now that he was afraid, well and truly afraid of his father. Which meant he wouldn’t interfere. I was afraid of the big bear-of-a-man too, except I suddenly understood him a little. There was a primal, backward method to his madness, but his actions sort of made sense—unlike the man who had raised me for eleven years.
“Ah.” Rollie threw me a wink of approval. “You’re asking the right question. And there’s a simple answer to that one: family. It’s hard to turn your back on family, wouldn’t you say?”
At first, I was too stunned to react. Then my throat seized, an involuntary act as my body registered his words before my brain did. “You’re—” I swallowed hard as saliva rushed into my mouth. “You’re related to . . . Renold?”
Rollie tipped his glass toward me in a salute. “He’s my big brother. ‘R’ names run in the family, a tradition we’ve upheld for generations.” He pointed at himself. “Roland. Ryker. Jones is an alias, a way for big brother to separate himself from what he deems lesser.”
His amiable expression slipped, and he curled his upper lip as if tasting something sour. “Renold thrives on control. When he made plans for the Elite Trials over three decades ago, I helped him, creating challenges that would separate the strong from the weak. Strength, speed, precision? I came up with that motto.” He snorted. “But my presence threatened his carefully-constructed system. I had a loyal following of recruits who were eager to contend in the Trials and climb the ranks, become alphas as they were meant to be. But there can only ever be one head alpha.”
He slid his eyes to Ryker. “I was barely a man when Renold banished me and my recruits. He said that we were made
for the outside. That first winter, I lost a dozen strong men to frostbite, starvation, and wild animals picking them off during the night. I’d find their frozen, half-eaten corpses on the streets. So I struck a deal with the devil himself, honoring every single demand, and became king to a pack of beasts in order to survive. But for what?” He banged a fist on the table. I flinched, sucking in a gasp.
The room quieted as all eyes turned toward their leader. But what I didn’t expect to see was sympathy on their faces instead of fear. I wondered how many of these men were his original recruits.
“I bet big brother made us into a bedtime story: Beware of the wild men who prowl outside the electrified wall. They seek a way inside to devour naughty children.” He barked a humorless laugh.
“But you see, lass, we’re not the enemy. We’ve been wronged, lied to, and cheated out of a better life—because of our DNA. That’s right. Genetic makeup we have no control over. Unfair, don’t you think? It’s all my brother and father used to talk about. So how is it that the two boys I raised, who both carry the predator gene, are allowed inside the golden city? But then I realized”—he tapped his bearded chin as if trying to solve a puzzle—“there’s a wildcard now.”
I stilled, refusing to blink or even breathe.
“If I’m right, I may finally have the upper hand after all these years. My big brother—so in control, so meticulous and unwavering in his goals—may have given me the tool necessary to fix this broken cycle. I just need to know one thing, lass.” His expression sharpened, voice falling flat. “Did he send you here to dethrone me?”
The blood slowly drained from my face. His question hit way too close to the mark. I knew without a doubt that if I said yes, he’d snap my neck in a split second. My eyes burned with the effort to hold his gaze. Before the silence could drag, I quickly said, “No, sir.”
For one unbearable moment, I thought he could see through my flimsy mask. The need to protect my vulnerable throat overwhelmed me. I grasped my bear tooth necklace. His eyes tracked the movement, then lifted to mine again.
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