Loyal

by Hollis Shiloh

  Between one thing and another, Eddie had managed to piss off most of the old crew, and none of the new crew was all that loyal to begin with. I hadn't realized it was that bad. But I didn't make a move to tell Eddie. Anyway, I wasn't sure he'd believe me at this point.

  Vance went days sometimes without seeing me or speaking to me, leaving me alone to do my jobs, not interfering or hinting, or anything at all. But at least once a week, he'd have something he needed me to do for him. A slip of paper delivered. A collection made. A ride somewhere, and to stand silent in the background, protection and threat by my mere presence.

  Not one of these things was allowed to get back to Eddie. And not one of them did. I kept quiet and did my double duty, knowing at some point I'd have to choose.

  But more and more, it didn't feel like a choice. Eddie did not like me, did not want me in his pack. He might not kill me—although he might—but he didn't want me here. I was a nuisance to him.

  And Vance was being very much an alpha. He was bossy with me, rough, and sometimes a little mean. But he'd always soften it somehow, with a touch of a kind word, or even a nice meal. He paid me some, too, so I had even more money.

  He wasn't shy about bossing me around. He'd snap his fingers for me—in front of the guys, too—and I'd go to him, obedient. My self-worth was in the toilet lately. It would have been possible to resist, but I had no reason to. He was becoming my alpha, and already doing a better job of it than Eddie had.

  He took care of me, sort of. He'd cup the back of my neck, establishing dominance and tenderness at the same time. I knew he was snapping his fingers like that to show the guys he was boss—the first couple of times, they just stared—but I let him.

  Anyway, it worked. The ones who were on the fence about helping him were a lot more confidence when they saw the bossy alpha side of him, and me doing his bidding.

  He also didn't tell me to rough anyone up with my teeth, which I appreciated.

  We got away with the Jaramillo thing, money in on time, and no tricky questions from Eddie. Waiting another day definitely worked out better than his plan would have. It probably also wouldn't have gotten me and Vance teamed up.

  When Vance had gathered enough support, some information showed up mysteriously at the police department. Vance's ears on the inside—not a real spy, just someone who'd pass along something once in a while, for certain considerations—told him when to expect the police to drop by.

  Vance and I, and the rest of the ones willing to see a new boss, made scarce. We emerged again when the seat of power was empty, Eddie in lock-up, scrambling for his lawyers. A lot of shit got impounded, accounts got frozen, and basically it would take Eddie some time to dig himself out of the mess, if it was even possible.

  Turns out Vance had been collecting information for years. He didn't trust Eddie, had been saving it to protect himself. But it worked for this, too.

  With the trashing of a few hustles to get Eddie locked up, there was less money coming in, but what did come in was steady and regular, the protection money, gambling, that sort of thing.

  Vance didn't do anything stupid like raise the cost of protection, or throw his weight around. Maybe he wasn't really a known factor yet, but most likely nobody wanted to cross whoever had had the balls to get rid of Eddie and take his place, especially when most of Eddie's guys were going along with it.

  The guys liked Vance well enough, because he knew how things worked, and he wasn't making waves. If anything, things seemed a little steadier than they had under Eddie—for now. I liked steadiness. Unfortunately, he was already talking about expanding, and I seemed to be a big part of any plans like that, which I didn't like.

  I still felt guilty about Eddie—abandoning him—but the truth was, he'd abandoned me first. Whatever I'd owed him for taking me in, giving me a pack, feeding me—I'd repaid that long ago. I'd have kept that loyalty forever, if he'd at least cared about me a little bit.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I was sure Eddie had been thinking about getting rid of me. It explained the distrustful, almost hate-filled vibes I'd gotten off him better than anything else could. I'd chosen correctly, letting myself follow Vance instead.

  He seemed to have a better idea how wolves worked, or maybe just how I worked.

  He didn't slap me or tell me off unless I was too slow to follow order or something. He let me eat at the same table with him, and told me not to hold back. It was nice not to hold back. I got so damned hungry, and everybody around me seemed to eat like sparrows.

  "You're a big man. You need food," Vance said, looking kind of proud of how much I could put away.

  He moved me out of the pool hall and into a spare room at his place. My own bedroom. I couldn't remember if I'd ever had one of those or not. I didn't think so, though.

  It had a really big bed, sturdy, too, but the frame still groaned when I climbed onto it. It was nice there. Peaceful, kind of. I didn't have to wake up most nights to be security, but I knew he wanted me close so nobody would try anything. It was still nice.

  There was always stuff to eat in the fridge, and he didn't slap me around or snap his fingers when he wanted me, at least not when nobody was around to be impressed by it.

  "Make me breakfast," he told me one morning as he was lounging with his coffee, bleary-eyed and half asleep. Till he saw how useless I was at cooking, and elbowed me out of the way and trashed the eggs I'd been burning. Then he cooked for both of us, instead.

  It felt really nice to eat something the alpha had cooked.

  I knew I was pathetic, okay? But it had been so long since I felt accepted and okay, even in my pack. I took any crumbs of acceptance and affection he could spare. Even though in my heart I knew he didn't really care about me, just that I was useful to him, it was still sort of the same difference. He was better to me than Eddie, and I desperately needed that.

  He upped my pay, and started giving me extra money for feeding kids. "I know you still do that. Just let them know it's not Eddie you work for anymore."

  So he did see the benefit of an outreach program. Briefly, I wondered if I should've made clear long ago that I was only bringing food on my behalf, nobody else's.

  But who would believe that? Who would care what I wanted to do?

  No, Eddie's name—and now Vance's—let me offer charity without it seeming like an insult, or getting me kicked out. I swallowed my sigh of protest and did as he said.

  THE GUYS DIDN'T SEEM to think much of me lately, watching me jump when Vance said how high, seeing the way I responded to a snap of Vance's fingers and didn't resist if he smacked me. I wished he wouldn't do it in front of them.

  Most of them already actively disliked me, even though I'd known them for years and really, I never crossed anybody if I could help it. But now some of them would look at me with lips curled, or say things under their breath about being a whipped dog.

  I knew I should have a little more self-respect, but really, if slapping me helped Vance maintain his authority without having to actually teach anybody a lesson, I should be glad, shouldn't I? I really wasn't a fan of the sorts of lessons they would be, especially since I'd probably have to help carry them out.

  I was still strong enough nobody messed with me directly, but the combination of subservience and being the boss's new right-hand man weren't making me any more friends. Not that I'd had a lot of friends in the first place.

  Vance told me I'd better start getting my hair trimmed professionally, because letting it grow too long then shaving it down wasn't going to work anymore.

  "You're in the public eye now. Look like you're fit to be there."

  Hair care products made me sneeze, so I wasn't eager to do it, but the look in his eye told me it wasn't worth making this the thing I resisted him about. Maybe nothing would be, I thought with a sinking heart. Did I have it in me anymore to defy anyone?

  I found the nearest place that smelled the least terrible. It was into the herbal natural stuff, although m
y nose still tickled and itched the whole time with the background of chemicals and perfumes. It definitely wasn't all natural.

  Inside I didn't have to wait long, and a rather good-looking young man announced he'd be my stylist.

  "Just a trim. Whatever," I said, shrugging awkwardly when he asked how I wanted it. The boss had already said not to shave it down, so that was my best guess.

  "You have such nice hair. You shouldn't treat it this way." The slim man with sympathetic dark eyes scolded me gently.

  Heaven. His slim fingers carding through my hair felt like heaven.

  "I've seen you around, you know. You don't look any better with it shaved short. Now you let me give you a cut that will show off that handsome mug of yours, and don't let it get this bad again. Come back and let me take care of you, y'hear?"

  Handsome? He thought I was handsome?

  I snuck a peek at his eyes in the mirror. He was smiling at me in a knowing kind of way. It wasn't like a crush, and it wasn't a blatant invitation or come-on, but something in his eyes said he'd definitely know how to handle it if he was ever touching me in a non-professional capacity—and that wasn't off the table.

  I looked away quick, so I wouldn't start blushing, and hoped I hadn't already. I was a lot less adept at handling this kind of thing from men than I was from women. Most of the time, men didn't dare flirt with me, because I guess I was so big and imposing and nobody really pegged me as gay on first meeting. I also didn't hang out at any places that would've given them a clue. I guess I was kind of a loner, when not on the job.

  The truth was I'd had enough painful lessons about blow jobs, and that from guys I was supposed to be able to trust, that I didn't fancy my chances of dealing with whatever a stranger would do to me, or demand of me.

  I'd been young and dreamy-eyed when some of the slightly older boys who worked for Eddie, hanging around the edges of crime and wanting to be adults so bad it hurt, had somehow figured out I was into guys, not girls. I suppose the look of having a crush is hard to hide. Or maybe I blushed at the wrong time.

  Instead of just teasing me about it, or staying out of my way and leaving me alone, or even calling me names, they got rough. They decided if I was going to be a cocksucker, they'd better take me in hand and "teach" me. I still got kind of trembly if I thought about having to go down on my knees like that and just take it.

  They hadn't been good teachers. There hadn't been an ounce of reciprocation or gentleness about it. That first time was the worst—the roughest—with all three of them laughing at me and smacking me around and making me "practice." I'm pretty sure they never talked about it among themselves afterwards. I think they kind of shocked even themselves.

  But they'd still find me, one on one, and push me to my knees and unzip, and continue the "lessons." Maybe each one thinking he was the only one; I'm not sure. It was never as rough as that first time, but it wasn't fun, and it wasn't something I chose.

  This went on for a few months before one of the grownups got wind and put a stop to it. One of the boys got a pretty bad beating for doing that to me, and the other two were too scared to continue after that in case they were found out as well. The adults kept an eye on me better after that, Vance among them.

  Nobody talked about it to me, though, and I blamed myself for a long time. Especially because sometimes, as awful as it was, I'd gotten turned on by it. It wasn't that I wanted what was happening, it's just that my body had a certain automatic response, and it confused the hell out of me.

  Anyway, I'd been less than eager to explore sex ever since then, especially with strangers. If I couldn't trust guys from my own pack, how much worse would strangers be? Let's face it, I wasn't great at standing up for myself, and I didn't want to be hurt anymore.

  There was nothing terribly intimidating about this guy, though. He was gentle as he cut my hair, his touch careful and light in a way that I liked, and he kept up a patter of nonsense so I didn't have to talk.

  I could definitely stand to come back here and let him do that again. Although I didn't know if I'd want anything else he had on the table. It would be a big risk for me, even with someone as slight and careful as this Jimmy was.

  "You ask for me by name, now, you hear?" He offered me his card from between two fingers, like he was offering me a cigarette. I took it carefully, and he gave me a smile, like I'd done something right.

  I carried that smile with me the rest of the day, although I didn't trust it.

  IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN. In fact, I wondered why it didn't already happen to me pretty frequently. The cops brought me in for questioning.

  I guess I was more visible now that Vance was the alpha. He certainly went out of his way to put me on display, to have me out front and make sure people knew I worked for him.

  The police had to know there was crooked shit going on, but they didn't have me on anything, even jaywalking. They couldn't; I was really careful. But they knew I worked for Vance, and they were gunning for Vance now that Eddie was gone. Vance was careful, even more careful than Eddie had been, so I shouldn't have been so nervous when they hauled me in.

  First step into the police station, and I popped out in sweat all over. I didn't like having my hands behind my back like this, the plastic ties too tight. I could probably rip them—probably—but these guys carried guns and smelled dangerous.

  My wrists were too big for regular handcuffs. It had hurt while they tried to jam them on me.

  I was pretty sure I shouldn't be cuffed if they really did just want to talk to me, if I wasn't under arrest, but I wasn't a lawyer, was I? I had no idea how far my rights went or how far I could resist without being smacked around, possibly killed. The way the guys talked, the cops were far worse than a rival gang would have been.

  I'd never actually been arrested, although I'd been tossed in the tank a few times with some of the other guys. When there was nothing on me, and the lawyers got loud, I was always released. But I'd spent a few nights in jail and the prospect always made me uneasy. There were so many unfamiliar sounds and smells, and the hostility was breathtaking.

  I willed my jaw to stay firm, my mouth to stay shut, and my knees not to wobble as they hauled me roughly into a questioning room. I'd been in these before, too, and now I knew I'd have a wait.

  I didn't know what they wanted from me, but it would be about Vance—or possibly Eddie, but I didn't think so. They'd already caught that fish.

  Was Eddie doing okay in jail? Did he regret not wanting me around? Perhaps he wished I was there to protect him. Maybe he'd get his wish, if they'd found something they could pin on me. Or maybe he'd just want me dead...

  It felt like about eight days, but it was probably only a few hours before they set about questioning me. They gave me water, but nothing else, and the questioner was so persistently cool-voiced he probably didn't sound as hostile as he was.

  His smell and body language practically screamed he wanted to see me pay, but his voice was soft as he circled back around and around to different illegal things that had gone down, asking about my part in them, where I'd been, whether Vance was involved, all that sort of thing.

  I always had alibis ready. Vance liked us to, and the pack covers for each other as necessary. I didn't have to reuse anybody, even though he asked me about six different occasions. I committed the supposed details to memory, so I could let the people in question know, if I got to talk to them before the cops followed up.

  The cop left me to stew after a while—without offering me a bathroom break—and I wondered just how soon Vance's lawyers would get me out. It couldn't happen soon enough. I could feel a twitch starting up in my left cheek, under my eye, and I couldn't make it quit. Also my leg kept jiggling up and down under the table. I needed to pee, and I really wanted to get out of here.

  After I sat for a while more, two officers came and got me and hauled me to a cell. It was a relief after that hard, bare room. At least there was a toilet here. I took care of business quick, before the
y'd even got done locking the door. I didn't have a shy bladder, and even if I had, I'd have had to. It was that or wet my jeans.

  "You think you're a big man, don't you?" sneered a cop behind me, letting the door clang hard. I may have flinched at the sound. "Well, you just wait."

  It was a dark cell, with just me in it, a slit of a window with bars, and a small barred window on the big metal door.

  I was twitchier than ever after that, though I lay down on the narrow bed and closed my eyes and tried to rest. Vance was taking so damned long. Why didn't he hurry? Didn't he want me home before night, so he could have his bodyguard present?

  Did they know I lived with Vance now? They didn't really seem to have much information on me.

  With my eyes closed, I listened as hard as I could, trying to filter out the ambient noises of the jail, the things that wouldn't mean anything for me personally. Shoes clanged on the floor. People shouted about how unfair it was, or cried. Sometimes I heard an off kind of laughter that made me shudder inside.

  But finally, concentrating for a long time, I heard something. People walking toward my cell, voices low, probably thinking they were too far away for me to hear. They would have been, without my wolf hearing. Even with it, I almost missed what they said.

  "We've got nothing on him, and the lawyer's screaming, but he's jumpy and nervous as fuck. We must be close to something."

  "He's got some odd vibes, that's for sure," said another voice, deeper and slower. "But I'm not sure you can read anything from that in a case like this."

  "A case like what?" said the other cop.

  "Just an angle I'm working on. Theory only, so far. If I'm right, it could explain a lot, and it could be a big break for you. But let me see how it pans out first."

  "Okay, well, don't keep us in the dark. Just because you're the expert, we still need to be kept in the loop."