Chapter 1

"John has our order ready. Borrow his carts and load up the back," I say to Cricket and Sly, two prospects of Devil's Pack MC, as I roll to a stop on the side of the general store.

Scrolling through my phone while I wait for them, I chuckle at the text thread from my brothers back home in Fortune Falls. The triplets are the epitome of teenage boys, always looking for trouble, always finding it like the terrorists they are. They certainly keep our brother Karter busy with their antics. If I were there, I'd beat their asses and make them run nightly until they passed out from sheer exhaustion.

But I'm not, so instead I egg them on from a hundred miles away.

Karter: Where the hell is the quad? If you dumped it in the lake again, so help you…

Kason: Why are you asking us?

Kit: That's profiling, old man.

Karter: Who else would have stolen it?

Koran: If you don't have it on video, it didn't happen.

Kason: Even if it is on video, if you haven't seen the footage, it didn't happen.

Koran: Right, right. You're so right, Kason.

Karter: Don't you three want to run away from home? I hear Kade has room in his cabin…

Me: Awww. What's wrong, Karter? Three teenage boys too much for you to handle?

Karter: You already have me and Kash as little brothers. We don't need three more to carry on the Barrington name. Can't we drive them up north and drop them off somewhere? Maybe we can hold their heads under water for a while first?

Kit: You'd have to catch us first, old man.

Kason: Fat chance of that. Karter is the slowest of all of us.

Karter: Wait. Where's the dirt bike?

Kason: Again, why are you asking us?

Kit: Does a dirt bike have enough torque to drag a quad out of a lake? Asking for a friend.

Koran: Nah, man. You'll need a truck with a winch for that. You know, like the one at the garage.

Karter: Fuck! Did you steal the truck too?

Me: You boys are asking for it. Karter's going to skin your hides.

Kit: Again, he'll have to catch us.

Karter: You have to sleep sometime, and all three of you are too prissy to sleep in the woods for more than a night or two before your comfy beds call you home. Then your asses are mine. When are you coming for a visit, Kade?

Me: Maybe next moon. I'll let you know. Boys, get those vehicles home, and if something isn't working, fix it.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the headrest. If all was right in the world, I would be home with my fated mate, taking care of the family as the Alpha with my own cubs running around as the next generation of terrorists. I am the eldest, and even though our father is alive, he's not exactly thriving in his current state. I'm not sure of the last time he shifted, or if he even can anymore, which is an early death sentence for our kind.

His generation is the reason we have the rules we have today. We shift monthly, bare minimum, but preferably weekly or even nightly when we're younger. Balance is the name of the game—a careful distribution of our human and animal natures having control over our form.

Staying in one form for too long jeopardizes our ability to shift. It's like we forget how to do it, one nature taking over and silencing the other. It's also the reason my pack back home in Fortune Falls prohibits human mates. Staying in human form for too long, the risk of impregnating a human with a shifter, or worse, not having a shifter cub and losing the gene altogether—there are too many potential dangers to our kind with human mates.

Not that it doesn't happen occasionally. We don't pick who the Fates have chosen for us, but it's rare and the pairing usually leaves to protect the rest of the pack.

I'm approaching twenty-eight without a mate, and at this point I'm wondering where she is. When I separated from the military I felt compelled to follow Erick—a bear shifter and my fellow SpecOpsSierra brother in arms—here instead of returning home. It's like I knew I'd find my mate in Broken Arrow and not back in Fortune Falls. Now it's been a couple of years and I still have no mate.

I'm second-guessing my decision to move here.

Something sweet like honeysuckle filters through the air and fills my lungs. The scent infuses my veins, heating the smallest capillaries like an intoxicating elixir. My bear wakes up and my eyes fly open as I sniff the air, searching for the source of the heady scent.

There's no one. Nothing.

Finally, across the parking lot I eye a truck and a black Escalade parked with one empty spot between them. Out of the driver's seat exits JoeJoe, a patched member of the Midnight Rebels MC. They're a rival club down south who fancy themselves one-percenters. From what we've heard, they're dabbling in all the things to solidify that association. Drugs, racketeering, human trafficking—you name it and they are dipping their idiotic toes in it.

They know better than to come into our territory without an invitation.

What the fuck is he doing here?

He shakes hands with the man who exits the luxury SUV. Wearing a black suit, gold watch, and sporting an expensive haircut—too fancy for this small town—his entire demeanor screams money.

His association with JoeJoe screams dirty money.

They exchange a couple of words that I easily pick up with my shifter hearing.

"What the hell is this?" the suit asks, motioning to the truck.

"He brought his wife with him," JoeJoe grumbles. "McMasters wanted to give you first dibs. Two-for-one offer, no extra charge. If you don't want her, I'll take her back to the clubhouse, and we'll have some fun. But we can't break them up without spooking them. The choice is yours."

"Is she healthy?"

"Both of them are. You'll get good work out of them."

The suit curses. "Fine. Bring them over."

JoeJoe turns and waves the occupants out of the truck to join him.

Cricket and Sly—who both served under me in the secret shifter military unit SpecOpsSierra—walk out of the market with two dollies full of groceries. At the same time, a male and the source of the sweet elixir floating in the air walk around the side of the truck to join JoeJoe in the empty parking space.

Sweet Fates! She looks like a young Dolly Parton—peaches and cream complexion with a set of deeply embedded dimples. A pair of aviators hide her eyes from me, but her smile is pure sweetness and in direct conflict with her curves which were built for sin and salvation. She's wearing a shredded Jack Daniel's T-shirt over a low-cut, form-fitting black tank top. Her denim skirt is too short for midday in a small town, but the way she pushes it down and keeps smoothing her hand over the back tells me she's not comfortable wearing it. The guy with her—her husband if I overheard JoeJoe correctly—has dirty blond hair hanging in his eyes and a deep tan to his skin, like he's used to working outdoors. Ranch hand, maybe? That would make sense for the area. His clothing is more tattered than hers, as if she's wearing a costume and he's not. The T-shirt is baggy and his jeans are torn in the knees. His boots are weathered and in desperate need of repair.

JoeJoe makes the introductions. "Jimmy, Dinah, this is Mr.—"

Cricket slams the tailgate shut, overpowering my hearing.

The suit smiles and offers his hand at the same time JoeJoe looks in our direction, a rancid smile spreading his lips. "Nice to meet you. I hear you're looking for work?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy answers.

"We have lots to do. And you, Miss? Are you looking for work too?"

"Yes, sir." Dinah speaks, and her voice is that of an angel, causing my body to tighten in response. My nostrils flare as I try to discern her scent from the others. The suit wears a spicy cologne while JoeJoe is a mix of stale alcohol and skunk weed. Both men overpower her, which causes my bear to growl his displeasure.

Shut up.I hiss. She's married and not for the taking.

He sits up and paws at me, whining his disagreement.

Cricket and Sly walk out of the market sans dollies as JoeJoe crosses the parking lot, his approach distracting me while Dinah and Jimmy climb into the SUV with the suit. Cricket stops by my door while Sly rounds the back to stand at the passenger door.

"Well, well. It's the Devil's Pack Sergeant at Arms and his lackeys."

"Who the fuck are you calling a lackey, asshole?" Cricket growls, his cougar clawing to meet the challenge.

I put my hand up to back him down, my tongue instinctively flicking my canine as I keep my face placid. "What are you doing here, JoeJoe?"

"Nothing much. Just dropping off a couple of friends for a job opportunity."

I project my thoughts to Sly as the SUV pulls forward. "Grab the license plate of that Cadillac."

"Got it," he thinks back.

Not all shifters can speak telepathically. Most of the MC can't, but my pack back home can. So can most of the men I served with in the military. It has something to do with the root of our genetics regardless of species, but I have no idea how any of it works. I do know it's a skill the SpecOpsSierra commanders look for when recruiting us.

"You have a lot of nerve coming here by yourself," Cricket injects into the conversation to distract JoeJoe while Sly pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.

"Who says I'm alone?" JoeJoe glances over his shoulder. One of his club members climbs out of the passenger seat, his sidearm glinting in the overhead sun.

I grin. "Two assholes trespassing on our territory. It's like you want a fight."

"I'd love one, but we have?—"

"Drugs to sell?" Cricket chirps.

"People to enslave?" I add, my smile growing wider, teeth on full display, as darkness clouds JoeJoe's features.

"Something like that," he sneers, taking a step back into a group of shoppers walking out of the market with grocery bags in their hands. "We'll see you around, Kade."

"Not in this town, you won't."

"We'll see about that." JoeJoe cuts behind the shoppers, putting them between us. He jumps into the driver's seat as his MC brother climbs into the passenger side. We watch as they peel out of the parking lot and take a left on the road that leads out of town.

"Fuckers," Cricket growls while flexing his fingers. He's young and still wild, his animal taking control more often than appropriate.

"Relax and get in," I say, cranking the engine on my old diesel truck to life. I turn to Sly and arch my brow. "Did you get it?"

"Yep. Local plate."

"Send it to me." My phone dings and I forward the picture to Junta, an ex-SpecOpsSierra soldier I know from Fortune Falls. He's got computer skills and works with US and Canadian law enforcement near pack land.

Can you tell me who this belongs to, along with an address?

Give me ten minutes.

It's good to have friends on the inside.

We drive to the clubhouse, and I back up to the side door. Several members come out and we make quick work of unloading cases of beer, soda, and snacks to last us for the next few weeks. Everyone grabs a metal chair and we make a haphazard half-circle in the middle of the concrete floor at the back of our clubhouse.

Full moon is two nights away and we run, hunt, and fuck as part of the evening activities. There are plenty of unmated females in the community—both human and shifter alike—who are ready to party with the MC on the full moon, regardless of what night of the week it falls on. One of the bitch duties that falls to the prospects is keeping humans out of the back rooms of the clubhouse so we can come and go without detection. It also means they don't get to join the hunt, which for some of the younger members is a temptation almost impossible to ignore. The need to hunt as part of the pack drives their animal wild, but the discipline to deny oneself and protect the rest of us—service over self—is what gets them patched in as an equal.

My phone beeps with an incoming text just as Jude, the MC President, calls church to order. It's a follow-up from Junta. I check my phone to find the Cadillac is registered to the Johnston Ranch, which borders the pack property to the north. The pack has had problems with Johnston in the past because he allows his buddies to trophy hunt on his land, permits be damned. My cabin borders his property, so I"ve had more issues than most considering a few of his friends have trespassed on my land too. We tell everyone to stay clear of his ranch, but his human buddies aren't the only ones hunting up there.

What is he up to?

"Let's get started," Jude says. We go over the minutes from the last meeting and talk about the upcoming full moon festivities before he opens the floor to new topics. I bring up running into JoeJoe and the two humans he turned over to someone from Johnston Ranch in the market parking lot.

"What do you think is going on?" Caden, the club's Vice President, asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe it's a new ranch hand and his wife, but I don't see JoeJoe running honest labor through our territory. Where's the profit?"

I neglect to mention that her scent drove my bear wild and I've been itching to run north ever since she left the parking lot. It doesn't make sense. She can't be my mate, and even if she is, she's already married. Staying away from her is the safest option for all three of us—me, her, and her lucky son-of-a-bitch husband that my bear is all too willing to destroy if she is my mate.

Which, she can't be, because the Fates aren't that cruel.

"What else?" Jude asks. "Obviously the exchange bothered you."

Glancing at Cricket and Sly, I clear my throat. "I heard him say McMasters was handing them over as a two-for-one deal and splitting them up would spook them. That doesn't sound like two people taking on honest work to me."

There's a rumble of agreement amongst the MC.

"Maybe a few of us should head up there and look around," Wiley offers. As a wolf shifter, he would be a lot less noticeable than my big ass in bear form.

Also as ex-SpecOpsSierra, he has my back.

"I'm down," Sly agrees.

"Me too," Cricket adds.

I nod. "Be careful. He has a bunch of trigger-happy fuckers cycling in and out of there."