2. Silas

SILAS

The Broken Diner buzzes with the usual Saturday morning chaos. The sizzle of bacon, the clatter of cutlery, the boisterous laughter of the early bird crowd—it all washes over me, meaningless noise. I like it that way. Noise means nobody is paying attention to me, the guy nursing a cup of coffee that has long gone cold.

"Brooding again, Tracker?" A heavy hand claps down on my shoulder, jarring me back to the present.

I don"t need to look to know it"s Kade, my—well, I wouldn"t call him a friend, not anymore. More like a brother I never had. We"re the kind of family woven together by shared dirt under our nails and scars on our knuckles. Not by blood, that's for sure. Unless you count the spilled kind. Each and every one of us at the Devil's Pack MC is a shifter who, for some reason or other, lost their tie to the pack they were born into. For some of us, it was our choice, for others, not so much. Me? Well, let"s just say I"ve never been a fan of sticking around when someone doesn't want me.

"What can I say? It"s my default setting," I respond with a smirk.

"Right." Kade chuckles, settling his bulk into the booth across from me. "Because nothing says "good morning" like a face that could curdle milk."

"Must be why you drink your coffee black," I retort, taking a swig of the bitter liquid. "Can"t risk seeing your reflection."

Kade"s laugh booms through the diner, earning a few disapproving glances from the other patrons. But he just waves them off, dismissing their irritation while he launches into a story about the new prospect the club is looking at, some hotshot panther shifter with a need for speed and a death wish on two wheels.

I tune in and out, the words washing over me like the noise of the diner. My mind keeps drifting back to the fact that the wolf shifter who was supposed to be my fated mate—the one who rejected me—had the audacity to reach out to me with a wedding invitation. Talk about a kick in the fucking guts.

My brain keeps turning it over, that glossy card with the cursive script that's too fancy for my liking. The card that is now a pile of ash in the bottom of my fireplace. So much for letting sleeping dogs—or wolves—lie.

"Hey, Earth to Silas," Kade snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I blink back into the present. "You"ve been about as much fun as a root canal this morning. What gives?"

"Nothing, just thinking about that lead on the stolen bikes," I lie, my voice flat because the last thing I want to do is talk about the mate who rejected me, moving on with her life when I'm still caught in this fucked up limbo where my wolf doesn"t know whether to howl at the moon in anger or settle into the bitter silence of rejection. But I bet she"s not thinking about me as she shuffles down the aisle to another man. Hell, why should she? She made it clear I"m yesterday"s news.

"Right. Your mind seemed miles away," Kade replies, eyeing me over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Guess I just didn"t get enough sleep," I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah, you do have those dark circles under your eyes like a raccoon that"s been up all night dumpster diving." Kade chuckles, his mug clinking against the table surface as he sets it down.

I scowl at him. "Thanks for the ego boost."

"Anytime, brother." He grins, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The bell above the diner door jingles, and we both turn to see who"s entered.

In walks this guy, who looks as out of place as a penguin in a desert. Suit, shiny shoes, Rolex on one wrist and an air of desperation about him that's more pungent than the greasy scent that clings to every surface in The Broken Diner.

He scans the room, his gaze darting from one face to another before it lands squarely on me. My gut tightens, not with the warning of danger but with the certainty of a new job. Great. Anything to keep me busy so I can pretend that invite never showed up at my door.

He strides forward to our booth, his leather-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor, and stops just short of our table.

"Either of you go by the name Tracker?"

"Yeah, that"d be me," I say, as I lean back in the booth. "And who's asking? Man like you is either lost or you"ve got work for me."

The man swallows, steeling himself as he takes the booth seat next to Kade, who eyes him with suspicious curiosity. "Name"s Henry Richards," he says, extending a hand toward me. I give it a firm shake, noting the slight tremor in his grip. "I was told you could help me find my wife. She's gone missing."