A tracker? But we got rid of the collar, so how… I mentally face-palm.
Doyle chipped Blake like some kind of dog. I was so convinced they tracked us to the junkyard because of the stupid collar that I didn’t bother to check for anything else.
“Fortunate indeed,” says Solomon. “And rather… convenient as well, yes?”
“I suppose you could say that,” says Doyle, followed by an awkward chuckle. “Now, going back to—”
The phone on Solomon’s desk lets out a sharp ring, and the Alpha holds up a hand to forestall any more words from Doyle before picking up the receiver.
“Yes?” He listens for a few seconds. “I see. And the rest of what we talked about?” Another quiet pause, and Solomon’s eyes dart to me. “Very well then. I’ll take care the rest.”
Solomon hangs up the phone and leans back a little in his chair, intently studying Doyle’s face for a beat before asking, “What was your relationship with the former Rockcastle Alpha Mate, Wanda Jenkins?”
Doyle blinks, confusion etched into the lines of his face at the seemingly random shift in the conversation. “I didn’t have one. I don’t believe I ever met her.”
Solomon continues in that nonchalant tone. “And the former Alpha, Earl Jenkins?”
“I never met him either,” replies Doyle, eyes narrowing a little. “It’s my understanding that they both were removed from their positions because of mismanagement of pack resources.”
“Something like that,” says Solomon. One corner of his mouth twitches and he continues staring at Doyle.
The longer the silence drags out, the more flustered Doyle gets. He flounders a bit as he tries to put together a response. “Why are you asking? Like I said, I didn’t know either of them.”
“And I believe you,” says Solomon in a matter-of-fact tone. Just as Doyle starts to relax, he adds, “Because you dealt with the humans and not directly with Wanda.”
Doyle sputters. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That single dark brow rises again, and Solomon smiles, the expression like a predator about to pounce. “Oh, but I think you do. You see, that phone call just confirmed everything Neil told one of my betas about your involvement in trafficking and illegal fights.”
Doyle’s nostrils flare and his upper lip curls. “You’re taking the word of some mongrel over a fellow Alpha?”
“No. I’m taking the word of one of my people over the word of a pathetic excuse of an Alpha who doesn’t deserve that title.” He smirks. “And I’m also taking the word of the triumvirate’s very thorough investigators who have been working on this case for months.”
Doyle jumps to his feet, huffing with indignation. “How dare you accuse me of such nonsense. I don’t have to stand for this. I can see now that you’re not objective enough to oversee this dispute.”
“Suit yourself,” says Solomon, shrugging one shoulder. “But Neil Cahill stays here.”
“We’ll see what a magistrate says about that after I inform the triumvirate about this… farce of yours.”
“Farce? You requested for me to hear your dispute and agreed to accept my judgment. This is my judgment. Neil Cahill does not belong to your pack. He never did.” He flashes sharpened fangs. “And the feral does not belong to you either.”
Doyle sneers. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, or however the saying goes.” He pauses, and a slimy smile spreads across his face. “Not that it matters. By law there’s only one thing to do for ferals—put them down—and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” His gaze moves to me. “That is, unless you’d like to go with me voluntarily?”
I start to get up, but Solomon speaks. “Sit down, Neil.”
My butt hits the chair before I can even process the fact that Solomon used an Alpha command on me.Asshole. That’s twice in one day I’ve had my free will stolen.
“I’m not letting him kill Blake,” I snap at Solomon, my wolf pressing forward to give my words an underlying growl. “He isn’t feral.”
Doyle snorts. “I’d like to see you prove it.” He sends a scathing glare at Solomon. “If that’s all, I’mleaving.”
I struggle against the command keeping me in this stupid chair as Doyle stomps out the door. “Let me up! He’s getting away!”
“It’s all under control,” says Solomon, his voice calm. He stands up from his chair and gestures toward the doorway. “Come."
I flash my teeth at him, barely holding back a snarl. “I’m not a dog.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” He gestures toward the doorway again. “Please, join me.”
