I shake off my daze and turn back to Al. “You same.” I chuckle and show him my teeth. “But less strong.”
He snorts. “Well, if someone like you thought he was dangerous, that’s still a compliment for me.” Al rubs at the raw line on his neck. “I’m not a good man, Zack. I deserve to be in prison for breaking the law.” He grins. “Not that I want to be here. But you make a lot of enemies doing illegal things. If I let those enemies go without punishment, then more enemies come after me. They get bold. But if others fear me, I get attacked less. We call this having a reputation.”
I scratch, feeling sweat from the attack lodging on my scalp. “What Zack’s reputation?”
He chuckles. “A feral, of course.”
His next words get cut off by shouting as others discover the bloodied alphas sprawled between the shelves. Al slips his headphones back on and lifts his chin, telling me to do the same.
I pull the slim metal plug from the machine and tuck it underneath, cutting off the deafening sounds pouring out of the foam around my ears. I’ve had enough of that kind of noise.
If I understand Al correctly, reputation means what others think about me. So what kind of reputation do I want to have? Instinctively, I always wanted to be feared because that meant a better chance of winning challenges. But my life is more than fighting now.
I cock my head, staring into space. Once I get out of prison, the only people I want to have a reputation with are my pack. What do Mine and White Mine think when they look at me?
The bond in my chest stirs, and I relax. What does a reputation matter when I have love? I can ask Ri-ckon what my reputation should be later, when I get back to our den.
Guards pour into the room, shouting instructions. Al shifts his hands to his head, one eye closing while he looks in my direction. I think that’s a silent message, but I don’t know what he wants. I pull my headphones off and copy him, moving to the wall with a faint growl when a guard shoves me to my feet.
“Listening to music,” I say sullenly.
Al snorts as another guard pats his body, looking for the weapon.
“You dirty rats!” the man behind me hisses. “You attacked them.”
“Zack listen to music!” I declare, more stubbornly. “It sound like lots of alphas howling at the moon, and cars honking, and thunder.”
Al laughs out loud this time. “That’s how you perceive heavy metal?”
The guard holding Al shoves him into the wall. “Shut up! You think I won’t pin this on you, with that mark around your neck?”
“What mark?” Al says, still grinning.
This. This is the word he taught me. Calculating.
The alpha guard holding me runs his hand all over my body, as intimate as Ri-ckon but much faster. I growl at the intrusive touch. The moment he hears it, the alpha slams my chest into the wall.
“Tell them you want to see your lawyer, Zack,” Al says, cheek squished to the wall. “Callisto.”
I nod, struggling in his grip. “Want to see Cal-ee. Cal-ee-stow. See lawyer! Zack listen to heavy music.”
The man behind me huffs. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll see your lawyer, after a few days to cool off.” He drags my hands off my head and locks them into metal cuffs. “I’m so fucking sick of these games. Why do we have to mind an imbecile?”
Al smirks into the wall, breathing hard. “You gotta let him make his call first.” He closes one eye at me again.
Calculating. That’s what I need to be in order to reach Ray. And when I get him in my hands, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up again.
Without killing him.
Chapter thirty-two
Callisto
The phone on my desk rings, startling me out of a deep focus on my current case files. I check the display to see Hale’s name.
“Yes?” I answer without preamble.
“I have Red Jones on the line. Will you take the call?”
