My wolf wouldn’t even meet my gaze. She turned her back, tail between her legs, whimpering low in my chest. It hurt more than any insult Luc had ever thrown.
For a second, I just wanted to lie down and never get up again.
Instead, I remembered Juliet. The Luna. She’d tried weeks ago to reach me. It had been at one of those awkward “pack breakfasts,” everyone pretending to be a family, passing scrambled eggs and homemade jam while ignoring the snide comments I let fly just to see who’d flinch.
Juliet had waited until Harper and Arsenal left the table, then leaned in with her signature calm, the way only someone who’s survived hell and lived to tell about it could. “You know it's okay to ask for help, right?” Her voice was low and careful.
I’d snorted, rolled my eyes, said something about “therapy not working on feral animals.” She hadn’t blinked. Just handed me a business card—it had the name and number for the pack therapist. I’d tossed it in my purse for another time.
But now, as I sat there, head heavy in my hands, I remembered the card exactly: soft blue print, her name in neat serif, and a phone number that looked both friendly and official.
I'd saved the number in my phone just in case my coping skills reached rock bottom. I'd saved it as “Pack Shrink—Barf Emoji.” Until now, spending time with my sister and my new friends had been filling that emotional gap for me. Harper wouldn't take no for an answer and forced me to speak to her about things, and I hated to admit it, but it had helped. I just hoped that this other emptiness inside would start to go away.
Chapter 2
Gunner
Sunday morning church hit different after you’d spent the weekend pretending you didn’t care about anything but cattle. Having your pack Alpha's angry blue-eyed stare burn clean through you, reminded you that ain't the case. I was third in today just behind Arsenal. That man always looked like he'd just had a fight or wanted to start one. Bronc was already seated at the head of the table in a white tee and his cut, and I wondered if our Alpha ever slept.
Wrecker bumped past me and plopped his massive frame into his chair. I paused at the doorway, took a slow inhale, let the smell of biscuit dough and black coffee burn off the last of my hangover. I’d been a son of a bitch lately, and everyone in this room knew why, even if they didn’t say it out loud.
Pearl bustled past with a tray balanced one-handed, stacking it with enough sausage gravy and eggs to put down a goddamn grizzly. She gave me a hard side-eye, the kind that said she’d already heard about whatever trouble I was thinking of making, and I hadn’t even done it yet. I nodded at her, careful not to smile. She’d have called me out.
“Morning, Gunner,” Bronc's voice was flat. He tapped his index finger against his mug, rhythm precise, eyes never leaving my face. Arsenal justgrunted and looked back down at his tablet. The man ran on military-grade caffeine and anxiety.
Big Papa and Doc filtered in. Everyone took their spots around the table; habit more than anything dictated our positions. Wrecker wore a TechNine henley under his cut and chewed his thumbnail his eyes on his phone. He hadn’t shaved, and his scruff was getting on the shaggy side. I’m sure Parker didn’t give a damn. He did no wrong in her eyes.
Pearl finished unloading the breakfast barrage and took her place at the head, even though she wasn’t an officer per se. Everyone knew she was the one who’d keep the room from turning into a murder pit if things got heated. The noise dropped fast as Bronc lifted his hand. He never had to clear his throat or call the room to order.
He started with business. Always did. This week’s work was running a dozen bikes to a dealership in Lubbock, fixing up a couple of custom orders, and doing a background check on some guy named Clyde who’d applied for a mechanic job and failed to mention three open warrants. The shop, he said, ran on trust, and even if you were hiding wolf ears and a tail, you didn’t lie about the petty shit.
Then he looked right at me. Not subtle, not even close. “Gunner, you want to tell us why you’ve been so goddamn… distracted?”
I made a show of topping off my coffee. My hands were steady, but I could feel the burn behind my eyes. I’d always been the steady one—the guy who broke up fights instead of starting them, who stayed late to muck out the stables instead of sneaking off to get laid. I was always the comic relief; the one everyone counted on to bring the laughs. Now I could barely look my own crew in the eye.
“There a problem?” I asked, slow drawl intentional. The words felt thick in my mouth.
Arsenal let out a low snort. “You haven’t answered your radio three times this week. Wrecker had to cover your Friday patrol. And you left the Friday perimeter log blank. What the fuck, Gunner?”
Wrecker shrugged, but even his usual devil-may-care act wasn’t fooling anybody. “I get it, man. Shit’s been weird since—” He caught himself and glanced at Pearl, then back to me. “Since Paris. But you gotta get your head on straight. We need you, man.”
There it was, all laid out. I didn’t even have to say her name. The whole room knew what was eating at me: Brie Lawson and her wolf, who had been flickering in my peripheral vision since the second I caught her scent. My problem was, I didn’t know if the bond was real, or if I’d just spent too many years desperate to believe I had a mate out there at all. I was avoiding her and everyone else because I was afraid—actually afraid—of what might happen if I let myself want her.
Pearl set her mug down with a bang. “Let the boy eat his breakfast before you pick him apart,” she said, voice syrup-sweet and dangerous. “He looks like he’s running on dust.” Pearl wasn’t just Bronc’s mama. She mothered all of us and wasn’t happy if any of us were dealing with problems.
Bronc cracked a smile, but only for her. “Fair enough, Ma. Sorry, Gunner. Just want you at one hundred percent.”
I nodded. “Understood, boss. Apologies. I’ll get my shit together.” I tried to eat, but the eggs tasted like cardboard. My jaw was almost too tight to chew.
They moved on to the next topic—security. Arsenal read off a list of threats, real and hypothetical. “Hollow Ridge pack has been quiet since the County Line run in. But I’ve got two sources saying there’s a new beta rising up. Could mean a power play before fall. Keep all the patched ins heads on swivels.” He paused, eyeing each man at the table. “We don’t want some dick wannabe trying to make a name for himself like in times past. Everyone wants to get their hits in on Iron Valor to prove a point.”
The room shivered a little at that. Last time someone tried to roll through our town with their chest out, it ended with me spending thenight digging bullet fragments out of my left shoulder and the next two weeks pretending I couldn’t feel the twinge every time I lifted hay bales.
“Wrecker, you’re up,” Bronc said.
Wrecker pushed aside his plate and pulled out his phone. “Got a ping off the Maltraz network—someone tried to hack the mainframe at two a.m. Think he’s still trying to find a way in since Silas Drake failed. He’s still pissed about last month, and likely hired new muscle from out-of-state.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I shut it down fast, and I went to work updating our firewalls.”
Doc piped up. “If his people try to use a physical device—like at the shop—I’ve got an EM blanket we can install. We’ll fry their laptop before they get in the door.” He said it like he was reading off a prescription. Doc was good that way: calm, clinical, never flinched at blood or bullshit.
