No one wanted her new club in Baltimore. Hell, the mayor herself tried to stop them from starting their charter in the city, but she fought and won the battle for her club to be there. Tempest couldn’t go back on all that hard work now and give up. If she was right, the Prez of the Silverfang Brotherhood MC was waiting for her inside the old sugar factory. She had heard through the grapevine that they had encountered some trouble with the D.C. club and needed some help. The question was, would she be willing to put her club in danger and lend a hand, or would she tell Howler to get lost?
She put her helmet on her handlebars and looked back over her shoulder at the bay. She usually hated the smell of fish down at the harbor, but today, it was so cold that there was no smell. The water lapped against the concrete wall, and she shivered, tugging her leather jacket tighter around herself. Tempest rolled her shoulders like she could shake the cold straight through her bones, and then started toward the warehouse.
The old sugar factory loomed like a dead giant at the edge of the water. The bricks had blackened with age, windows were punched out, the wide loading doors half-collapsed into the entryway, and were hanging crookedly. The city had tried to forget that this place existed, but that didn’t mean it was empty. In fact, she knew for a fact that it wasn’t.
Her boots crunched over gravel and broken glass. The air tasted like rust, old molasses, and something sharper beneath it—wolf. Not hers. Tempest’s inner wolf lifted its head, hackles rising. She could smell him—Howler. He was dominant, and if she wasn’t throwing darts in the dark, agitated. And if she could smell his wolf, he’d be able to smell hers.
“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “I smell you too.”
She didn’t reach for the knife that she kept in her jacket. She didn’t need to. Tempest was a weapon—one with a patch and a purpose. Still, she slid her hand under her jacket and made sure the knife at the small of her back was exactly where it should be.
It felt like the warehouse swallowed her as soon as she stepped inside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, making her feel jumpy and unsure of herself. Part of the roof was ripped off, allowing the wind to move through it like a sigh, carrying the faint clink of chains somewhere deeper in the building. Her footsteps echoed across the concrete as she walked to the back of the warehouse, searching for Howler. Tempest paused to let her eyes adjust to the darkness as she walked further into the building.
There were lights, but they were only battery lanterns that were set low, their glow creating an island of visibility in the middle of the vast darkness. And standing in the ring of light were two men. One leaned against a rusted pallet jack like he owned the place. The other stood straight with his hands loose at his sides, and his head angled like a predator watching its prey.
Tempest didn’t slow. She walked right into their light and stopped just out of arm’s reach.
“Evening,” she said, her voice flat. “If this is a trap, it’s not a very good one.” She knew that taunting them might not be her finest move, but if Howler needed her help, she was going to have a little bit of fun first.
The man against the pallet jack smiled with too many teeth. “You always this friendly, Tempest?”
Her gaze stayed on the one who hadn’t spoken yet. He was tall with broad shoulders and had his silver hair pulled back at the nape. His hair wasn’t that color due to age, though, because wolves didn’t gray the way humans did. It was a mark—a distinct warning to those around him. His eyes were pale—almost the color of ice, and she knew exactly who the man was who was staring her down.
“Howler,” she said.
His mouth twitched like it wanted to be a smirk, but didn’t. “Prez.”
“Don’t call me that, like you know me.” She tipped her chin toward the second man. “And you brought company. If I had known, I would have brought a friend too.”
Howler didn’t look away from her. “That’s Wraith. He’s my Enforcer.”
Wraith pushed off the pallet jack, his boots scraping the floor as he walked toward her. “Heard a lot about you, Tempest, and your Dark Chaos club.”
Tempest’s wolf growled, low in her chest. How has he heard about us? That was always the problem with making a name for yourself. People thought they knew who you were just from what they had heard about you, but most of it was just gossip or plain wrong.
“All good things, I hope,” she said sweetly, mocking him.
Wraith’s smile widened. “Now, that depends on who you ask.”
Howler lifted his hand, as though telling them both to be quiet. “I didn’t bring you here to trade insults.”
Tempest took in the space around them and realized that she probably should have brought backup. The warehouse was too open, too exposed, and way too quiet. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Then talk,” she ordered. “Quickly, because I’ve got a club waiting on me.” She wanted them to believe that she was smart enough to bring backup, even if she hadn’t been.
“How many of them did you bring?” Wraith asked, his gaze flicking past her shoulder toward the entrance.
Tempest didn’t blink. “Enough.”
Wraith’s nostrils flared. He could smell the lie. She hadn’t brought anyone with her. When she left her clubhouse, she didn’t give much thought to bringing one of the other women along. In fact, she thought that it would probably be a bad idea. A meeting like this didn’t need an audience—and if it went sideways, she didn’t need her sisters walking into an ambush.
Howler’s stare sharpened. “You came alone.”
“I’m here, and that’s all that matters. Now, what do you want, Howler?” she asked.
For the first time, Howler’s gaze dipped to the patch on her vest—DARK CHAOS MC was arched over a snarling she-wolf, with its eyes painted red. It was meant to look like fresh blood. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of her wolf and the faint trace of other females on her leather—club scent. She knew thathe was picking up her pack’s collective scent, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Nice jacket,” Howler said.
Wraith shifted impatiently. “We didn’t come to admire her jacket, Howler.”
