Like, settle down, Brenda, it’s notThe Hunger Games.
Out of my periphery I see Buff staring at Fiona and Veronica. They’re crying, devastation rolling off them, and he still somehow looks like he’s trying to flirt.
Incredible. The guy is committed to the end.
Speaking of end, I still don’t know why they haven’t started the torture yet, but that’s a problem for future me. Oh, wait… maybe present me too.
Eventually, Talon carefully steps off the dais and struts forward, judge and jury of this absolute farce. He roars out the accusations like he’s the announcer for a tiny-dick competition in which he’s the reigning champion.
“Who speaks for your pack?” He snorts out a laugh on the wordpack, and everyone around us joins in.
Motherfucker.
I keep myself calm with the image of planting a fist in his face and giving him a nose to match his brother’s. I mean, they are twins, right?
My jaw hurts from clamping down on my molars. “I do.”
“Jason Wright. You kneel before us today, accused of the following: damage to pack property, trespassing, and dishonor to our daughters. How do you plead?”
I raise my chin. “Guilty.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourselves?”
What else am I supposed to say? Buff fucked their daughters, and Froggy did destroy at least eight bikes, so telling him to go fuck himself doesn’t seem like a bright idea.
“You defiled our bloodline, shamed our name, and blew up my Harley,” Talon growls.
“I’m aware of the charges,” I say, keeping my tone respectful but not submissive. “We messed up. No argument there. But dowe really need all… this?” I gesture lightly at the crowd. “We could talk it out. Maybe over a beer. Two, if Talon’s buying.”
A few wolves chuckle. Good. A crack in the tension.
I look between the alphas. “Look, your daughters are beautiful women. Buff’s an idiot, not a criminal. Nothing happened without consent. Let us pay you back for the damage to the bikes, and we’ll be out of your lives. You never need to see us again.”
Talon’s jaw flexes. Thorne’s nostrils flare as he gets off his makeshift throne. The crowd shifts like they’re waiting for the sky to erupt into flames.
Then Talon speaks, his voice low and razor-edged. “You think you can charm your way out of this?”
Thorne steps forward, looming over me. “You disrespect our daughters. You disrespect us. And now you want a beer?”
That crack in the tension seals up real quick.
“But since you’ve suddenly found your tongue,” Thorne gestures to the pack, “let’s see what the pack thinks of your… explanation.”
The pack roars in response, some angry, some amused, most bloodthirsty.
I knew this was coming. It’s how things are done. It still doesn’t bode well. And now I do want a beer.
A wolf howls to my right, low and deliberate, the sound meant to be felt rather than heard. Another joins in, louder. The verdict climbs in volume. The chorus builds. Three, then four. Then the whole damn pack, rising like a tidal wave of sound.
It slams into me, pressure spiking behind my eyes, my eardrums straining until it feels like my skull might crack open just to let the noise escape.
Talon smirks. “I think the pack has spoken. Although you wouldn’t know much about that, since you don’t have one.”
More laughter rings out, but this time it feels like it falls flat. Or that could just be my mood.
“My brother is right. The pack has spoken,” Thorne echoes. “We find you guilty. Your punishment will be hanging.”
My stomach drops straight through the mud.
