“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.”
Tempest’s smile sharpened. “You’re right. We’re all here because you need something from my club and me.” Wraith’s grin faded, and Howler’s jaw flexed.
“How bad is it?” Tempest asked.
Howler exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “The D.C. club is making a move on the Silverfang Brotherhood.”
Tempest’s brows lifted. “That’s not news. D.C. is always breathing down your neck.”
“This is different,” Howler said. “They’re not just pushing territory. They’re pushing authority—my authority.” Tempest’s wolf stilled. Even she knew that the D.C. club challenging Howler’s club wasn’t going to end well for any of the packs in the area.
Howler’s pale eyes locked onto hers. “They’ve got the city on a leash.”
Tempest’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.” She hated the thought of anyone trying to control her club besides her. If Howler needed her help, she’d find a way to give it.
Wraith stepped forward, voice rough. “Your mayor—she’s not just against you because you’re new. She’s against you because someone’s paying her to be.”
Tempest felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. She’d suspected corruption—Baltimore practically ran on it, but she hadn’t pinned the source. And she certainly didn’t think that they’d be coming for her and her pack.
“How do you know?” she asked.
Howler didn’t flinch, giving his answer. “Because I watched a Silverfang brother get arrested last week with no cause and nowarrant. Cops rolled in like they’d been waiting for an excuse to arrest him.” His voice went cold. “And because two nights ago, a D.C. rider showed up on my street and told me, in very polite words, that if I wanted my people left alone, I’d fall in line.”
Tempest’s fingers curled at her sides. “Fall in line behind what?”
Howler’s smile was mean. “Behind their Alpha.” His words hit the air like a slap in the face. Tempest’s wolf lunged inside her, furious at the implication that her pack would also need to fall in line with the D.C. pack. Wolves had alphas. Packs had hierarchy. MCs had presidents and vice presidents, and when you started mixing that all up, things tended to become a bit skewed.
“You’re telling me a biker club is calling their Prez an Alpha?” Tempest asked, disbelief laced with disgust.
