Wraith rolled his eyes. “Not their Prez. Their wolf Prez.” Tempest went still.
“Howler,” she said, voice low and dangerous, “why are you coming to me with this?”
Howler held her gaze. “Because they want Baltimore. And they want it cleaned up—sanitized under one banner. They’re threatening anyone who won’t bend the knee. That includes Silverfang Brotherhood.” His eyes dipped again to her patch. “And it definitely includes Dark Chaos.”
Tempest let the silence stretch between them, not sure what to say next. In that quiet, she could hear the distant hum of traffic outside and, faintly, the creak of the building settling like it was listening to their conversation too.
“So,” she said at last, “you need allies.”
Howler nodded once. “I need a united front.”
Wraith snorted. “Or there will be war.”
Tempest turned her head slightly, just enough to look Wraith in the eye. “Careful, you don’t know what kind of war you’re asking for. Dark Chaos can give you a fight too.”
Wraith’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t back down. “I know what kind of war they’re bringing. And I know that none of us will survive it alone.”
Tempest’s wolf paced inside of her. Her club was still so new. They weren’t fragile, but they were still planting roots. A full-scale conflict with a D.C. charter, especially one with city officials in their pocket, could bury Dark Chaos before it truly started. But if she refused, they would have to stand alone, and that might not end well for any of them.
If she turned Howler away and let D.C. roll over Silverfang Brotherhood, Dark Chaos would be next. And then she’d be facing them alone, with no warning, no allies, and no time to get a new plan in place.
She glanced toward the shadowed rafters, the broken windows, the dark corners that could hide a dozen enemies if she’d misread this meeting. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” she asked. “How do I know Silverfang Brotherhood isn’t trying to use my club as a shield?”
Howler’s gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t. I guess you’ll just have to give us a little trust.”
Tempest’s mouth curved. “At least you’re honest.” Howler reached into his cut slowly, deliberately, making it clear he wasn’t going for a weapon. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out to her.
Tempest didn’t take it right away. “What is that?”
“Proof that this is on the up and up,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of proof?” she asked.
“That your mayor isn’t just a concerned citizen,” Wraith said. “She’s meeting with the D.C. club.” Tempest finally took the paper. It was a printout—grainy photos from a security camera.The date stamp was two nights old. It was a side entrance to a building that Tempest recognized, at a private club near the waterfront where politicians went to pretend they didn’t drink too much.
In the photo, a woman in a coat stood near a black SUV. Even in the blur, Tempest recognized her posture. It was Mayor Lila Grant. Beside her was a man with his back to the camera, tall and built like a fighter. The patch on his vest was just clear enough to read. CAPITOL WOLVES MC. Tempest’s grip tightened until the paper crinkled. Her wolf snarled so hard she tasted it—metallic and hot.
“How did you get this?” Tempest asked.
Howler’s voice lowered. “I have people in places. Same as you.”
Tempest stared at the photo, then slowly looked up. “So they’re not just working the streets. They’re working the whole damn city.”
Howler nodded. “And they’re not going to stop.”
Tempest’s mind felt like it was stuck in a tornado. She’d heard of the Capital Wolves. They were the largest MC in D.C. They had power, old money, and connections. Rumors that their pack ran deeper than their club, that they had wolves in suits and badges, wolves who didn’t ride but still belonged. Tempest had dismissed it as a myth. The kind of story bikers told to make themselves feel bigger. But this was real, and Howler had just handed her the proof. She folded the paper and slid it into her inside pocket.
“All right,” she said, voice calm even though she felt about ready to tear something or someone apart. “Say I help you. What does that look like?”
Howler’s gaze sharpened with something like relief, but he tried to hide it. “It looks like we meet again, this time, with ourofficers. We trade intel, set boundaries, and decide how far we’re willing to go.”
“And if I decide I’m not willing?” Tempest asked.
Wraith’s eyes flashed with panic. “Then you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.” Tempest stepped forward so fast the lantern light flickered. In the blink of an eye, she was inside Wraith’s space, her hand wrapped around the front of his vest, yanking him down just enough that he had to meet her eyes.
“Listen to me,” she said softly, the words edged in steel. “I’m not one of Howler’s brothers. You don’t get to speak to me like that.” Wraith’s throat bobbed. His wolf pushed back against her. It was his male dominance testing her wolf until Tempest let her own wolf rise, just a fraction to tower over his. The air changed. The air felt heavy around them. Wraith’s pupils widened for an instant, but she noticed. His breathing hitched, and Tempest knew that she had hit a nerve. Wraith didn’t seem like the type of guy who liked being challenged.
“Wraith,” Howler growled in warning.
