The warehouse door creaked open, and cold air rushed in, carrying her scent with it. She looked like a storm caught in a bottle. That was the best way Howler could describe Tempest. Ozone sharpness layered with leather, steel, and she-wolf. She definitely wasn’t submissive. Nothing about her was fancy or decorative. She was a force that didn’t ask permission to do anything, and he respected that.
She stepped into the shadows as Howler carefully watched her. He cataloged details about her, the way any good Prez would. She had a confident stride, but had no visible weapon drawn. The tension in her shoulders told him she was armed, though. Her eyes missed nothing, flicking from him to Wraith and back to him again.
When she spoke, her voice was calm but had an edge to it that told him that she was just as nervous about this meeting as he was. Howler liked that too. If she wasn’t nervous, he wouldn’t have trusted her.
The conversation that followed was tense and layered with challenge. Exactly as he’d expected it would be. Tempest didn’t seem to trust easily, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him or Wraith. He didn’t blame her. Alliances built on desperation tended to rot if they weren’t handled carefully.
Wraith ran his mouth more than Howler would’ve liked, but that was nothing new. His Enforcer had always leaned into intimidation first, diplomacy second. Watching Tempest puthim in his place so effortlessly was enlightening and impressive. Hell, it was a complete turn on.
But the meeting shifted the second the truth came out. He told her about The Capitol Wolves working with the mayor, and the corruption threading through Baltimore like a disease. Howler watched Tempest’s reaction closely when he showed her the photos. He saw the way her body went still, the way her wolf surged beneath her calm exterior. She was furious, but controlled, and he admitted that. She had the kind of restraint that didn’t come from weakness. It came from discipline. Which was good because he needed disciplined allies.
When she asked what helping his club would look like, Howler felt something close to hope flicker in his chest. It was a dangerous thing, hope. It made men stupid. Still, he answered her questions honestly, as he always did, because lies didn’t last long in wolf politics.
Then the air in the warehouse seemed to shift, as a sound echoed off the walls. It sounded like metal sliding against metal. Howler’s hackles rose instantly, his wolf snapping to full alert. He scanned the darkness, nostrils flaring—but all he smelled was old dust, rust, and fear. Human fear. That alone was enough to make his blood run cold.
When the girl stumbled into the lantern light, Howler swore under his breath. She was a mess. Her whole body was bruised, her hands bound, and she looked terrified. But what caught his attention wasn’t her injuries; it was the patch hanging crooked on her shoulder. Dark Chaos MC.
Howler turned slowly toward Tempest just as she whispered the girl’s name—Blue. The way Tempest’s voice broke on it twisted something in his chest. The girl wasn’t just a club member; she was family. Fuck.
Howler’s wolf snarled, anger flooding his veins. The girl showing up at the warehouse wasn’t an accident. Someone knewexactly where to leave her. Someone had wanted Tempest to see Blue like this to provoke, destabilize, and force a reaction from her. He was sure that it had to be the Capitol Wolves.
When Blue pointed back into the darkness and whispered that they were coming, Howler didn’t hesitate.
“Wraith,” he said, already moving. “Get the lights, now,” he ordered. Wraith kicked one of the lanterns over, plunging half the warehouse into darkness while illuminating the entrance. It was a tactical move and was smart.
Howler stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Tempest without thinking about it. Not to dominate—just to guard. He could feel her wolf bristling beside him, feral and furious.
“How many are coming?” Tempest asked, voice deadly calm.
Howler listened to the scuff of boots, the uneven breathing, and the faint metallic clink of weapons being adjusted. “At least four,” he said. “Maybe more.”
“I can’t smell them,” Tempest said.
“They are human,” Blue whispered. “They work for the mayor with the Capital Wolves. They are the ones who dropped me off here to find you. I’m so sorry, Tempest.”
“If they are humans, confident enough to walk into a den full of wolves, then they are idiots,” Wraith insisted.
Howler’s lips peeled back, his fangs pressing against his gums. “They followed her.”
“They used her,” Tempest snapped.
“Yes,” Howler agreed. “And that means this isn’t just your problem anymore. We have your back.”
The first figure broke from the shadows—a man, lean, his eyes hard, and gun already raised. Howler didn’t hesitate—he shifted. His wolf was itching to get his chance to fight, and he was giving him just that. His bone cracked, and muscles surged as the wolf tore free with a roar that shook dust from the rafters.
Beside him, Tempest shifted too—faster than he’d ever seen a wolf shift, her wolf a storm of black and red with her eyes blazing with vengeance.
Wraith didn’t shift. He didn’t need to. He moved like a weapon in human form, his gun firing once, then twice. Chaos erupted around them. Howler lunged at one of the men, taking the first attacker down in a blur of teeth and fury. He tasted blood and fear as he heard the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his jaws. Another man screamed as Tempest’s wolf attacked him. As though on cue, another ran, trying to avoid the same fate as the first two men, but it was too late. This wasn’t an ambush anymore; it was a declaration of war.
And as Howler tore through the last of the intruders, he knew one thing with absolute certainty—by dragging Dark Chaos into this, the Capitol Wolves had just made the biggest mistake of their lives.
Tempest (Dark Chaos MC Book 1) Universal Link->https://books2read.com/u/bOLM70
What’s coming next from K.L. Ramsey in the Kings of Anarchy MC world? You won’t want to miss Property of Gorgon (Kings of Anarchy MC Book 1), coming in April 2026! Here’s a sneak peek!
GORGON
Manitoba winters didn’t care who you were. It didn’t care if you were born on this land, if your bloodline ran through it like a river, or if you were just passing through with a gas tank half-full and nowhere safe to sleep. The cold came anyway—quiet and ruthless. It slipped into your lungs, freezing your breath into crystals and turning the highway into a long, black ribbon of consequences.
