I'd wandered straight into rival gang turf without even realizing it. My exhausted brain finally registered the danger, adrenaline cutting through the fog of fatigue. I was alone, injured, and deep in hostile territory.
If any Dough Boys spotted me here—a Soldiers of Fortune member without backup—I'd be lucky to escape with just another concussion.
I turned to retrace my steps, my senses suddenly hyper-alert. That's when I heard it—footsteps behind me, trying to match my pace. Someone was following me, attempting to stay just out of sight.
My heart rate kicked up another notch. I quickened my pace, scanning the street ahead for escape routes. The wharf was visible at the end of the block—warehouses and shipping containers that could provide cover, but also dead ends and perfect ambush spots.
The footsteps behind me sped up too.
At the next alley, I ducked in without hesitation, pressing myself against the brick wall just inside the entrance. My breath came in shallow pants as I prepared to ambush whoever was tracking me. I might be exhausted and injured, but I was still a bear shifter—dangerous even at my worst.
The footsteps approached the alley mouth. I tensed, timing my move. As a figure passed the entrance, I lunged, grabbing ahandful of fabric and yanking hard. The person yelped as I spun them around and slammed them against the wall, my forearm pressed against their throat.
"Bug?" I gasped, immediately releasing him when I recognized the wide, startled eyes staring back at me.
Bug coughed, rubbing at his throat where my arm had pressed. "You... you fast for big man," he wheezed.
"Jesus Christ," I hissed, glancing frantically toward the street to see if anyone had noticed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Bug tilted his head in that bird-like way of his, as if the answer should be obvious. "You leave, I follow."
The simple logic of his statement left me momentarily speechless. I grabbed his shoulders, lowering my voice to an urgent whisper. "Do you have any idea where we are right now? This is Dough Boys territory! Do you know what they'd do if they caught you here?"
Bug nodded calmly. "Bad things. Cut open. Take pieces."
His blunt assessment made my stomach turn. "Exactly. So we need to go. Now." I tugged at his arm, already planning the quickest route back to our territory. "Does Bear know?" I asked suddenly, freezing mid-step. "Does Bear know you followed me?"
The thought of Bear's reaction if he discovered his mate had disappeared sent a fresh wave of panic through me. The sergeant-at-arms was protective on a good day. If he thought Bug was missing, he'd tear the town apart looking for him—starting with anyone he considered a threat.
Bug shrugged. "Left note. Said 'help Rooster find kitten.'"
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to contain my rising anxiety. "A note. You left a note and then followed me into rival gang territory in the middle of the night."
"Yes." Bug nodded, apparently pleased I understood.
"Bear is going to kill me," I muttered. "If the Dough Boys don't do it first." I tugged on Bug's arm again, more insistently this time. "Come on. We need to get out of here before—"
Bug planted his feet, refusing to budge. His hand went to his stomach, pressing against it in the way I'd seen before when his instincts were warning him of danger. His eyes widened slightly, focusing on something beyond me.
"We no go," he whispered urgently. "We hide."
I didn't hesitate. When Bug's instincts kicked in, you didn't question them—you just moved. I'd seen the kid's gut feelings save lives before.
In one fluid motion, I scooped Bug up and over my shoulder, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through my skull at the sudden movement. Three quick strides brought us behind a large metal dumpster tucked against the back wall of the alley.
The container reeked of rotting fish and diesel fuel—pungent enough to mask our scents from anyone who might be hunting us.
I deposited Bug in the narrow space between the dumpster and wall, then positioned myself in front of him, creating a human shield with my larger body.
"Stay behind me," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "No matter what happens, don't make a sound."
Bug nodded, his eyes wide, but focused. Unlike most people in dangerous situations, Bug never panicked—a strange calm would settle over him, as if he'd switched to some other mode of existence. Right now, he was completely still, barely seeming to breathe.
I peered around the edge of the dumpster, careful to keep most of my body hidden. The mouth of the alley remained empty for a long moment, the early morning light casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Then came thesound of approaching footsteps—multiple sets, some steady and measured, others stumbling and erratic.
A well-dressed man entered the alley first. Even in the dim light, I could make out the quality of his dark suit and the gleam of an expensive watch at his wrist.
He moved with the confident stride of someone used to being obeyed, stopping about fifteen feet from our hiding place to light a cigarette. The flame from his gold lighter briefly illuminated sharp features and cold eyes.
