Behind him came two burly men in leather jackets, dragging a third man between them. The third man's face was a mess of blood and bruises, his legs barely supporting his weight as they hauled him forward.
"Here's good," the suited man said, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet morning air. He took a long drag from his cigarette, studying the beaten man with clinical detachment. "Drop him."
The thugs released their grip, and the man collapsed to the pavement with a pained groan. I felt Bug tense behind me, his fingers digging into my back.
The suited man crouched down and grabbed a fistful of the beaten man's hair, yanking his head up to force eye contact. "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," he said, his tone conversational, almost friendly. "I thought we had an understanding. You deliver packages, you get paid, nobody gets hurt. Simple arrangement."
"I did," the man—Tommy—gasped, blood bubbling from his split lip. "I swear I did. Just like always."
"Yet here we are," the suited man continued, still in that eerily pleasant tone. "With you lying to my face."
"I'm not lying!" Tommy's voice cracked with desperation. "I delivered everything to the drop point, just like you said. Same as always. I didn't take anything!"
The suited man sighed dramatically, releasing Tommy's hair and standing up. He brushed imaginary dust from his knees before taking another drag of his cigarette.
"Then explain to me, Tommy, why my buyer received only half the product they paid for." He flicked ash onto Tommy's trembling form. "Because someone took my drugs. And if it wasn't you, then who was it?"
I felt my jaw clench as the pieces clicked together. The Dough Boys had been pushing harder into our territory lately, trying to establish drug routes through Fortune. This must be their supplier—the man pulling the strings behind their recent aggression.
"I don't know!" Tommy sobbed. "I swear, man. I just did the delivery like always. Maybe—maybe someone intercepted after I left? Or before I picked up? I don't know!"
The suited man circled Tommy slowly, like a predator toying with wounded prey. "Here's the problem with your theory, Tommy. My own men wouldn't dare cross me. They know what happens to thieves in my organization." He gestured vaguely to the thugs standing nearby. "So that leaves you, the only outsider with access to the product."
I recognized him now. Victor Kaine. I'd heard his name mentioned in club meetings—a new player trying to establish himself in Montana's drug trade. Rumor had it he was ruthlessly efficient and completely without mercy. Some even whispered he had connections to government agencies that gave him protection from local law enforcement.
More concerning were the rumors that he'd somehow learned about shifters and was particularly interested in territories controlled by shifter gangs. Whether he knew what we were or just thought we were ordinary MCs with unusual strength wasn't clear.
"Please," Tommy begged, "I didn't take anything. I wouldn't steal from you. I'm not stupid!"
"No," Kaine agreed, "you're not stupid. Which makes me think you've found yourself a powerful new friend. Someone who made you promises of protection." His voice hardened. "Someone who doesn't understand the consequences of stealing from me."
Bug shifted behind me, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "He looking for our club. Thinks we took drugs."
My blood ran cold. If Kaine believed the Soldiers of Fortune had stolen his product, he'd come after us next. With Liam missing and half our members still recovering from yesterday's attack, we weren't in the best position for another confrontation.
"Check his phone," Kaine ordered one of his men. "I want to see every call, every text, every contact."
The thug pulled a smartphone from Tommy's pocket and handed it to Kaine, who scrolled through it with deliberate slowness.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You've been in the area around the Soldiers of Fortune clubhouse quite frequently this past week." He showed the screen to Tommy. "Location data doesn't lie."
"That's—that's just because I live near there!" Tommy protested. "I'm not involved with them, I swear!"
I felt Bug stiffen behind me again. His hand pressed against his stomach, his warning system clearly in overdrive.
"Bad man," Bug whispered. "Knows about us. Hunting."
I nodded slightly to show I'd heard. We needed to get back to the clubhouse as soon as possible. Butch needed to know about this—about Kaine's suspicions and the missing drugs. If someone was setting us up to take the fall for a theft, we needed to find out who and why.
Kaine handed the phone back to his thug and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small switchblade. The blade snapped open with a click that echoed in the quiet alley.
"I want my drugs, Tommy," he said, yanking Tommy's head back by his hair and bringing the blade close to his throat. "Where are they?"
I pressed Bug further back into our hiding place, my mind racing. We couldn't help Tommy without revealing ourselves, and getting caught by Kaine would only make things worse. We needed to stay hidden, to survive long enough to warn the club.
As the sun climbed higher over the wharf, I found myself caught between a man I couldn't save and a mate I couldn't find, with only Bug's steady presence behind me keeping me anchored to reality.
Chapter Seven
