Page 26 of Alpha’s Wife

Cole finds me just as I’m coming out of the warehouse, helping some of the crew bring in the crates. I notice straight away he’s got his phone in his hand, and he looks grimmer than usual at this time of the morning.

“You need to see this,” he says. “Came in overnight. To the broker account.”

The broker account is the one we use for selling the things we can’t use ourselves—mainly fences, a handful of people who move goods we take from the island and don’t ask questions. Occasionally, they sell things back to the island, which amuses me to no end. Not many people have that email, but my interest is piqued because one of the young recruits we lost on a raid a couple of weeks ago handled the admin, and I’d all but given up on hearing anything about him when he didn’t return. Everyone knows the risks we take on those raids, but I’ve only lost a handful of men in all this time, and I hate it every time.

“Is it Davey?” I ask, taking the phone.

“Not exactly. Read it, you’ll get it.”

I read it. I’ve been expecting something like this for a while, and yet it still feels like a surprise when it lands:

We know who you are now. We took one of your rogues on your last raid, and he’s told us enough—we know you and your brother are Ralph’s sons, born on the mainland. We’re sorry for any hardship you have endured.

However, Ralph was cruel to all of us. So we understand more than you may realize.

We don’t want a war, and we’re willing to talk. Your rogue will be released, unharmed, as a sign of goodwill. But understand this: We’ve all suffered enough because of Ralph, and we will not raise our hand against our own half-brothers first, but we will not hesitate to defend our island and packs if you keep coming for our people. We will defend what is ours, and we will not lose.

Callum, Tristen, and Aiden

I read it twice, and then I hand the phone back to Cole before I’m tempted to throw it into the sea.

At least Davey is safe. Stupid, reckless, and far too talkative, but at least he’s alive. I tell Cole to contact his mother immediately, because I’ve been updating her daily with hope fading; this is good news. But if I try to talk about it, I won’t be able to contain my simmering rage after reading the email, and I don’t want her to see it. Davey talked, and I should probably be angrier about that, but then, my goal has never been a secret here, and I knew I’d only maintain the element of surprise for so long once we started picking up the raids.

I take a breath, forcing my rage down and crystallizing it into something more solid and useful for a minute. Cole walks back over after hanging up with Davey’s mother, the smile he’d put on for the call fading as he turns to face me.

“Stupid pup,” he mutters. “He was always a livewire, bound to get himself in trouble. Glad he’s getting the chance to grow up and do better, though.”

Cole knows more about second chances than most, and I nod in agreement before running a hand over my face in an attempt to clear my head. “Yeah, I’ll kick his ass when he gets back,” I grimace, before adding, “once I let his mom give him a hug.”

Cole chuckles before growing serious again. “You wanna talk about that?” he says, indicating his phone. “They want peace. Half the folk here might think you should take it. The raids have served us well, but we have a whole network now that doesn’t involve the island.”

I look at him and hold his gaze. I guess he sees exactly what I want him to, because he trails off.

“And the other half?” I ask dryly.

Cole shifts his weight from foot to foot before answering. “Look, they get it. They all do. And you’ve given them so much, they’ll look to you for the answer and trust you either way.”

“They always do,” I say, weighing my options. “Say nothing about the email yet. Davey coming back safe is enough for now. I’ll decide what the rest means. Nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned.”

He nods and walks away, and I know he won’t run his mouth. I watch him go while I sit with the lie that nothing has changed.

The brothers all signed it and had the audacity to claim they knew about Ralph’s cruelty. Thirty-two years. I’ve spent thirty years being the bastard, the rogue, one of the sons their father threw away with the tide. And now that I’ve finally maneuvered into a position of power, they’re sending me emails about how we’ve all suffered, apparently.

They’re the ones who grew up on the island with a roof over their heads, packs, a name, a mother, and a place to belong. We had a mother who died far too young, a brother who was lost, and an impoverished stretch of coastline.

They don’t get to be sorry about Ralph. They don’t get to own his cruelty. Suffering is ours, and it was earned honestly; they don’t get to claim it just to stave off an attack.

I find Ryder on his porch nursing a coffee with his laptop open and a stack of books, which indicates he’s deep in research mode on something. He takes one look at my face as I approach and sets his coffee down.

“Something’s happened?” he says, and it’s barely a question, because he can read me better than anyone.

I’d already forwarded the email to my personal account, so I bring it up and hand it to Ryder. He reads it slower than I did; that’s how he does things, methodically. When he’s done, he hands it back and leans into his chair.

“I’m glad Davey’s okay,” he says quietly. “His mother’s been a wreck not knowing.”

“You know what they’re doing, right?” I say, finally able to let some of my anger and frustration leak out because it’s Ryder.

“Ronan,” he says carefully. “They’ve had the boy for two weeks. They could have sent him back dead to send a message or make a point. They want peace; they obviously don’t like Ralph, either. This isn’t nothing.”