Six

Kian

We arrived at the old, abandoned warehouse standing above the Cage. Dad knocked on the heavy iron door in some secret code, then waited.

There was a scraping of metal, and then a strange pair of eyes appeared behind the open slit in the door.

"State your name and your business here," a male voice commanded in a blunt, gruff, Hispanic accent.

"Razor, and I brought my boy for the inauguration," Dad replied.

The viewing hole was slammed shut, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. "Go on through," the same guy spoke.

He was dark and exotic, and his eyes were like pools of molten amber with black vertical slits for pupils.

"Is he a . . .," I whispered to Dad.

"Shh, Kian; yes, he's a cat shifter," Dad answered, keeping his voice low. "Mind your manners," he reprimanded. "It's rude to point and stare."

"I've never seen one before," I chatted excitedly.

That was the truth; I hadn't. What I had learned at school about the cat community was that their numbers were few. They were highly religious, worshipping the Moon Goddess faith the same as a Christian devotes themselves to their God. Bears were more relaxed when it came to our beliefs. We were predominantly atheists, choosing to believe in what we could see and touch. Wolves worshipped the Goddess, too, but were not as fanatical as the cats. The fox shifter community worshipped money and not much else. I couldn't blame them. Given half a chance, I think I would too.

"What's a cat shifter doing in a place like this? I thought they were against gambling?" I questioned, looking up to my father with inquisitive eyes.

Dad answered me like any father feeding knowledge into the innocent mind of his young offspring, "Faith doesn't put food in your belly, son. A man's gotta eat. The cats have it worse than most. Sure, they pool their resources together and ration it out fairly. But where there's easy money to be made, men turn a blind eye to faith and focus on a fistful of green," he answered, patting my shoulder.

We walked down a dingy industrial staircase that spiraled down into Satan's asshole. That was how it looked from the top, peering down the center cavity, right down to the bottom level. The hazy red lighting from the room beneath filtered out through the doorway like the fiery pits of hell. Raised voices and laughter could be heard as well as the sickening sound of flesh colliding against flesh.

"You okay, son?" Dad inquired, probably noticing me stiffening.

"Yes, Dad," I stammered, a little unsure of myself. "I mean, I think so."

He ruffled my hair. "I got you, all right?" he reassured me. "You may not think so now, but you'll thank me for this someday. Times are changing, Kian. You gotta be prepared to defend yourself at all costs. I may not always be around to defend you. Hunters are coming into these parts thick and fast. You have to be prepared for a surprise attack," he forewarned.

We reached the lower level, the home of the Cage. The coppery smell of blood and sweat filled my nostrils, almost causing me to gag. Bodies stood around me as tall as my old man, obscuring my view. Dad muscled his way through, pushing past with his broad shoulders with me in hot pursuit. Finally, he stopped where he needed to be, shaking hands with a couple of guys I didn't recognize.

"Hey, Razor, I see you brought your boy," one of the shady-looking men spoke.

Right from the get-go, I pegged him as a hustler. The kind of guy who had the gift of gab and enough confidence to power a rocket ship to the moon. I bet if he told folks he had shaken hands with the Goddess herself, they'd believe him.

Dad pulled me in front of him, bringing his shovel-sized hands down on my shoulders. I felt my knees give way with the impact.

"Sure did, Chance," Dad answered with a distinct air of pride.

It figures a guy like him was named Chance. I could tell by the fickle look in his eyes that he was a walking probability. I waited for him to speak as his eyes flashed down to me in a twisted game of “what the fuck does he want? Roulette?”

He must've sensed the distrust seeping through my narrowed eyes, and he breathed out a chuckle. "The resemblance is uncanny, Razor," he remarked, grinning up at Dad.

Dad nudged my head from side to side as he affectionately ruffled my hair. "He's gonna be the best there ever was. Even greater than me and his grandpappy."

Metaphoric dollar signs lit up Chance's eyes. He clicked his tongue and some heavily made-up chick wearing the smallest pair of denim cutoff shorts, a glitzy bra top, and silver-heeled sandals strutted over and planted a kiss to his cheek.

"What do you want, Chance?" she asked in a voice that was sweet but far from innocent.

"Lexi, this is Razor's boy . . ." He paused, waiting for me to give my name.

I scowled up at him. "Kian."

Chance flashed me a grin. "We'll have to change that, but it'll do for now." He turned to the woman whose blue eyes raked up and down me with something that resembled pity.

She shook whatever thoughts she had away, giving a prolonged blink before popping her gum, sucking it back inside her glossy red lips, and then smoothing down her peroxide-blonde hair.

"You want it cut short to the scalp like the others?" She cocked a questioning brow to Chance.

"Yeah, make it quick. We don't have all morning." He jerked his head, signaling for her to hurry her ass along.

She rolled her eyes, holding out her hand for me to grasp like I was some five-year-old. I ignored the gesture and walked alongside her instead.

"You're gonna be a handful around here, I can tell," she commented dryly.

My behavior was coming off as rude, but the truth was . . . I was scared shitless. It was a mask I wore like a suit of armor. This was Kian Jones shutting down and letting fuck knows what take over the driver's seat. Something dark manifesting inside me was scratching at the door and was itching to get out.