Chapter 5

Keiran’s POV

Remy’s bodyguards aren’t distracted for long. I’ve just reached the bottom of the stairs when I hear them crashing down the hallway after me. Losing them shouldn’t be too hard, though. I know my way around this place better than they do. I take a sharp left and dart into the kitchen, through a staff door, and onto the loading dock on the side of the club, leaving me only fifty yards or so away from the street.

Unfortunately, I completely forgot about the other shifters.

This side of the building is closer to the entrance Remy and I used, and Greg and his buddies are standing at the mouth of the narrow passage leading to the street. They’re likely trying to figure out how to get past Denny and Pike or maybe just waiting another twenty minutes until last call when the club’s going to clear out. Whatever it is they’re doing, it complicates things since they’re blocking my only way out.

At least their backs are to me. For now.

I catch the door and gently guide it shut. Already exhausted before I got involved in this mess, I don’t have the energy to take on three shifters by myself. I need to keep them from noticing me as long as possible.

Taking a couple of steps forward, I study their positioning. If I catch them by surprise, I can probably—

Behind me, the door swings open with enough force to slam against the brick with a clang. All three shifters turn to look toward the loading dock as Dante steps onto the loading dock.

Fuck.

And next comes bodyguard number two.

Double fuck.

I dart forward, away from Dante and his friend, but that only leads me closer to the others. Greg and his buddies fan out, now completely blocking my exit, but they don’t make any moves down the alley. Glancing over my shoulder, I take in Dante’s furious expression. Retreating into the club is not an option.

My gaze returns to the other three shifters. Their attention isn’t on me, probably because I’m not their prey and they think I’m not a threat—though the blood covering Greg’s shirt should’ve disproved that theory. They’ve underestimated me before, so if I move fast enough, I might be able to—

“Keiran,” says Remy from the doorway leading to the loading dock. He meets my eyes and I can tell he’s figured out what I’m planning. “Don’t. Just wait. We can—”

“Sorry,” I mutter before taking off toward the street at a dead run.

Dante tries to grab me, but since I’m practically naked and covered in whatever oily substance my body glitter is suspended in there’s nothing for him to take hold of and I slip away. The other shifters make a half-hearted effort to nab me, but don’t seem too bothered when I make it past them and head down the street. A part of me feels guilty for leaving Remy behind, but he has his protectors, and I have no one. He’ll be fine.

It takes me almost forty minutes to make it to my crappy apartment. In all that time, it doesn’t dawn on me until I’m standing at my front door that all my stuff is still in my locker at the club. Including my keys. I sigh, then bang my forehead against the door. This night just keeps getting worse.

The door opens and I stumble forward, almost knocking over my startled roommate.

“Dude.” He blinks his red-tinged eyes. “What are you wearing?”

Kevin is human and he’s also not the brightest crayon in the box, nor is he very sober. Still, I’m damn glad to see him, even if he’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before.

“Left my keys at work,” I say.

“And your clothes?”

“Those too,” I reply.

He nods slowly, as if processing. “Good for you.”

I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean and I don’t have time to translate his stoner speech. Instead of responding, I pat him on the shoulder, then head to my tiny bedroom. Once there, I grab my backpack and start shoving crap into it. My progress slows to a stop as the events of the evening catch up to me.

Whether due to stupidity or just bad luck, I completely screwed myself tonight. Things were going so well here. I had a job that didn’t suck too badly. I had a place to sleep. I even sort of had people I could call friends or at least acquaintances, though they could never know the real me.

And now…all that’s gone.

Again.

I sit on the edge of my bed, shoulders slumped, holding one strap of my backpack with loose fingers. Chicago is the first place I’ve stayed for more than a couple months. I thought that maybe this could be my home, that after four fucking years I’d run long enough, far enough, and I could finally stop.

But it’s never going to end, not really, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I’m exhausted on every level—physically, mentally, emotionally—and the future stretching out before me looks nothing but bleak.

What’s the point of any of this?

I release the strap of my backpack and bury my face in my hands. The life I have now is somehow more painful than anything my uncle and his cronies did to me back in that clearing. If they wanted me to suffer, they certainly got their wish.

Maybe I should have just told Remy the truth. He seemed nice enough and maybe…

No.

That’s how I got into this mess, by thinking things could be different. I can’t change what I am and that means I’ll never have a pack, a family, a home… Funnily enough, I didn’t even realize how much I wanted those things until the option to have them was taken away from me.

I cast a glance at my half-packed bag. Things will be okay—they have to be—but I need a nap and a meal before I can pull myself together enough to hit the road. I flop backward onto the bed, my eyes drifting shut as I allow exhaustion to wash over my body.

Just a twenty-minute power nap…

But I don’t wake until a few hours later when a shifter wraps their hand around my neck.