A King With No Kingdom

The ride back to the garage was a blur of lights passing by at the speed of light. I cuddled against Cane’s back, my mind racing faster than the bike.

"Who were they?" I shouted over the wind; the image of Silas’s icy blue eyes burned into my memory.

"What did he mean about what you lost?"

Cane didn't answer until we were going through the backstreets of the Rust Belt. He slowed the bike as we approached the familiar fence of the garage.

"That was Silas," he said, his voice filled with shame.

"The Iron-Claw Pack’s Alpha. They’re a pack of scavengers and killers who moved in from the north. Three years ago, this whole stretch, the Glades, the Big Cypress, the old sugar mills, it was ours. It was the territory of the Silver Moon Pack."

"Your pack," I whispered, the realization hitting me.

"My pack," he confirmed.

"We were the kings of the wetlands. But Silas... he didn't play by the old laws. He used the hunters. He used his connections to track our dens. He caught us divided and took the territory in a single night of blood. I lost my home, Eloise. I lost the land that had been in my family for generations. Now, we're squatters in a garage, hiding in the scent of grease because it’s the only place he doesn't care to look, reduced to a fraction of what our pack once was."

The pain in his voice was raw. I realized then that Cane wasn't just a mechanic; he was an exiled king, drawn back to the borders of his lost kingdom.

We reached the garage as the sun began to dip below the horizon. I expected to see the aftermath of this morning's battle with Saul’s men, the shattered glass, the blood-stained concrete, the debris of a war.

Instead, the lot was spotless.

The gate was closed and locked. The black SUVs were gone. Even the gravel looked like it had been raked to hide the tire tracks. The heavy garage door was rolled down, and the light from the office was the only sign of life.

"They cleaned it," I said, stepping off the bike.

Cane dismounted, his face dark. He didn't look relieved; he looked hunted. We entered through the side door. Inside, it was silent.

Vane was sitting at the central workbench, his back to us. He was cleaning a silver blade with a white cloth, the repeating sound the only sound in the bay. Jax was in the corner, hunched over a motorcycle engine, his head down as if he were trying to disappear into the machinery.

"It’s done," Vane said without looking up. His voice was cold, devoid of its usual dry humor.

"The evidence is at the bottom of the Miami River. The SUVs have been crushed. Saul and his men... they’ve been processed. Your father won't find a single hair of his 'recovery team' in this zip code. Problem solved!"

"Vane," Cane began, his voice low.

“We need to talk,” Cane said, but Vane already knew; he could smell the Everglades on us!

"Don't 'Vane' me. You took her to the Borderlands? After all this?"

"I needed to get her away from the city," Cane countered, his own temper beginning to rise.

"She needed air, Vane. She needed to see the world she's part of now. They cornered us, but he let me go."

"No, you just had to satisfy your own ego!" Vane stepped into the glare of the overhead shop lights.

"You were so busy playing the romantic Alpha that you forgot the first rule of being in hiding. You led them straight to us."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, stepping forward.

Vane ignored me, his gaze locked on Cane.

"What am I talking about?" Vane laughed.

"I’m talking about the scouts, Cane. They didn't know where we were. For three years, we’ve lived in this prison of grease, our scents covered by gasoline and oil. We were ghosts. We were safe."

Vane stepped closer, his chest nearly touching Cane’s.

"But you couldn't stay away from the border, could you? You had to take your new prize to the one place where Silas is always watching. You led the wolves straight to the door of the den we’ve bled to keep hidden."

Just as the words left his lips and if to prove his point, the low-frequency engines began to vibrate through the concrete floor. It started in the distance but rapidly increased as they got closer.

"Hear that?" Vane hissed, gesturing toward the street.

"That’s the sound of your ego coming home to roost."

Outside, the screech of tires on gravel announced their arrival. But this time it was only to scout. They slowed down as they passed the garage and then sped up again as they reached the end of the street, their tires screeching around the corner, the sounds of their engines slowly disappearing in the distance.

"This is on you!" Vane shouted over the fading noise of the motorcycles. He finally turned his burning gold eyes toward me.

"And it’s on her. This morning’s attack? Those hunters? That wasn't a random hit. They came for the girl, and because of her, we’re exposed. You’re trading our lives for a human woman!”

"She is part of this pack now, Vane. Whether you like it or not."

"She is a target! And you’re the bait, dummy. Why do you think he let you go? He could have killed you on the spot, but he wanted to find the den!" Vane countered, his voice breaking with the tension of terror and fury.

"Our Alpha just handed Silas the map to hit us. You’ve put the pack in jeopardy for a mate, a bond you’re too selfish to control. Look around you, Cane! This isn't a kingdom. It’s a cage. And the bars just got a lot tighter."

Vane looked at me, then back at Cane, his expression one of utter betrayal.

"I hope she was worth it."