Chapter 1

GABE

Walking into my bar and pushing open the heavy metal door, heading straight to the back corner of the old drinking house. Noticing, and not for the first time, that the place could do with a major facelift. The dirty, scuffed blue walls and patched-up leather booths of the Rising Moon had seen better days.

Jamerson and Killian were huddled up, heads down, looking at a file, seemingly deep in discussion.

They looked up, startled when I dropped the two duffle bags of cash onto the table in front of them with a loud thud.

“All taken care of?” Jamerson asks while leaning over to unzip the bags and peeking in.

“Yep,” I reply, watching him thumb the bills.

“Is this all of it, the full amount?” His raised eyebrow made me smirk.

“Yes brother, with extra for our troubles. Have the boys run it through the counter. If they are a dollar short of 400k, I want to know.” My eyebrows pinch together at the thought of them even trying to cheat us out of a deal. It would be a stupid move and a terrible mistake on their part. I was not opposed to taking their lives.

The deal was for 400k, and I would not accept a penny less for cleaning up the Gamma's own mistake.

I watch Jamerson sit back, and his eyes go misty, obviously mind-linking for one of the boys to come and take the bags of money and have them counted.

Within seconds, one of our Zeta’s, Nate, a big strapping lad, who had the women swooning for his blond hair and crystal blue eyes, had come in and picked up the bags.

“Nate!” I called as he turned and almost made it through the door, holding a bag in each hand. “You know the deal, no one else in the counting room, except you and Jared.” I pointed and gave him a warning look.

“Yes Alpha, of course.” He said before he exited the bar area to the counting room where the cash would be counted, recorded, split fifty percent to the house, and then the rest divided up between the Zeta loyalists.

Nate was a Renegade through and through. Loyal, tough, and like us, didn’t believe in the current laws of how packs ran.

We, The Renegades, were looked down on by packs. Seen as less than nothing but rogues. Tyrants and mercenaries.

Muscle for hire.

Sure, we were rough, loyal only to ourselves, and made money off other people’s problems and feuds. Yet still, we had a higher moral than most of these godforsaken packs that were more concerned with power, money, and self-preservation. They were greedy, cruel, and took care of themselves first at the expense of their pack members. They were pawns in the higher rank’s greed, and they were treated just as much.

You would often see lesser wolves, treated like a slave, abused and used.

That was of no concern to us. We were there for the job. We had our own pack to take care of. The Renegades. And we had our own set of rules.

You would never see us mistreat one of our brothers and sisters. We were all here for the same reason.

Because we wouldn’t conform to the norm. We refused to follow the rules. The majority of us had left packs of our own accord, but there were some that had been banished.

Then there was me.

The Alpha, who left his own family and pack like lambs for the slaughter. And I don’t mean that in a metaphorical way.

“Hey boss, check this out.” Killian slid the file over the table to me. “New client, John Doe, of the Clawed Wolf Pack, not rank but an Elite in society, some big wig banker guy. He wants to use our services for a rescue operation. His son is being held for ransom until his father pays his gambling debts.”

I opened the file to see a picture of the sniveling banker's son, who looks equally pretentious.

“What’s he paying us?” I cocked an eyebrow at Killian.

“Eight hundred large” He replies with a smirk.

“What’s the ransom?”

“One point two mil. But it’s an easy as shit job.” Killian chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair, his blue eyes narrowing with his growing smile.

“How so?” I ask, knowing his answer is somehow going to be ridiculous.

“Cuz its Dynamite Al, he owes the money too.” He chuckles.

“I already called him,” Jamerson interjected. “Told him the stitch, said he could either get a kickback of four hundred K, or nothing. He took the kickback.”

“Smart man.” I approved. Even though Dynamite Al was out by quite a bit of money, he knew his choices. We had done business many times.

Either take what we offer, or we fuck you up. Worse we feed you to the fish. We are known for completing the job we are hired to do. Without prejudice.

“So how are we handling this?” I now look at Jamerson, my right-hand man.

“We are going to accept the contract. Dynamite Al is gonna hold the little prick for a day or two, and rough him up a bit more to make it look good. Then, we will play the heroes and sweep in, saving the pretentious little prick.”

“Easy money,” Added Killian.

Easy money indeed, I thought. However, Al sent a lot of business our way and I didn’t want to piss him off and lose him as a client.

“Let Mr. Doe know this is a one-time job. The next time his son gets in debt, they are gonna have to pay it off. I ain’t losing Al as a client, just cuz some high-ranking pack member wants to save a buck. The kid should take care of his own debt.” With a stern look, I let it be known that I wasn’t fucking around.

I left Jamerson and Killian sitting downstairs in the bar to finish business and headed upstairs to my apartment which sat above the establishment.

I had access to my second-story, three-bedroom dwelling either through the back of the bar, or there was a staircase outside that led up to another entrance.

Like the bar, my apartment could do with an upgrade. The dirty brown walls were depressing and uninviting and the decades old leather couch had seen better days, but still more comfortable than the broken spring bed I only used to fuck in.

I threw my boots by the door and began peeling my clothes off as I walked to the bathroom, tossing the discarded garments as I went, in desperate need of a shower.

It would be nice to have hot water, but today I welcomed the iciness. The refreshing and cool stream eases the tension from a hard, hot summer day of work.

Work equaling, beating the shit out of some immoral shifters. My cracked knuckles had already healed and just slight bruising that would soon be gone was left.

I washed the dirt from my dark brown hair and stood under the stream for a few moments longer before switching the shower off, wrapping a towel around my waist, and going back to my couch.

I flopped down, grabbing the half-empty bottle of… whiskey, I realized after taking a pull from the bottle.

After downing, almost the rest of the bottle, my body felt more relaxed, and my mind began simmering down.

If only I could nap for a few hours before the bar opened, and the music and patrons kept me busy.  I resolved to drink the rest of the bottle while staring at the yellow ceiling. My mind fills with the faces of wolves I turned my back on. The most prominent faces are my parents.

I groan as the all too familiar feeling of guilt starts twisting my stomach but is quickly replaced with complacency.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not happy with my actions, I did what I had to do. I may feel guilt wash over me now and then but never mistake it for remorse. I will never regret the day I walked out of my pack, turning my back on them.

My sister was alive and free to make her own choices. That’s what mattered.

“Argh” I groaned out loudly. I hated it when my brain decided to overthink. This is what happens when I’m left on my own with nothing to occupy me.

*Jamerson, send me up a good time girl, will ya?* I pushed open a mind link with him and waited for his response.

*Sue thing Alpha, anyone particular?* I could hear the smirk in his voice.

*Anyone but Cassidy* I sighed.

I had enjoyed my time with Cassidy, I found her satisfactory but that was all it was. No strings.

Good time girls were just that. A good time. They were bar flies who hung around our Zeta’s, passed around to whoever wanted to fuck them. They were not pack members and never would be unless they mated with one of us.

On more nights than one, good time girls have been shared with two or more Zeta’s.

Always with their consent.

Except Cassidy stepped over the line, made herself out to be something more than what she was. She tried climbing the rank ladder, wanting a relationship with me.

I cut her off right there and then when her jealousy flared because I fucked another GT girl. A silly notion in her head that I would claim her and had the gall to tell other GT girls that I was going to.

I scoff at the thought. I would never claim anyone. Unless it was my true mate. I scoff again. The chances of finding a true mate in this day and age were like finding a needle in a haystack. Virtually impossible, unless the stars were perfectly aligned just right for you.