Chapter 90
DEREK
The bastard was fast.
We chased him through the remains of the old rail yard–broken tracks twisted like bones, rusted metal screeching underfoot as we leapt from one abandoned car to the next. He vaulted down from the top of a boxcar and hit the ground running, silver blade glinting in
one hand.
“He’s cutting east!” Brock shouted behind me.
I didn’t answer. I shifted just enough to send a jolt of speed through my limbs, then barreled forward. The rogue ducked between two half–crushed freight cars, but I was on him before he could pivot. My shoulder slammed into his ribs, driving him into the gravel
with a satisfying crack.
He howled and twisted, wild with adrenaline and the stink of fear. Teeth bared. Eyes
bloodshot.
I grabbed his wrist mid–swing and slammed it down. The blade skittered away.
“Got you,” I growled.
He bucked and fought, but Brock was already there, pinning him down while I bound his wrists with silver–threaded cuffs. His skin hissed where the metal touched.
“Careful,” Brock muttered. “This one’s got the look.”
The rogue thrashed once more, then went still. His chest heaved. A sick grin split his face as he stared up at me, breath ragged. “Should’ve killed me,” he rasped.
“We’re not done with you yet.”
I hauled him to his feet, keeping one hand locked around the back of his neck as I steered him through the broken gravel. His boots dragged, resisting every step, but he wasn’t
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strong enough to fight me off. Not anymore.
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We passed a gutted passenger car, its windows shattered, vines curling up its rusted side.
I pushed him forward, past a twisted pile of rail ties and down the incline toward the car where the fire drum sat, still smelling of smoke. Up and in, and then I shoved him down next to it. He slumped to the ground like a teenager caught breaking curfew.
The rest of the unit fell in around us. One man took position near the treeline, eyes scanning the perimeter. Another crouched near the drum, carefully sifting through the ashes with gloved hands, lifting pieces here and there and examining them.
I crouched in front of the rogue. “Name.”
He licked his teeth, lips cracked. Said nothing.
“Who are you working for?”
Still nothing.
I grabbed the front of his filthy shirt. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it my way.”
That finally got a reaction. His smile twitched. “You don’t scare me.”
“No?” I leaned in, letting my wolf press just beneath my voice. “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Derek King. Alpha of Silverclaw. I think you and a couple of your friends tried to kill my mate.”
His smile faltered.
“Talk,” I said. “Who’s giving the orders?”
A pause. His eyes flicked to the fire drum, then to Brock, who stood just a little too close.
“Back up,” I said sharply. “Give him some space.”
Brock raised a brow but obeyed, stepping back half a pace.
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The rogue swallowed, then muttered, “He’ll kill me.”
“Who? We can protect you.”
His hands clenched. “You can’t protect me. You don’t know what he is.”
I glanced at Brock, then back to the rogue. “Pierce?” I asked him.
The rogue flinched–tiny, almost imperceptible–but it was there. That was answer
enough for me.
“Where is he?” I asked. “Where is Pierce?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try again.”
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He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not like you. He doesn’t forgive. If he thinks I
talked, it’s over. My family—”
“You have family?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He froze.
“Didn’t think rogues cared about anyone but themselves.”
“We don’t. Not until he makes you believe you do.” He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the
trick, see. Pierce offers something better. A pack with no rules. No pain. No exile. Just
power.”
“And the cost?”
“You’re looking at it.”
I stood, turned to Brock. “Let’s take him back,” I muttered. “He knows enough to be
useful.”
“What?” the rogue snapped, twisting in his restraints. “No. No, no, no–you don’t get it. If he finds out–if he even thinks-”
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Brock stepped forward. “We’ll give you a nice dark cell, silver bars, round–the–clock guards. You’ll be safe.”
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