Challenge

Challenge
Romain 
The drive to Soren's house is slow and torturous, and I can safely say that is the longest five minutes of my entire life. 
My shoulders are tight with tension. Even my jaw is clenched. 
I look over at Fred. His face is set; his expression grim. Before I can utter a word, he looks my way and says, "You wanna know something?"
I continue looking at him, wondering if I'll have the balls to tell him this is very clearly an ambush and that we have to be ready for everything. His next words are, "You're a better leader than your father."
From my peripheral vision, I see some uniformed Gammas rapidly approaching the gate. In a matter of seconds, they'll be standing by Fred's window, asking him what the nature of our business here is. I'm sweating under this uniform.  
I can smell my own fear. It reeks.
"I don't believe that," I say genuinely. 
"You are," he assures me with a firm nod. "With Fang, he always told us what to do. Nobody could question him. In many ways, he was the Alpha he always claimed he'd never be. Not you." He grins after this statement. "You didn't even tell us your suspicions because you knew it'd ruin the moment. You let us participate—you let us fuck this up royally just to give us the freedom of choice."
He knows, I realize. Fred knows exactly what's happening. The Gamma knocks on his window and he flashes me a small, sinister smile before rolling the window down.
"What do you want here?" the Gamma asks. "We didn't call for anyone."
"You know as well as I do what I came to do here," Fred answers, his voice a low rumble in his chest as sweat trails down his temple. "So, open the fucking gate."
The Gamma gives us a solemn look before turning on his heel. We all hear his command. The gate creaks open. I exchange a look with Fred and wonder if the guys in the back of the truck have picked up on what's happening. Do they know we're walking into a graveyard?
That we signed our death warrants back there?
I bet they do. Rogues can smell danger from miles away.
And in my mind, all I can see is the Gamma I killed, staring at me with fear swimming in the depths of his eyes. Sacrificing himself for a higher cause. 
Fred slowly drives into the courtyard. A Quick Look around confirms all my suspicions—we're surrounded by Gammas and enforcers, all of them armed. Even if they weren't, we'd still be fucked. 
With a sudden motion, Fred brings the car to a halt before killing the engine. We sit alongside each other for a handful of seconds, contemplating our next move. 
They don't move. They just stare. 
For several moments, this silence is all there is. It's a sobering moment—all the drunken hope I had has vanished into thin air. Winning this fight was never a possibility, I realize. 
But perhaps I can make the most of this. 
Maybe I can send a message. Make it loud and clear. 
There are ten men for every one of us. Maybe more. I glance at Fred before opening the car's door and stepping foot outside.  
They tense up; I notice right away. 
This was all planned and we fell right into their trap. 
"Surrender, rogues," a voice says. I follow the sound and see an enforcer standing several feet away, his eyes on me. "Do it and you may live. You'll be escorted to the prison where you'll be fairly tried and convicted."
A few of our guys chortle but I can't see who they are. It's ridiculous, how well they lie. I say, "There has never been a fair trial for rogues. You know that as well as I do."
Anger blazes in his eyes as he answers, "You'll just have to try your luck."
"I'd rather take my chances here, in this courtyard."
They fall into formation fluidly, like they spent years practicing. I look around at the eleven other men who came with me and see determination burning in their eyes. Fierce and courageous until the end. 
The guilt of keeping my mouth shut crashes into me so hard that I nearly stagger. I could've prevented this.
I plant my feet on the ground, summoning my wolf. Shifting is the only chance I'll get to put a dent into this group of Gammas. Their silver-tipped blades and spears will hurt like a bitch, but I'll endure pain better in wolf form. 
"I want that one alive," I hear a family voice say. Wildly, I whip my head right and see Brent standing by the foot of the stairs, his arms on either side of him, his posture immaculate. 
Standing like a true, proper Alpha. 
But in his eyes, I see who he truly is. That untamed rage is something he'll carry with him for the rest of his life. Brent could become an expert at concealing it—hell, he could spend a lifetime trying to suppress and it would always come back to haunt him and remind him of who and what he is. 
Rogue. Wild. Feral. 
"The rest, you can all kill."
Hearing these words tumble from my son's lips makes me hate Soren more. This is his jargon—his words. The Gammas and enforcers advance. My plan had been to shift but I need to get a few words in. I can't miss this opportunity, not when he's standing right in front of me. 
Soren is nowhere. If he's around, he's watching from a distance like the fucking coward he is. The other rogues shift, all of them racing past me. 
I'm approached by a handful of Gammas, all determined not to wound me. Brent stands several feet away, watching with a detached look in his eyes. My son. Can't he see the resemblance? Is he so blind to the truth?
"Come with us," a Gamma begins. "We don't wish to—"
I rip the spear from his hand and flip it around before stabbing him through the heart with it, using all my strength. I dislodge the spear and use it to defend myself—I've never used one before except when I was a kid, training alongside Cade. My skills are rusty but suffice for the moment. 
I'm furious and that's all the strength I need. 
I keep an eye on Brent. I'm sliced in the arm with a silver-tipped knife and the pain crashes into my arm in agonizing waves. Even so, I do my best to use the arm and not let the pain sink too deep—that'll make my left arm immobile and I need to fight. 
Need to keep going. 
The more men I kill, the closer I get to Brent. I watch as two enforcers make their way to his side, grabbing a hold of his arm. Angrily, he brushes them off before glaring at me. 
I keep my eyes on his face. Challenging him. Hoping he'll come at me. If I were him, I would. 
And because he's my son, that's exactly what he does.