Chapter 28 Poetic
Eva
The warehouse district on the edge of Nashville smelled like rust, river water, and wet dog. I cut the Ducati’s engine two blocks out and rolled her into the shadow of an overturned semi.
The address that Fen had written on the napkin led to a three-story brick building, a relic from the past with half of its windows missing and a faded sign that once read "CUMBERLAND FREIGHT." The premises were enclosed by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire, and a single floodlight flickered over the loading bay.
If Ronan believed this would slow me down for even thirty seconds, he was more foolish than I believed he was.
I counted four heartbeats before I even reached the fence. Wolves. There were two on the roof, one pacing the dock, and one inside near the door.
Their scents hit me like separate punches: cheap beer, gun oil, wet asphalt, and something sour, maybe fear. They already sensed that something big was coming; they just didn't know it was me.
I quietly moved along the fence line until I found the gap they had created for themselves and slipped through. My boots made no sound on the cracked concrete; my heightened senses transformed the night into a kind of daylight and muffled any noise I made. It was both useful and terrifying.
Inside the yard, stacks of rotting pallets gave me cover. I crouched, breathed through my mouth, and listened.
A child’s heartbeat (fast, rabbit-quick) came from the second floor, northwest corner. Lily. She was alive, crying softly, trying to be brave. Good girl.
Ronan’s voice drifted down from an open window on the third floor, low and gloating.
“…collar shows up around her throat, Malach will come in hot. We let him tear through the first wave, then I put silver in his spine, and the torc becomes mine. Simple.”
A second voice, nasal and eager: “And the girl?”
“Collateral. Or leverage. Or a midnight snack. Depends how generous I’m feeling.”
I smiled in the dark. Generous. Cute.
I moved.
The first wolf on the dock never noticed me. I approached from behind, slipping a loop of piano wire around his thick neck just as he was finishing his cigarette. With one quick pull, his knees buckled, and his body folded quietly into the shadows. I dragged him behind a pallet, took his sidearm, a cheap Taurus loaded with silver rounds, and tucked it into my belt.
The second wolf on the roof was trickier. I climbed the rusted fire escape slowly. He was leaning against the parapet, scanning the street with his rifle loosely held in his hands. I waited until he turned, then stepped in close and pressed the Glock to the base of his skull.
“Night-night.”
With the butt of the gun against his temple, he dropped like a sack of feed. I zip-tied his wrists and ankles and gagged him with his own shirt. Two down.
Inside was darker, reeking of mold and old grain. Moonlight slanted through broken skylights, painting silver bars across the concrete floor. I followed Lily's heartbeat up a metal staircase that groaned under my weight but held firm.
The second floor featured an open loft with conveyor belts resembling dinosaur bones. Four wolves were gathered around a folding table, playing cards, with AR-15s within reach. In the far corner, Lily sat on a metal chair, her wrists bound with duct tape. Tears streamed down her cheeks, cutting clean paths through the dirt. A bruise had begun to bloom a deep purple on her cheekbone. My vision blurred with anger at the edges.
One of the card players, a big guy with a red beard, sniffed the air and frowned. “Do you smell that?”
Another laughed. “You’re paranoid. Malach ain’t com—”
I stepped into the moonlight, and four heads snapped toward me. Four sets of eyes widened in surprise.
The torc glowed like a fucking lighthouse.
“Well, shit,” Red Beard said, standing slowly. “Look who brought us a present.”
I smiled, slow and sharp. “Present’s for Ronan. Where is he?”
Red Beard’s gaze locked on my throat. Greed, fear, and lust warred across his face. “Upstairs. But you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. That collar’s coming off—one way or another.”
They moved.
I moved faster.
With a swift motion, I drew my Glock and fired two shots, aiming center mass at the closest wolf before he could reach for his weapon. The silver rounds pierced the Kevlar as if it were tissue. The wolf dropped, gurgling.
As the second wolf lunged, I sidestepped and brought the pistol down on the back of his skull. He hit the concrete hard.
The third one grabbed my braid with his thick fingers and yanked me close. I let him pull me close, then drove my knee into his balls so hard he lifted off the ground. While he folded, I spun, wrapped the piano wire around his throat, and rode him down. He thrashed once. Twice. Still.
Red Beard was the last one standing, hands raised, eyes fixed on the torc as if it were the Holy Grail. My gaze snapped where Lily sat, fuck, she's gone. I look back to Red Beard.
“Easy,” he croaked. “Ronan just wants to talk.”
“Great,” I said, wiping a smear of blood off my cheek. “Take me to him.”
He hesitated. I pressed the warm barrel of the Glock under his chin.
“Move.”
He moved.
We climbed the last flight of stairs in single file, with me behind him, my gun pressed against the base of his skull. With every step, the torc grew warmer, the bond tightening, like a wire on the verge of snapping. I could feel Malach's emotions; rage, pride, terror, and hunger rolling down the line like thunder.
The third floor was one vast open space. Ronan stood in the center, arms crossed, dressed in a tailored suit that likely cost more than my bike. He was tall and lean, with blond hair slicked back and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
Ronan took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as a wide smile spread across his face.
“Evangeline Harlow,” he said softly. Wolves don’t purr, but he somehow managed it. “And you wear the First Wolf’s collar. How deliciously poetic.”