If the wolves at the strip club caught wind of her hanging out with Lucien, who had ties to the Arkansas Guardians, there would be hell to pay. Louisiana werewolves hated Guardians. They didn’t like anyone in their business, and Guardians had the power to keep them in line. Especially Big Mike. If he found out she’d been trying to help the Guardians, her boss would want her blood.
I have to help. Even if it will cost me somewhere down the line.
***
Barrett slowed his speed on his Harley Davidson Breakout as he approached the solitary driveway of the dusty rural road. He knew by the time he reached his destination the black denim finish on his bike was going to be covered in a film of dust.
He’d ridden his bike like hell was on his heels down the lonesome highway in the dead of night. He needed to get away from his Pack, his obligations, and his helplessness.
He needed to find some answers.
The hot night air stuck to his T-shirt, making his flesh drip with sweat like drops of rain. He’d grown up in humidity and heat in his home state of South Carolina. He could handle whatever Arkansas threw his way.
He slowed his bike as his headlight fell upon the five-foot iron fence surrounding the isolated cemetery only a few knew about.
He was meeting someone. Someone who might have some answers or could at least point him in the right direction.
Another package had come in that afternoon after all the Guardians had headed out for dinner. This time when he opened the small box, it was something more than a tattoo.
It was Heimy’s middle finger.
Apparently the assholes had cut off one hand and now were cutting off the fingers of the other hand one by one. There was no way the werewolf would still be alive after all that. Barrett knew the captors were playing with him, making sure to let him know how much his Guardian had suffered before he drew his last breath.
Barrett had sworn to protect his werewolves, and he meant it.
He’d failed Heimy, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to fail anyone else.
He killed the engine and slid off his bike. He made his way into the cemetery and looked around. He glanced at the time on his phone.
He was early.
He spotted a large headstone in the shape of a tree trunk and walked over. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he rested against the stone. Humans were weird, wanting the biggest headstone and showing off long after they were dead. Didn’t they realize no one remembered you after you died? Not even if you put up the biggest monument of yourself. The only thing people remembered was what you did for them. Good or bad.
A few minutes later, soft footsteps had him turning his attention in their direction.
“I was beginning to wonder if you would show up.” Barrett pushed off the headstone and met the gaze of Jack Welbourn, Pack Master of Mississippi.
“I always keep my promises, although your request for a meeting was on short notice.” The large figure stepped into a stream of moonlight and smiled. Jack was dressed in a black business suit and loafers.
“That’s no way to travel on a Harley, Jack.” Barrett nodded at his clothing.
“There wasn’t time to bring my Harley.” Jack arched his thick brow. “I had to take my private plane so I wouldn’t be late for this meeting. You know it takes a few hours to travel from Mississippi.”
“Did you land in Little Rock?”
“Nah. I like to keep this under the radar. So I landed about a mile from here. Small landing strip through the woods.” He nodded over his shoulder. “I keep a map of all the air strips throughout the Southern states. Never know when you might need an emergency landing.”
Barrett knew the real reason. Jack wouldn’t want to be seen with Barrett, especially since finding out what had been happening to his Guardians. It might put his Mississippi Guardians in danger.
“I’m in a tight spot, Jack.” He rubbed his hand down his face and met the Pack Master’s gaze.
“So I hear.” The Mississippi Pack Master knit his brows together as he walked down the little deer path that wound its way from the cemetery into the thick woods. Barrett fell into step beside him.
Jack Welbourn was twenty years older than Barrett. When Barrett had assumed the seat of Pack Master in Arkansas, Jack was also one of the ones to welcome him without having anything to say about his age. Jack was hard but fair, something Barrett strived to be with his own state.
“I have to say I’ve never heard of our Guardians being hunted before.”
“You’ve not had any Guardians come up missing?” Barrett cut his eyes at him.
“No. All of mine are accounted for.” Concern etched into the granite of his tone and the hard expression on his face.
“Forgive me for asking, but have they all been accounted for while on their missions in Arkansas?” He hated to ask, but he had to know.