Chapter 1
Steve hummed a little tune as he waited on the Brink side of the portal in the South Side of Chicago. He would get the rare opportunity of shepherding in the new guys Roger had sent to join Devon’s pack. Rough and fierce, these three shifters were called in when things got hairy. Given Charity was getting strong magical surges and needed to be rushed through the dangerous wilds to the Flush, a place in the Realm where a subset of fae lived, so she could get aid from what was hopefully her people, Devon was going to need experience in his numbers.
Speaking of Devon—Steve checked his watch—he and his pack were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. Their flight from Santa Cruz must’ve been delayed.
It wasn’t like Roger to trust Steve with authoritative duties. Hell, it wasn’t like Roger to trust Steve with anything besides fighting. The alpha liked to keep Steve on a tight leash where he could. Then again, maybe Roger thought Emery would keep things in line. The Rogue Natural would be leading them through the wilds, trying to sneak around the elves who were patrolling in large numbers. It would be a longer and slower route than most other ways, but that was why there wouldn’t be elves standing in the way. He knew the wilds of the Realm as well as anyone could. His knowledge made him indispensable. But his choice of company made Roger a little nervous.
Emery ran with a couple magical chicks that could bring a grown man to tears. One of those chicks, a fire-starter with a joy of killing things, was shacking up with an elder vampire. Vlad’s buddy, to be precise. If they didn’t need his expertise so badly, no way would Roger use him.
Roger apparently didn’t realize that Emery wasn’t one to follow orders any better than Steve. He was supposed to be here too, but the mage had decided to wait in Seattle until the last minute, where he’d then use a couple magical fast tracks, somehow skirting past loitering elves to do so, and rendezvous with Devon’s pack at the agreed-upon time and place. It was dicey, Emery’s plan, especially since he’d expressly forbidden those types of patrolled magical roads when Charity was in tow, but it wasn’t Steve’s place to say boo. Given that Emery wasn’t pack, Roger couldn’t do dick about his decision, which was how Steve had gotten the solo role of fucking with the new guys.
Roger should’ve known better.
Steve looked around the deserted warehouse parking lot. This place was a real dump. Trash littered the streets, show windows were boarded up or broken, and a couple of used condoms were draped over a cracked parking bump five feet away. A fixer-upper, but the people here sure knew how to party.
He hoped someone tried to mug him.
The portal shimmered white before a booted foot stepped through the jagged slice in the sky. Although Steve didn’t know these shifters personally, he’d seen all three of them in passing and heard plenty of stories. Steve combined with these three would equal ten decent shifters on the battlefield—they were that good.
The first to step through was Dale, complete with a stupid-looking mustache and a bump in the side of his lower lip from his chewing tobacco. He trained his small black eyes on Steve before letting them drift away, sussing out the area.
“This place is a shithole,” Dale said, taking a wide stance with his hands on his hips. “This where that chick’s father lives?”
“The broken-down warehouse, yes.” Steve pointed at the condoms. “This is her boudoir where she entertains menfolk. She wasn’t here, though, so they just got after it themselves. Too bad you missed the action.”
Dale shook his head, his gaze barely flicking toward the mess. “Do you got duct tape for that mouth?”
“My, my. Kinky. Sorry, Chuck, I don’t swing that way.”
Dale’s eyebrows pinched together. “My name is Dale, and I wanted that tape to shut you up, dipshit.”
Steve grinned. Nothing irritated self-important pricks more than when you got their names wrong.
They were here to do what Alder, the beta of the North American pack, hadn’t been able to do those few months ago—talk to Charity’s father and try to get some proof of Charity’s ancestry. They wanted to make sure she was actually custodes—a guardian—a subset of fae known to their people as protectors. Back before the elves took the Realm in hand, giving it order and decency, the custodeswatched over the fae, using their superior strength and speed to keep the beasties away. It was because of this efficiency and brutality in battle that they earned a nickname from the rest of the magical world. They weren’t called protectors—they were called warriors.
Steve didn’t often listen to Alder’s history lessons, but this one had had him in rapt attention. He remembered Charity at what he now referred to as Vlad’s impromptu barbecue. She was fierce and intense, ripping through vamps and demons like she was born to it. It had been thrilling. He wanted to know more of her people.
But first, they had to know more about her.
So after the little meet-and-greet with Daddy, they would trek deep into the Realm, hoping to get Charity fixed up. Roger figured Charity could get the pack past the old man and his shotgun without someone getting shot. From what Steve had heard, Charity wasn’t so sure.
Barbara stepped through the portal next, her camo jumpsuit and army boots strange for this detail. The only plants in the area were the brown, scraggly bushes and a few dying trees dotting the sidewalk. She clearly hadn’t quite understood the term urban jungle.
Despite her dress-code confusion, she was a moderately attractive lady with a good, perky rack. Steve had heard she was a humorless woman with no use for men, but maybe that was because she hadn’t gotten tickled just right yet. He wouldn’t mind showing her how fun a man could be. They’d have to do something about that intense scowl, though. It was a dick shriveler, for sure.
Cole came through last, all six feet, five inches of him. The guy was massive, with a barrel chest, thick, swinging arms, and a big, flat face. He looked like he’d gotten kicked repeatedly with an ugly boot and left for dead.
Steve had seen the were-yeti in battle a few times, and the dude was fierce. Cole didn’t give a damn what the danger was; he ran flat-out at anything the enemy could throw at him. Granted, flat-out was more of a slow lumber, but when he eventually got there, he ripped through his opponent no holds barred, vicious and intense.
Steve nearly chuckled.
Three intense fighters, a Rogue Natural who’d earned his stripes by going his own way, a warrior fae losing control of her magic, and a green alpha who intended to lead them all.
Steve would never say it to the alpha’s face, because he didn’t want his head ripped off, but this whole situation was a clusterfuck. Roger was crazy for thinking a college kid could lead these rough-and-tumble shifters. They’d walk all over Devon the instant he issued an order one of them didn’t like. The discord would likely make the Rogue Natural bugger off back to his crazy old lady and her vampire-loving friend.
If Steve were a smarter man, he never would have volunteered for this detail.
“What’s the story with the kid alpha, anyway?” Dale asked as Barbara noticed the condoms not far from her boot. She didn’t bother shifting away, just looked on, scouting the area. Nerves of steel, definitely. “Roger didn’t give us too much to go on.”
“He’s an up-and-comer,” Steve answered, checking the time on his phone. No word on what was keeping Devon. They must’ve been close. “He was the head of a pack in charge of extinguishing newbies. Did well there. I hear he took out a couple mid-level vamps on his own, and had a go at Vlad.”
“Got his ass handed to him,” Barbara said, eyes scanning. “Rookie move, going for Vlad.”
“He did it to save the fae,” Cole boomed, incapable of volume control. He’d be great at the hiding game, surely. Good call, Roger.“I was there. I saw it.”
“Still,” Barbara said.
Dale spat out a stream of brown liquid. “Vlad is of particular interest to the elves, lately. I got stopped by one of their grunts as I was running through the Realm. A sprite. She asked what had prompted Roger to try to take Vlad down.”
“What’d you say?” Cole boomed.
“He’s only a few feet away from you, bro,” Steve said, putting some distance between himself and the were-yeti. “You don’t need to yell.”
Dale shrugged at Cole. “A load of bollocks. That they had a grudge match because Roger got all his newbies…”
“If an elf had stopped you, they would’ve known you were lying,” Barbara said. “They would’ve hauled you in.”
“No shit,” Dale said, exasperated. “I would’ve run like hell from an elf. What do you think I am, stupid?”
“At times,” Barbara replied.
Dale scowled—and then scowled harder when he saw Steve’s smirk.
“What’s the story with Vlad, anyway?” Dale asked. “I heard he hasn’t been seen in a while.”
“Went underground when Charity barbecued him,” Steve said.
“Underground, but not dormant,” Barbara replied. “Only a fool would think he wasn’t watching that fae from the shadows. He’s planning. That’s what elders do. They strategize.”
“Very insightful.” Steve winked at Barbara. “You have a real knack for stating the well known.”
“Asshole.” Barbara went back to scanning.
“It is true,” Cole said. “Both the repeating of information we already know, and that Vlad is still active. I’ve heard how much interest he showed that girl. I was there when he tried to take her. He showed his determination. He won’t let her go easily. He’s just waiting for the right moment to strike again.”
“Which brings us to why you’re here,” Steve said.
Cole nodded, his chest puffed out. Where an elder vampire would give most creatures pause, Cole just readied for battle.
“Where’s the Rogue Natural, by the way?” he asked, giving Steve some suspicious side-eye. “He was supposed to be here.”
He’ll meet us on the other side.”
“That right?” Dale continued his sideways stare. “I also heard you wasn’t a pack man.”
Steve’s smile grew at the soft threat. “Au contraire—that’s French, by the way—I love Pac-Man. I spent a great deal of time playing it as a kid. Oops, here we are now.”
Two vans, white and beige, pulled up alongside the crumbling curb, stopping near a pile of trash in front of a sign that said “no dumping.” The doors of the vans slid open, ejecting four guys and three gals. Devon, the black-haired lady-killer, glanced Steve’s way as Charity stepped up next to him. Her delicate features belied her obvious power. She didn’t touch Devon, but Steve knew a lot about body language, and he noticed the way the young alpha leaned into her just a bit, sharing personal space with her. He dropped his head to her, whispering something.
“That’s them, huh?” Dale asked before spitting.
“Nailed it,” Steve told him.
“He’s younger than I remember,” Cole boomed.
Steve turned back to glance at the grim-faced snow-giant. “You embarrass yourself a lot, I take it. No wonder Reagan picked on you.”
Cole’s face crumpled into anger and his hands curled into fists. He’d been the only one brave enough to rise to Reagan’s taunting one night in New Orleans. She’d had her hands full with him. He would’ve ripped her head off if she hadn’t set his fur on fire.
“Oops. Sore subject?” Steve grinned.
Devon stalked toward them, power and authority brimming from his athletic frame. In his lesser twenties, he was still filling out, gaining a man’s muscle and honing his strength. That didn’t diminish the dominance and power that wafted from him like it was his birthright.
He stopped in front of the new pack members, his confidence not the only thing carrying his mantle. Steve’s eyes widened as a thick, suffocating wave of magic rolled over him. It was the feeling he got whenever Roger stepped into a room, though not as potent. Not yet, anyway. In just a few months, Devon’s power had obviously grown. It was heads and tails more intense than Steve had remembered. That was some fast maturing for this young buck.
“Steve.” Devon stuck out his hand.
“Alpha.” The handshake was firm and personal. Good politics.
“Emery?”
“Has no interest in seeing the sights of Chicago. He’ll meet us on the other side.”
Devon nodded as the rest of his pack drifted in behind him, Charity in the lead.
That was interesting. Had Charity naturally assumed the position of beta, or had Devon assigned it to her? Either way, the rest of the pack had acknowledged her status.
Devon’s gaze touched on each new person before settling on Dale. Good instincts. Dale was absolutely the one to worry about. Steve had heard rumors regarding Dale’s penchant for taking over packs he’d been sent to help, but it would have been obvious regardless. His body language screamed challenge, from his tense posture to his slight forward lean. He had no respect for this up-and-comer.
“I’m Cole,” the yeti said, and Charity’s brow wrinkled. She was probably wondering why he was shouting at everyone. “I took part in the battle on your property.”
“Yes, of course,” Devon said without skipping a beat, though Steve was certain Roger had kept that detail from him. Devon stepped forward to offer his hand.
Dale spat, the splash landing only a foot from Devon’s shoe.
“Gross,” Charity said, wrinkling her nose. Apparently no one had told her to look badass and say very little when meeting new shifters. How delightful.
“Barbara.” Barbara nodded, not one for touching in any capacity. More the pity. Devon, picking up on her vibe, nodded in return.
He turned to the side and pointed at a brown-haired guy with a vague sort of face who wouldn’t stand out in a lineup. “That’s my beta, Dillon.”
Steve barely contained his surprise. The pack had a gap in communication where the beta was concerned, that was clear. Titles didn’t match how they acted.
“That’s Macy, beside him.” Devon indicated a short, thin lady with brown hair and a hard expression. She didn’t look like much, but Steve bet she was trouble in a pinch. A stunning blonde was next. “Yasmine, and beside her, Rod.”
Steve remembered Rod, the linebacker. He’d be a real bruiser someday soon.
“And Andy,” Devon finished, motioning at a surfer-looking guy Steve didn’t recall. He hadn’t gotten friendly with the locals after the skirmish at Devon’s house.
Each new pack member nodded in turn, except for Barbara, who stared without blinking.
“We have reason to suspect Charity’s dad is in the house,” Devon said. “He wasn’t too welcoming when Roger’s people stopped by a few months ago. Prepare for an altercation upon entering.”
“Yeah, but…we have her.” Cole motioned at a dour-faced Charity.
“He won’t be happy to see me,” Charity mumbled. “We had…words before I left for college. He’s not expecting me back.”
“Getting past one old man isn’t a problem.” Dale’s brown spit splattered the hot cement. “Devon, you take your crew and I’ll load up these guys. We’ll rendezvous at the address Roger supplied.”
Steve grimaced. They’d barely given intros and already Dale was trying to assume control. This whole thing could derail right now. There were two strong leaders in this group, and they wouldn’t be satisfied until one submitted to the other. The grapple for power might explode before they even hit the road.
Devon’s unwavering stare hardened. Silence rolled through the crowd, only interrupted by Charity scratching the center of her chest.
Don’t let him call the shots, bro, Steve thought at Devon.Don’t let him take your power. Make him drop his eyes, or make him challenge you. Don’t let this go. Roger wouldn’t.
Steve knew from experience. Roger didn’t take kindly to other shifters pushing their weight around, something Steve had learned the hard way.
One by one, Devon’s muscles flexed. One by one, Dale’s fingers curled into a ball. The air between them sizzled with magic, the two shifters pushed to their limit. Any moment one or both would explode—
Fiery magic tore through the air, biting into Steve’s body with an invisible spray of ghost needles. He jerked backward, startled by the unexpected pain. Dale did the same, bumping into a grunting Cole and throwing a hand up to protect his face.
Devon didn’t so much as flinch.
Andy flew sideways, as if Charity were a bomb and the explosion had burst out through her right side. The unlucky sod tumbled through the air like a flailing rag doll, hitting the ground with a thump.
“Oh crap!” Charity exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth.
“What the hell, Charity?” Andy hollered when he came to a stop. “What’d I do to you?”
“Sorry!” Charity called over Rod’s laughter. She rushed toward Andy, probably to help him up, but Dillon stepped in the way, blocking her. “I was trying to keep my magic in so I didn’t blast it out toward the new guys. It accidentally leaked out the side.”
“We talked about this, remember?” Andy pushed to standing and dusted himself off. Rod laughed harder. “If you feel one of those surges coming on, you walk away.Remember when we made that deal? Right after you blasted me into the refrigerator? You feel the surge and you walk away.”
“I know, I’m sorry! This was just a tiny surge, so I thought I could keep it in.” Charity scoffed at Dillon. “Would you move?”
Another surge of power punched Steve. He took a step back with a ladylike gasp. Fire ants of pain crawled along his skin.
The blood drained from his face. This was a tiny surge? Steve hadn’t even been her target, yet it felt like his face was being sanded off.
For the first time in a long time, Steve’s beast did not want to emerge and fight. Unbelievably, he felt like running. Not to mention, elves could sense magical beings. If this magic went haywire anywhere near one of them, even a lesser-powered elf would notice. Traveling off the beaten path didn’t matter a whole helluva lot when you were being followed.
They needed to get to the Flush, pronto.
“Charity, get in the car.” Devon’s voice was a whip-crack of command, his alpha magic rattling Steve’s bones. The three new people, so damn confused they looked like clowns staring at an empty circus tent, swiveled to look at Devon.
The alpha had arrived.
“It’s fine,” Charity said. “Honestly, it’s mostly under control.”
It was a long fucking way from being mostly under control.
Devon turned to her. His power struggle was no longer with a slack-jawed Dale, but with a power-oozing warrior fae. His shifter magic boomed, making Steve wonder how he’d blasted that much out without changing shape.
As if she were a dog reacting to a silent whistle, Charity snapped her head toward Devon, staring at him like he was a rival magic holder competing for dominance. A beautiful fluidity took over her lithe body, and a strange glow emanated from her skin. The fingers on her right hand twitched, as if wrapping around an invisible sword.
A flash of brilliant blue eclipsed her focused brown eyes and a lovely smile tickled her lips. A strange music drifted in on the breeze, like cupids singing of battles and death, killing and mayhem. Magic rolled from her in thick, gooey waves.
“Are you done?” Devon asked in a low, rough voice.
How he withstood that onslaught of magic without at least half cowering—like everyone else—Steve had no idea.
Blue flashed over Charity’s eyes again. “I’m just beginning. Can’t you feel the thrill of it?”
A shiver flash-froze Steve’s body, but strangely, his cock hardened. He was man enough to admit that this whole situation scared the shit out of him. Yet, strangely, he’d still take her—or one of her kind—to Pound Town. Exhilarating.
“Enough of this,” Devon said, his body brimming with controlled supremacy. “You have to learn to master it until we can get you training. You’ll end up hurting yourself or one of your own.”
Like a balloon popping, the painful prickles and tiny punching fists dissolved. Her posture lost that breathtakingly lethal edge. She looked like a fallen angel, unsure, worried, and vulnerable. Steve’s heart squished.
“Get in the car,” Devon said softly, not yet letting go of his magic.
Heaving a sigh as she turned, she muttered, “I hate this weird magic.”
Steve let chuckles relieve the tension. Now he understood why the young pup had transformed into such a strong alpha. Devon had needed to gain strength, power, and control to combat the unbalanced and unpredictable magic of the budding warrior fae. Roger had mentioned it, but he couldn’t have prepared Steve for the experience. Steve had heard that her kind were mostly gentle and loving, but if roused, they’d rip the world apart. Devon had risked his own safety and well-being to help her control the uncontrollable. He was a good man, but what a trip.
Note to self: bed only trained warrior fae.
“This is the control you have over your pack?” Dale asked as everyone started toward the vans.
“Dave, give it a rest, would ya?” Steve said before Devon could turn around. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“My name is—”
“I agree,” Cole intoned. “Give it a rest. At least until the fae has calmed down. That wasn’t…pleasant.”
“Neither is the volume of your voice,” Steve murmured.
“Never enter a library with him,” Barbara said, breaking off to go in the front van with Devon and Charity. Steve grinned, mostly because she wasn’t kidding. Also because she’d rather ride with an unpredictable fae than Loudmouth Larkin.
“I get the feeling the girl and Daddy dearest don’t get along?” Dale whispered as they neared the rear van.
“From what I gather, he was an abusive prick,” Steve said, climbing into the van beside Andy. Rod glanced back from the driver’s seat, but Macy, in the front passenger side, ignored them.
“A drunk, abusive prick and the reason her mother left her,” Andy added as Cole swung into the rear, followed by Dale. Andy nodded at Steve. “Hey. Good to have ya.”
“How’s your face?” Steve replied.
“Why? Do I have scratches all over it?”
“You can’t feel the road rash?”
“Not over the throb in my shoulder, no.”
“If she can’t control her magic, traveling through the Realm will not be…easy,” Cole said.
“Neither will being in confined spaces with you,” Macy murmured.
Steve huffed out a laugh while he rubbed his temples. “You’re both right. Let’s hope Emery is as good as everyone says. Otherwise, we’re not going to get very far.”
Chapter 2
Devon exhaled slowly as he took Charity’s hand. His eyes darted up to meet Dillon’s in the rearview mirror. They exchanged the same silent message they’d pinged back and forth on multiple occasions these last couple weeks, waiting to finish the quarter so Charity wouldn’t miss any school. We’re running out of time.
It had initially been agreed that Charity could get through the spring quarter, but Devon worried they’d waited a month or more too long.
The van turned down yet another decrepit street, badly needing roadwork and clearly ignored by the city. This area of town had no end of them. Charity curled up to his side on the seat and dropped her head to his shoulder. Warmth unfurled in his middle, easing the anxiety that threatened to strangle him.
He’d known he would run into dominance issues with the new and more experienced pack members, but he hadn’t realized it would come so soon. Dale hadn’t even given Devon half a chance to lead before he’d challenged him. Given that Dale was ten times more experienced, Devon wasn’t sure he could take the grizzled veteran. He knew for a fact his pack couldn’t handle all three if they decided to band together. The new shifters were hardened. Savage. If it hadn’t been for Charity, this journey would’ve taken a bad turn before it had even begun.
“I wouldn’t give you this role if you didn’t have her by your side.”
Roger had said that after the battle with Vlad.
“Fighting is awfully hard when you’re being flung through a window.”
Devon stroked his thumb across Charity’s smooth skin. Roger must’ve known this would happen. He must’ve known Charity would be willing to help Devon. Willing, and more than able.
A sudden surge of pride turned immediately to fear. She was wobbling. Hard.
Her power earlier had been sharp and biting. When it hurt even Devon, he knew it was blistering through her, sapping her energy and draining her resources. If the surge had been any stronger, she might’ve passed out.
He was terrified that one day she wouldn’t wake up.
The van slowed to a stop. Charity looked beyond him and out the window, then grimaced. The disgusted expression crumpled into worry. “We’re not going to find anything in there related to magic, Devon. I grew up in that house. If there was something as interesting as magic, trust me, I would’ve known.”
He ran his thumb over the small dimple in her chin. “We’ve been over this. Whether or not we get answers, we’re going to the Flush. We’re going to get you help.”
She sighed and shook her head as Dillon got out of the van. Yasmine joined him before sliding open the side door.
“This is going to be a bad joke if I’m not warrior fae,” Charity mumbled, waiting for Devon to get out of the car.
“Vlad has put a lot of effort into trying to capture you,” Dillon said, standing beside Yasmine. “If a vampire that old thinks you’re warrior fae, then you’re warrior fae. He wouldn’t make a mistake that big and end up getting barbecued for his efforts.” He smiled supportively. “We’ll get you help, no problem.”
“I have to agree with the boy,” Barbara said, climbing out after them.
Dillon scowled at her, clearly not impressed with being called a boy.
The sticky warmth of the humid late afternoon wrapped around them. Garbage littered the cracked and worn cement, and potholes peppered the street. Trees leaned over broken fences and weeds strangled the run-down and forgotten yards.
The tiny, ramshackle house crouched in front of them, its paint peeling. One of the windows was covered with graffiti-scrawled particle board, and another had a ripped screen.
Yasmine picked up her shoe and glanced at the bottom. Her mouth twisted in distaste. She put it back down gingerly, trying to find a patch of cement that wasn’t stained or splotched. Good luck.
Andy strolled over from the second van, somehow not at all bothered by the tension with the new pack members.
“So this is where you grew up, huh?” he asked Charity, stopping on Devon’s other side. He probably didn’t want to get tossed again. “A little spot of paradise.”
Charity huffed out a laugh. “At least we owned our own home. That was kind of a big deal in this neighborhood.”
As Devon took in the crime-riddled surroundings, noticing a used needle on the curb and a discarded little baggie commonly used for drugs up the sidewalk, his stomach twisted for Charity’s stolen childhood. There was no playing in these streets, no friends having tea parties or football games on this front yard. Hell, she couldn’t have felt safe crouching behind the tiny dwelling’s bar-covered windows. The empty bullet casings twinkling in a patch of weeds by the van tires said as much.
He took a deep breath and smoothed over his expression. She’d lose her shit if she thought he was pitying her, and get all kinds of embarrassed if she sensed his disgust for the ramshackle house. This wasn’t her fault. She’d had no control over this. And the fact that she’d made it out alive told him she could make it through anything. He was damn proud of her, when it came down to it—something he would tell her when they were away from the broken crack pipes and human feces. At the moment, he didn’t trust that sadness wouldn’t leak into his words. His childhood had sucked, but compared to this, he’d grown up in Wonka’s chocolate factory.
“Is that a chalk outline?” Rod took four steps down the sidewalk and bent down to take a closer look. “It is. Holy shit.”
Dillon and Cole both peered at the cement.
“I didn’t realize they did chalk outlines—I thought that was only in the movies,” Steve said, leaning up against the van with one ankle crossed over the other. His pose said boredom, but his flicking eyes, touching each window in every decrepit home surrounding them, said he was on high alert. He felt the danger of this place, and the lion in him was securing the territory.
Charity’s eyes hadn’t left the weather-beaten front door. A strange rigidity had crept into her body. “They do it when it’s a homicide. If they feel like looking into it, that is.”
“Let’s get this done.” Devon lightly grabbed Charity’s arm and directed her along the disheveled walkway toward the blackened front stoop.
“Is it always this quiet?” Cole said.
“Not when you’re present,” Steve replied.
Charity looked at the sky before letting Devon lead her forward. “At this time of the day it usually was, yes. Later in the afternoon it’ll get busier, then the evening and night will see the most action. I was always behind a locked door at that point, not that it would’ve helped if someone had decided to come in.”
Devon barely kept from rubbing her back in support. From the sound of her voice, she didn’t need it. This had been her reality, plain and simple. She probably recognized the horror of that, but she clearly hadn’t given in to it. His pride rose in tandem with the sadness.
“A couple people looking out their windows,” said Barbara, sounding like a SWAT team member.
“They won’t bother us. It’s the guys loitering or strolling up the street you have to worry about.” Charity stopped in front of the door. “I hate being here.”
“It’s okay,” Devon whispered. “A quick chat and we’re gone.”
Charity’s smile held no humor. “I don’t think this is going to go how you think it will go.” She rapped on the door. “You all will want to clear to the side. He’s got shit aim, but that won’t stop him from trying.”
“This is a level of crazy I wasn’t prepared for,” Rod said in a wispy voice, stepping off the walkway and onto the mostly dirt yard.
“Real sensitive, dick,” Andy muttered.
“This isn’t the half of it,” Charity said before rapping again with hard, angry pounds. “You haven’t met my old man yet.”
“What the fuck do you want?” came through the door.
“Open up or I will bust this door down, Walt,” she hollered.
“You don’t call your dad Dad?” Andy asked.
“He didn’t do a lick of fathering—why should he get the title?” Charity rapped again. “Last chance, Walt.”
Tinkling sounded before a deadbolt turned over. The door opened a crack, revealing two long barrels.
“I’ll take that.” Fast as sin, Charity rammed the door wider with her shoulder, grabbed the end of the gun, and yanked it toward her, wrenching it out of the old man’s hands. She kicked the door, catching the side of his face on its trajectory toward the wall.
The man in the doorway had ruddy cheeks from years of drinking and a shiny bald head surrounded by tangled gray hair. His spindly arms and thin, slightly bow-shaped legs didn’t match the round gut half hanging out of a stained and ripped white T-shirt. Jeans hung too low, and his fly gaped open.
His bloodshot eyes narrowed when he saw her. He surveyed Devon next, then glanced behind them. “Get off my yard,” he rasped.
“Good to see you, too,” Charity said. “Now move. I need to get some stuff.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ of yours here,” he said with a sneer. “Get outta here, you little whore.”
“Someone needs to enter this guy in a Miss Congeniality pageant—he’d clean up,” Andy murmured, probably to Rod.
Devon clamped down on his rage. It would rile Charity up, and she didn’t need any additional distractions.
“I’ll leave when I get what I want, not before,” Charity said with fire in her eyes. “Where’d Mom go?”
His lip curled. “You tell me.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need you, now would I? Where’d she go?”
“Get out of here. You don’t think I got another gun? I got another gun. Get off my property before I go and get it.”
Charity tossed the shotgun into the yard. “Answer me,” she said, her voice low, her tone wobbling. A sheen covered her eyes, emotion leaking through her hard exterior.
Walt saw it and laughed, of all things. Rage pulsed hot in Devon’s middle despite his desperate attempts to keep it at bay.
“Fuck that bitch, running out on me. She was a worthless whore, just like you.”
Charity’s jaw clenched. “Did she ever mention anything about magic, or her family?”
Walt stepped into the center of the doorway, staggered, and reached out to steady himself on the doorframe. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and already he was blasted.
“Her family?” His lips curled off his brown teeth, a sick smile filled with gaps. “Sure, she mentioned her family. Her deadbeat dad who couldn’t kick down a damn dime. Her useless mother without a pot to piss in. Yeah, she mentioned them a time or two. But you know what she never did tell me about? Yourfamily. Disgusting whore. She weren’t no virgin, I knew that already, but preemies don’t come in at nearly eight pounds. I knew something was susp’ious about that. I always did. That asshole who came knocking a couple weeks ago knew it, too. Perfect strangers know you’re nothing but a bastard. See? Makes sense why I never did like you none. You were always such a prissy little bitch, just like your mother.” He looked at Devon with foggy eyes before pointing at Charity. “You with this little bitch? Because if you are, you better be careful. Her and her mother are just the same; they’ll fuck anything—”
Devon’s vision went red, and before he knew what happened, he’d stepped forward and smashed his fist into the filthy man’s face. Walt went down like a sack of rocks, hitting the floor, bouncing, and staying there.
“Thank God someone did it,” Steve said. “I was having a hard time keeping my mouth shut.”
Charity stared down at her dad, her back stiff. A tear slid down her cheek.
Devon’s heart broke for her. “Don’t listen to him,” he said softly, this time allowing himself to rub her back. “He was drunk. Drunk and mean. He didn’t really mean those things.”
“Did you hear what he said?” She blinked her eyes to clear them, sending a few more tears gliding down her cheeks.
“He probably won’t remember—”
“He doesn’t think I’m his.”
“She’s smiling,” Rod murmured behind them.
“Wouldn’t you be with a dad like that?” Andy replied.
“That’s a sign of danger in these fraught situations, though, right? I don’t want to get blasted. It looks like it hurts.”
“Good call.”
The sound of shuffling meant everyone was scooting back. Everyone except Devon.
“He thinks I’m someone else’s!” She laughed and threw her arms around Devon. “God, I hope he’s right.”
Devon squeezed her tight, reviewing what Walt had said. One thing stuck out like a sore thumb.
Roger hadn’t sent someone out here a couple of weeks ago. Not even a couple of months ago. He’d tried when they’d first found Charity and elected to wait to try again until she could go herself.
So if it wasn’t Roger, who was checking up on Charity’s past?
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