Page 3 of Alpha Wolf (Return To Fate Mountain #6)

Chapter

Three

Dom stretched his shoulders as he started to shut down the Steel Protection office for the night.

The furniture was arranged, the equipment installed, and his pack had settled into their new quarters with the kind of efficient teamwork that came from five years on the road together.

Everything was ready for Steel Protection’s first day of business tomorrow.

“Anyone else starving?” Blaze called from the common room. “That gas station beef jerky from this morning wore off about six hours ago.”

“What about that diner at the end of Main Street?” Ryder asked.

Dom nodded, fishing his motorcycle keys from his pocket. “Good idea.”

Within minutes, six Harley engines roared to life outside Steel Protection headquarters.

Dom led the way down Main Street. The ride through Fate Mountain Village reinforced Dom’s positive first impression.

Clean streets, well-maintained businesses, families strolling together.

The kind of peaceful community that deserved protection.

The Fate Mountain Diner sat at the end of the street near the highway exit.

Dom pulled into the parking lot, and his pack parked in a neat line around him.

A bell chimed as they pushed through the front door, and the scents of bacon and apple pie filled the air.

The interior matched the homey exterior with red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and artwork of local scenes covering the walls.

Families occupied several tables, a couple shared dessert at the counter, and an elderly man worked on a crossword puzzle in the corner.

“Evening, folks,” a waitress called from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere you like.”

Dom led his pack to a large corner booth, and they settled in. The waitress approached with menus, her smile genuine and welcoming. “Evening, folks,” she said, handing out the menus. “Our special tonight is meatloaf with all the fixings.”

They opened the laminated menus, scanning the familiar comfort food options.

Burgers, steaks, fried chicken, hearty sandwiches—the kind of simple, filling meals that reminded Dom of roadside diners across the country.

Prices were reasonable, portions looked generous based on the photos, and everything sounded like exactly what they needed after a long day of moving equipment.

The waitress returned with her notepad. “What can I get you, folks?”

“Chicken fried steak,” Blaze said.

“Burger, medium rare,” Ryder added.

“I’ll take the meatloaf special,” Hunter said.

“Same,” Dom said.

“Fish and chips,” Axel said quietly.

Siren looked up from her menu. “Ribeye, medium rare.”

The waitress scribbled down their orders with practiced efficiency. “I’ll get those started for you.”

The diner’s bell chimed again, admitting six working men in their thirties and forties, their worn jeans and flannel shirts suggesting construction or ranch work.

Dom noticed the shift in atmosphere. They had the loud, loose energy of people who’d been drinking, talking and laughing as they looked around for a table.

But when their eyes landed on the corner booth, the laughter died.

One of them said something under his breath, and suddenly all six men were staring at his pack.

His wolf stirred uneasily. Whatever they were thinking, it wasn’t good.

The lead man was built like a bulldozer, with massive shoulders and fists that looked like they’d seen plenty of use. All six of them began moving toward the MC’s table with deliberate intent.

“Trouble,” Hunter murmured, just loud enough for the pack to hear.

Dom held up a hand for patience, watching the locals approach. Maybe they were just curious about the newcomers. Maybe they wanted to welcome Steel Protection to the community. Maybe this would be the beginning of the positive relationships he’d hoped to build.

The lead man stopped three feet from their table, close enough to be threatening but not quite close enough to justify immediate action. His five companions spread out in a loose semicircle, effectively surrounding the booth.

“You bastards back for more?” The words carried across the suddenly quiet dining room like a challenge.

Every conversation stopped. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Parents pulled their children closer. The cheerful community atmosphere evaporated, replaced by tension thick enough to taste.

Dom stood slowly, keeping his hands visible and his movements deliberate. Decades of dealing with hostility had taught him the value of de-escalation.

“I don’t know who you think we are, but we don’t want trouble.”

“Bullshit. We know exactly what you are.”

“We’re Steel Protection,” he said, his voice calm and professional as he reached for a business card. “Private security consultants. We’re here to help protect this community.”

The big man’s laugh was harsh and bitter. “You’re more Crown Mountain Development mercenaries. We know exactly what you are.”

Dom felt his wolf snarl at the accusation, but he kept his expression neutral. Crown Mountain was the corporate conspiracy that had terrorized this community for years. No wonder these people were afraid.

“You’re mistaken,” Dom said. “We’re legitimate private security. Here’s my business card.”

“Don’t want your fucking card,” the man snarled, slapping it from Dom’s hand. The white rectangle fluttered to the floor between them. “We fought you bastards off once. We can do it again.”

Behind the counter, the owner had appeared with a phone in his hand, his face pale with worry. Other customers were backing toward the exits, some pulling out their own phones.

“Sir, I understand your concern,” Dom said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “This community has been through a lot. But we’re not your enemies. We’re here to prevent what happened before from happening again.”

“Bullshit.” The big man stepped closer, his fists clenched. “You came back to finish the job. Thought we’d be soft targets after the first round.”

Dom’s pack remained seated, but he could feel their readiness like electricity in the air. Siren’s hand rested casually near her concealed weapon. Hunter’s muscles were coiled for movement. Axel’s eyes tracked each of the six locals, calculating reaction times and threat levels.

“I’m asking you to step back,” Dom said, his voice carrying just enough alpha authority to make the locals hesitate. “We don’t want trouble. We came here for dinner, nothing more.”

“Should have stayed where you came from,” another local growled. “We don’t want your kind here.”

A young woman at a nearby table had her phone out, clearly recording the confrontation.

The big man drew his fist back, telegraphing his punch with the obvious technique of someone who relied on size rather than skill.

Dom could have dodged easily, could have countered with a strike that would have ended the fight before it started.

Instead, he took the hit.

The punch caught him square in the jaw, snapping his head back and sending blood flying from his split lip. He staggered but remained standing, still keeping his hands raised in a non-threatening position.

“Jake, get him!” someone shouted.

The other locals rushed forward like a pack of wolves, all six of them piling onto Dom at once. He went down under their combined weight, covering his head and trying to protect his vital organs as boots and fists rained down on him.

His pack exploded into motion.

Axel vaulted the table as one of the locals swung a coffee mug at his head. He ducked under the wild swing, and the man’s momentum carried him face-first into the wall with a sickening crunch.

Hunter sidestepped a charging tackle that sent his attacker crashing through a neighboring table in an explosion of splintering wood and flying dishes. The man disappeared under an avalanche of broken crockery, groaning and trying to untangle himself from the wreckage.

Blaze deflected a chair that came swinging at his skull, redirecting it into a support beam where it shattered into kindling. The man wielding it lost his balance and fell backward, taking down an entire booth divider in a cascade of splitting vinyl and twisted metal.

Ryder grappled with a local who’d tackled him, both of them crashing through another table and scattering dirty plates and empty glasses across the floor. They rolled apart, the local coming up dazed and bleeding from multiple cuts.

Siren danced away from grasping hands. Her attacker’s wild lunge carried him over a fallen chair, where he crashed into a display case, sending local artwork and pottery exploding across the linoleum.

Dom rolled away from the pile of locals and came to his feet, blood streaming from his nose and a gash above his left eye. The big man was still standing, swinging wild haymakers that connected with nothing but air.

“Enough!” Dom roared, his alpha voice carrying enough authority to freeze every person in the building.

The six locals were down. Winded, bruised, bleeding from cuts and scrapes, but all of them conscious and moving. Around them, the Fate Mountain Diner looked like a war zone.

The large front window was spider-webbed with cracks.

Tables lay overturned and broken, their legs snapped off and scattered like pickup sticks.

Booth dividers hung at crazy angles, their vinyl torn and stuffing bleeding out.

Dishes, glasses, and food covered the floor in a slippery mess of ceramic shards and spilled drinks.

The owner stood behind the counter with his phone pressed to his ear, staring at the destruction in stunned silence. “What have you done?” he whispered. “You’ve destroyed my restaurant.”

Customers were crying. An elderly couple cowered behind an overturned table, the woman shaking uncontrollably. A family with young children huddled near the door, the kids asking why the bad men had broken everything.