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CONNOR

I follow the guard who came to get me through the prison yard on my way to the office where my discharge papers are waiting. Placed at three-foot intervals around the perimeter of the cracked concrete rectangle that counts as “recreation space” are the cages. Each one is three by five—not very fucking roomy, especially for a big guy like me—you have to crouch down on all fours to get in one. Yet almost every full moon I’ve been crammed into one of these until my Shift was over.

You can probably see the point of the cages. After all, you can’t have a bunch of Rogue Alphas running around in their Wolf forms. The prison I’m in— Briarcliff —is one of the few that accepts my kind.

The human world and the Were world don’t mix much, but there are a few people who straddle the line between both. One of them is the warden here. He’s a blank—a Were with no wolf in him—but he apparently recognized the need for a facility that could handle my kind. After all, what’s worse than a hardened criminal running around loose? A hardened criminal who shifts into a huge, powerful wolf is the answer to that fucking question.

So cell-block C was established and the cages made an appearance. They’re made of solid steel and painted with silver, which makes them strong enough to keep even the most determined Were in place during his Shift .

Honestly, they’re not as bad as being thrown into solitary once a month—which is what used to happen before they brought in the cages. At least you can see the sky and feel the moonlight working on you when you’re in a cage instead of being held underground in the dark. But I’ll still be fucking glad to never see them again.

It sends a shiver down my spine to think that this month, when the moon gets full, I’ll be able to Shift and run and hunt in freedom with no bars to hold me back. I’ll go to the woods and bring down a deer, like I used to. I can almost taste the fresh venison now—it’s a hell of a lot better than nutri-loaf. But then, almost anything is.

Once in the office they take their time with the paperwork and eventually they give me back my clothes and things I came here with. I’m surprised that I get it all back. I finger the gold Rolex Ultra , which was a gift from my old man before he passed. He wanted so much for me—he would be disappointed to see me now.

Or maybe not. I think he’d understand if I explained why I did what I did to get in here.

My mom died from breast cancer the year after my dad went. Then Bethany …but I hate to think about how she died. And why. I did what I could for her but it was too little, too late.

The result of all this is that I have no family to meet me as I come out of the prison and walk across the road to the dusty gray parking lot beyond. I just have Branson .

Of course, it’s not Branson’s fault he’s all business. I’m glad he is—he did a great job keeping things running while I was gone. Which is why I’m sure he can keep it up just a little while longer.

To give Branson credit, a genuine smile breaks over his face when he sees me heading his way. He gets out of the Bentley and waves at me. When I get to him he gives me a hearty handshake that I’m sure would be a hug if he was just a little less uptight. Or maybe if I looked a little less threatening.

“Mr. Lowell — Connor !” he exclaims. As my family’s most loyal employee, he’s earned the right to be on a first name basis. Which I have often told him, but he almost never takes me up on it. The fact that he does now lets me know how excited he really is to see me.

“Branson!” I pump his hand gratefully. “ Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course, Mr . Lowell .” He’s all business again. “ Er … I brought the vehicle you requested,” he adds and nods distastefully at the beat-up old pickup truck I asked him to buy.

“Good. Perfect !” I walk around the truck, noting the dents and the dirt. Exactly right. Something Sunny would expect her big brother to drive in keeping with the fiction I’ve built around him.

I couldn’t tell her that Kane was a sociopath who got put away for trafficking sweet young things like herself—as well as moving a shit-ton of Fentanyl and all kinds of other dangerous drugs. And I couldn’t tell her he was rich either—he probably is, but the way he’s getting his money from the outside is still from those twisted activities and I didn’t want to have to explain that to her.

So this is what Kane would drive—the Kane I made up for Sunny . This dented, dirty pickup with faded blue paint and a crooked side mirror on the passenger’s side.

Kane wouldn’t wear what I’m wearing either. I had on a suit when I formally surrendered to serve my sentence. It’s way too expensive looking for the fictional Kane and besides, it doesn’t really fit me anymore. Three solid years of pumping iron has me bigger than I’ve ever been, so everything I have on is too tight.

“You brought the clothes too?” I say, raising my eyebrows at Branson .

“Yes, of course.”

He pulls a Walmart bag out of the Bentley . I’ve never worn anything from Wally -world in my life, but I’m not too proud to wear clothes from there now. Branson has included some work boots too, I see with satisfaction. Perfect .

“You’re absolutely sure you need to go on this, er, errand, Sir ?” Branson asks, frowning as he watches me examine the clothes and the truck.

“Absolutely. Oh , here— I won’t need this.” I hand him the Rolex . “ Take care of it for me, would you? I’ll get it from you when I finish this.”

Branson pointedly doesn’t ask, “ Finish what?” He has an idea of what I’m doing, but he’s too proper to ask for details. He just knows I have someone I want to visit on the way home—someone who doesn’t know me as me, Connor James Lowell the Third .

“How long will you be?” he asks instead. “ Would you like Richards and I to follow you in the Bentley so you can ride back with us after your, er, errand?”

“No.” I shake my head. To be honest, I’m not completely sure how long this will take. Not too long, I don’t think. Just long enough to see Sunny in person and have a piece of her famous pie. ( She makes all the pies for The Pie Shop diner, as well as waitressing there.)

Of course, I thought about showing up and confessing the truth to her—letting her know how I first started reading and replying to her letters. But again, I was afraid of coming off as creepy. I don’t want that. I’ve built Kane up as the perfect big brother. Well , not perfect but at least someone who’s willing to try. All she knows is that he went in for drug charges but he’s clean now and working hard to stay that way.

I don’t want to ruin the pretty picture I painted for her in my letters. I want to be that perfect big brother—to give her a hug and thank her for her encouragement and kindness while I was locked away. Then I’ll leave her with the happy fiction I created of a big brother she can be proud of—one who’s well along the road to recovering his life.

I’ll even keep in touch…for a while. Then gradually, the letters will taper off. After a while, Kane will move away, leaving her with a nice warm feeling that his life is back on track and he loves her, even though he had to go.

That’s my plan, anyway.

“I’m playing this by ear,” I tell Branson , who’s still frowning at me skeptically. “ It shouldn’t take long. I’ll get in touch with you later—okay?”

“Very well, Sir —as you wish. There is a cell phone in the bag of clothes should you wish to call me. My number is programmed into the contacts.”

He gives me a formal nod, fully back in Business Manager mode. Did I mention he was our family’s butler before my father promoted him for his business savvy? Probably not and you wouldn’t guess it to look at him, but when he starts calling me “ Sir ” and talking like we’re both from Wayne Manor , it becomes abundantly apparent.

“Thanks, Branson .” I clap him on the shoulder and nod. “ I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done over the past three years. I just need to run this one errand before I come back and settle down.”

“The Board will be relieved when you come back,” he tells me. “ They’re extremely happy you’ve been released.”

I have my doubts about that—but I don’t doubt Branson’s own relief and his happiness to see me. It shines in his eyes, which have more wrinkles around them than they did when I went in. Also his hair has turned from salt and pepper to full silver. Running Lowell Enterprises had been hard on him these past three years, I can tell. I’ll take that burden off his shoulders soon.

But first, I need to go see Sunny .