Page 44 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)
Ares
The Chicago pack’s Tactical Training Center looks more like a minimum-security prison than a fitness facility, and I suppose that’s kind of the point.
The massive building on the edge of the warehouse district houses the pack’s low-level enforcers, serves as a boot camp facility for trainees with hopes of becoming future enforcers, and provides confinement for pack criminals to serve out sentences handed down by Alpha Gage.
The TTC sits behind three layers of fence and razor wire with a fun little sign promising an armed response to trespassers– which seems dramatic, but that’s the whole vibe of this city.
For a pack that claims to be evolved, they sure do love their medieval-style rule.
I’m parked in the back lot beyond the view of the cameras, tapping out a text to Drake with one hand while the fingers of my other drum against the steering wheel.
Nash swore up and down that Drake is legit, going so far as to say that he’s the only person in this city he’d trust with his life aside from his cousin Will.
High praise, considering Nash rarely trusts anyone.
And I trust Nash, so by the transitive property, I suppose I trust Drake, too. More or less.
Exhaling a slow breath, I hit send on my message to Drake letting him know I’m here, then settle in for the wait.
Apparently this guy’s high up in the TTC; a deputy warden or some shit.
Which seems a little sketchy, considering I’m seeking help to defy his Alpha, but if Nash vouched for him, that’s good enough for me.
It’s not like I’ve got a whole lot of options at this point.
We’re just days away from the full moon, meaning we’ve only got days to ensure this plan goes off without a hitch.
Alpha Gage is still breathing down my neck about undergoing his bullshit ‘procedure’ to get my mating serum extracted, but the guy will have to hold a gun to my head if he wants to force me into it– and even then, I might take a bullet over the needle.
Miley’s right, her father is downright diabolical.
And knowing he’ll be on the warpath after she comes up missing, the last thing I need is to give him any more ammunition to use against me.
I watch the side door of the TTC building as I mentally go over the script for how this meeting is supposed to go down. Quick intro, sly handoff, zero drama. Don’t linger, don’t ask stupid questions. And above all, if things end up taking a turn for the worse, I was never here.
Five minutes later, the door swings open and a beast of a man steps out, moving toward the parking lot with a deceptively casual stride.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a linebacker’s build and blonde hair that’s buzzed short on the sides, the longer strands up top neatly combed back.
He looks every bit the part of a military commander with his clean-cut, squared away appearance; the kind of guy who seems like he’d rain down hell for even the most minor infractions against pack rules.
But I suppose looks can be deceiving, because this has gotta be Drake.
I step out of my truck and start across the lot to meet him halfway, rolling my shoulders as I approach. The closer I get, the bigger he seems. I’m not easily intimidated, but goddamn this guy is huge.
“You must be Ares,” he says once he’s within earshot, his voice deep and commanding.
“Yeah,” I answer, carding my fingers through my hair. “Guess Nash told you to look for the redhead?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Nah, I can clock crazy from a mile away, and considering what you’re about to do, you’re certifiable,” he remarks, extending a hand toward me.
I chuckle softly as I slap my palm into his, giving it a firm shake. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Nash said you would,” he muses, tipping his head to the left. “Walk?”
“Sure,” I reply, shoving my hands into my pockets and following his lead.
We head down the perimeter of the inner fence line, gravel crunching under our boots. Neither of us say anything, and honestly, it’s kinda nice. I ran a protection detail this morning for a dude who wouldn’t shut the fuck up, so for once, I actually welcome the peace and quiet.
We make it past the sprawling TTC building and around to an alley between two others, where Drake finally slows to a stop and turns to face me. He glances back and forth a few times to ensure we’re alone, then pulls a manila folder from inside his TTC-issued windbreaker and hands it over.
“That’s everything,” he says, tone all business now. “Birth certificates, social security cards, IDs, even a couple of fake high school transcripts. My guy said it should hold up to anything short of a government background check, which I assume won’t be an issue.”
“No, this is more than enough,” I breathe, flipping the folder open with my thumb and scanning the paperwork inside.
Miley and Jordan will be taking on the identities of Molly and Joanne Harper, a pair of half-sisters from Butte, Montana. They’ll be introduced to the pack as distant relatives of my mom’s, the connection substantiated by assuming her maiden name.
“Thanks again for this,” I murmur as I flip the folder closed, genuinely impressed by how authentic everything looks. “I owe you one.”
Drake huffs a laugh, folding his thick forearms over his chest. “Nah, I owed Nash a favor, so this is my way of squaring up. Not that I wouldn’t have done it for him either way. The guy never asks for anything, so you must be important to him. His mate’s your sister, right?”
“Right,” I confirm, nodding. “But Nash has always been family, even before the two of them got together and made it weird.”
He smiles fondly. “Try to stay alive then, huh? And if things look like they’re about to go bad, do yourself a favor and get the hell out of the city.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” I murmur, lifting the hem of my t-shirt to tuck the folder into my waistband, then dropping the fabric to conceal it.
Drake reaches out to set a meaty hand on my arm, his expression turning somber. “Seriously, man. Gage Morgan doesn’t forgive. So if you do get caught, you don’t know me. I’ve got people to protect, too.”
“Understood,” I grunt, jerking a nod. “I’ll leave you out of it, say I got the paperwork from some guy in a bar and I’m too dumb to remember his face.”
He steps back with a heavy sigh, hands falling to his sides. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Yeah,” I reply without hesitation. “It’s not really a choice.”
Drake nods once and we start back toward the parking lot, pace a little faster than before. Halfway there, he stops and turns to me, almost an afterthought.
“She worth it?” he asks, like it’s the only question in all of this that actually matters.
I look him straight in the eye when I say, “Yeah, man. She is,” meaning it with my whole chest.
He nods again, and there’s something almost sad about it. Like he’s been where I am before. “Good luck, Ares,” he murmurs, then peels off toward the TTC building, not looking back.
I return to my Chevy, sliding in behind the wheel and dropping the folder onto the seat beside me.
For a second, I just sit there staring at it, my stomach knotting at the realization that this is the final piece of the puzzle we needed for Miley to make her getaway.
And the thought of letting her go, of saying goodbye… it’s fucking devastating.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone, but I guess that’s why I’m manning up and doing the right thing rather than being a selfish asshole.
It’d be easy to lie, to tell her the contact flaked, to insist the only way forward would be to mate for real at the ceremony.
My wolf likes the idea of that a little too much– as far as he’s concerned, she’s already ours, and I know he’ll never forgive me for letting her go.
But that’s what you do when you love something, right? Set it free.
Still feels shitty, though.
I crank the key in the ignition, shift the gear into drive, and pull out of the parking lot, leaving the TTC in my rearview.
I’ve got the rest of the afternoon to kill, so maybe I’ll swing by campus and annoy Miley between classes.
She’s still going through the motions of her everyday life, not deviating from her routine to avoid arousing suspicion that she’s leaving soon.
Though part of me suspects that has less to do with sliding by under the radar and more to do with the fact that she’s a creature of habit.
I love that about her. Love everything about her, really. Her quick wit, her defiant sarcasm, the way the corner of her lips twitch when she’s fighting a smile. She’s all sharp edges and soft heart, and I’m already ruined for anyone else. It’ll always be her. Only her.
The folder sits heavy on the passenger seat, a little time bomb ticking its way toward the only future that matters now. The one where I’m orchestrating Miley’s escape instead of begging her to stay.
If I was a better man, I’d urge her to just leave tonight. Screw the gala, the lead-up to the ceremony, the whole PR nightmare her father built. I bet we could pull it off if we tried.
But I’m not a better man. I’m a selfish one, dragging out the hours and hoarding every moment I can get with her before we have to say goodbye. I’ll wait a few more days, steal a few more chances at making her laugh. Then I’ll blow up the lie we’re living and set her free.
Even if it goes against everything in my nature.
Even if it kills me.