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Chapter one
‘Evil Ways’ Blues Saraceno
JAZ MONROE
“The customers for the Harley Choppers are here for their motorcycles. They’re waiting at bay eight. Try not to break a nail,Jax." My manager says as he sticks his big head into my workshop’s window.
I grind my teeth at the obnoxious way the asshole says my name incorrectly. He's such a prick, like being the manager of a machine shop makes him superior to everyone else, especially a female mechanic like me. Like I said, he's a prick. Probably because I've turned him down more times than his ego can take.
I cringe when I think of how many times I turned down Cree when we were in our teens. Pups just fooling around, but never truly mating, just experimenting. I was a hormonal teen, and he was the pack’s golden boy. He showed me interest at a party, and we had a heavy make-out session. It was fun, but the feelings were fleeting,puppy loveif you will, and we both cut it off before it could even start. Cree and I were never more than pack mates turned enemies but remembering him and the boy he used to be still stings.
Would it have been better if he died that night?
All my thoughts fly out the window when the wrench slips from the bolt I’m tightening and my knuckles bash into the Shorty Carburetor.
“Fuck!” I whisper-scream as I shake out my hand. No need to give the asshole behind me more reason to run his mouth.
It's been a month since that horrible night at Raider Pack. Thirty days of internal pain from the separation from my home but my mission is not done yet. I ran from my pack in California and fled to this no-name-desert-town in Nevada, a place Raider scouts won’t come looking for me since the reputation of the pack that runs this area is well fucking known. The Cut Pack is known for being the strongest Werewolves of the supernatural world. But that’s not the most intimidating part of the rumors surrounding them. It’s the MC part, the Cutthroats. The motorcycle club has not only Werewolves, but every supernatural species known. Witches, Fairies, Demons, Angels andVampires, or as the world knows them,Blood Crows.
Word in the supernatural grapevine is they accept anyone of any race into their MC if you can prove yourself to them. After all, you can’t be a pussy and expect to join an MC but especially one as ruthless as the Cutthroats. This is partly why I chose to come east; Cree would never suspect it.
So here I am, working as a mechanic in this no AC having shop, hoping to earn enough cash to continue my search for the True Alphas, also known as the Sons of the Ancients. I got this job with a fake ID I had made before everything went to shit. If I'm going to complete my mission, I must live as a human, I have to survive like one too. Hence this tedious job with an annoying manager who smells like a wet dog. In fact, most of the people around here smell like wet dogs.
The stories I've heard about the True Alpha pack is that they hail from Colorado, so if I can live amongst the humans a little longer, I'll be able to make it there soon. I would have been able to be there by now, but my wolf refuses to surface and shift. The pain of separation from our pack has been too much for her.And me if I'm being honest.
For the first fifteen days, the pain almost sent me back, but I pushed on. After twenty days, the mental link broke, severing us from the Raider Pack and turning us into a lone wolf. Still, depression has made her unwilling to come forward. It has sucked the will from her.
One day, we’ll belong to the pack again. For now, what's done is done. I need to see this through and find the True Alphas.Still, I get no acknowledgement from my other half. I know she agrees with me and my plan, but that doesn't mean she likes it.
But living in plain sight is harder than any battle I've fought before. It's difficult to hide my abilities and tame my temper, especially with jackass men. My youthful appearance has every human I encounter thinking I'm somewhere in my twenties. Can't blame them, it’s their ignorance of the supernatural world. Werewolves stop aging naturally when they reach maturity, so I certainly look like any youthful female. The only thing that sets me apart from the normals around here are my tattoos and ash colored hair, which is cut into a short choppy style. Those are definitely not your typical look around these farming parts.
If I looked my natural Werewolf age, I'd be bones in a coffin.
"I got it,Larry," I tell Jerry with a smirk, trying my best to brush off my gloomy thoughts.
If he can't get my name right, I damn well can't get his correct either.
I make my way to the front where the customers wait for their vehicles to be brought out, but I stop in my tracks when I spot the guys standing at bay eight. Three big ass dudes lean against the brick wall smoking cigarettes and talking.
When I was doing the tune up in the three Harley’s, my imagination went wild on me. I kept picturing the sexy riders on top, manhandling those sleek beasts. But damn, my imagination was sorely lacking.I think I just felt my ovaries explode.
I look down at my frayed cutoff shorts and worn-outRamonest-shirt, quickly dusting off the metal shards from the welding machine, but it’s no use. I’m as dirty as my scuffed-up combat boots.
One of the big guys says something to the other, and they all nod in unison as they continue to chat. They look like brothers but not quite.
All three have the same mohawk haircut but they all wear them differently. Golden-blonde has his hair flopped over to one side without care. Brown-red has his in a man bun with wayward tendrils hanging over his thick brows. Platinum-blonde has his slicked back, the ends hanging over the top of his leather cut.
All of them are sexy as hell with their leather cuts depicting a wolf surrounded by a chain. Above the wolf is the wordCutthroat, and under the wolf, where the name of the state should be, it saysImmortalem.
I take a few more steps, but I stop about fifteen feet away from their backs. I can feel my spidey senses, or in this case, mywolfysenses, raising the hair on my neck. Their scent is Werewolf but hella dominant.They’re powerful supernaturals.
Fuck! Are they Raider Pack scouts sent to find me?I can feel my wolf take notice of the adrenaline rushing through me. My heart pounds as my survival instincts kick start.
I don't recognize them but that doesn't mean shit. Their scent is strong, even with all the exhaust fumes and motor oil tainting the air, I can still pick out their ash and smoke scent mixed in with the open road.
All other races have their own trademarked scent that differs from these men.
Vampires have a midnight smell, smoke too but not like this. Fae smell like cloying perfume while Witches smell like dry bones.
