The past cannot be changed.
The future is yet in your power.
-Unknown
Zeke
When I was seven years old my Pop, John Jackson, was alpha of the White River Pack. I remember looking up at this beast of a man in complete awe. Even as his hair lightened and age began to weather his rough features, his presence never weakened. If anything, the pack respected and outsiders feared him more. He and my Gram, Debbie, led our pack for over thirty years before he stepped down, passing the alpha responsibility to my father.
When Pop retired, he and I began to spend a lot of quality time together. He was a master carpenter who specialized in making custom furniture. Every afternoon, I would race along the bank of the lake to his cabin. He had built a large shop nearby and we would meet there for my daily carpentry lesson.
The smell of sawdust greeted me with it's familiar and comforting medley of various hardwoods: maple, oak, cherry, and walnut. I sat, in rapt attention, as Pops' booming voice directed me through each step of woodworking.
"Fine craftsmanship takes time and patience, Ezekiel. Just like when you become Alpha: you must trust your intuition and pay attention to the small details."
As I sit in Pop's old workshop, mine now that he and Gram began traveling the globe, I replay his words of wisdom that dripped with metaphoric life lessons. Sitting on his old stool, focusing on the vacant seat that was my childhood perch, I try to navigate through the information raveled up in my mind.
A loud knock at the open garage door pulls me away from my pondering. "Yo, Zeke-Man," Mason walks in followed by Micah, Trent, and Danny. Lifting my head and looking at their direction, I notice that there's a light drizzle of rain falling outside.
Mason wanders over to my table saw and begins fiddling with the large, electric tool. "We're headed to the air hangar for the interrogation of Hank," he explains as he turns on the loud machine. "You want to ride with us?" he hollers over the roar.
Sighing at the juvenility of him not being able to stay away from shiny objects, I stand up and quickly shut down the motor. "How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff?"
Lifting his hands in defeat, Mason quickly points across the room, "Trent's touching your stuff too!"
Turning around, I see that Trent is in fact handling my caliper. Adjusting the metal, f-shaped tool with a look of amusement on his face. "What the fuck is this for?"
Micah steps to his side and peers at the object. "Not for what your twisted mind is thinking, you sick prick." Laughing, he slaps Trent on the shoulder.
Trent and the rest of us join in his laughter as he puts down the measuring device. "You do have a kickass playroom, Zeke. I could have a lot of fun in here."
Danny sits down on a stool at the workbench and leans his back against the solid frame. Resting his elbows on the wooden surface behind him, he lifts his face and barks out a laugh, "Trent, you are one morbid motherfucker."
With a shrug of his shoulders, Trent inspects my numerous containers of nails and clamps. "We all have our talents," he mumbles, glancing up at all of us, "and I'm not morbid. I'm...creative." His lip lifting at the edge with his final word.
Digging the heels of my palms into my eyes, I shake my head and begin to motion everyone out. "Alright, children, let's go!"
We leave my shop and drive to the airport hangar where Dad, Charlie, Logan, and his son, Nolan, are in the process of interrogating Hank. With the information we gained in Kentucky, Dad is determined to find out who the mysterious "BJ" is and what role he has behind the shifter trafficking.
As the guys head through the door, I pull Danny to the side, "You up for this, man?" He's never completely confided in me about his experiences growing up, but the little I do know makes me unsure he's capable of maintaining a level head.
Danny's face contorts with confusion, "What are you talking about? I'm fine."
"Dan, you disappeared after the fight. Dad didn't even know where you went that night," I explain.
Shaking his head, Danny releases an exasperated breath, "I'm fine, man. I just needed to blow off some steam that night. No big deal." He steps around me and grabs the door handle, "I got this." As he steps forward, I can't help but think the opposite.
The inside of the hangar is quiet and tense. Hank is chained to a chair near the middle of the room. There's a needle prick in his exposed forearm that has small, black veins radiating out from its center. Evidence of the trace amount of dragon scale being injected into his bloodstream. Not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate his wolf and prevent shifting. There is also bruising around his eyes and a busted lip, badges earned from his lack of cooperation.
Looking towards the group of men, i find them all staring daggers in Hank's direction. Logan is rubbing the knuckles of his right hand and perspiration glitters atop his bald head, "Hank, you can make this painless for yourself. Just tell us: who is BJ?"
Hank jerks at the binds that hold him, "Fuck you, Logan! How 'bout I tell you the last time Charlotte gave me a BJ? Huh?"
In a flash, Logan releases a roar and barrels forward. As he punches Hank across the face a satisfying crunch flutter-echoes through the empty space. "Don't you fucking talk about her!" He spews into Hank's bloodied features.
Hank spits blood onto the floor as Dad and Nolan pull Logan away. "That's okay, Logan. You keep hitting me and I'll just keeping sucking energy out of her through our bond. I'll heal up nice a quick while poor Charlotte shrivels into a more pathetic mess."
Dad turns and faces Hank, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. As he steps closer, the air in the room grows more tumultuous. "Charlotte is like a little sister to me, Hank. You know that. But as the Alpha of this pack, I will not hesitate to fucking destroy you. I will do it slowly. I will do it painfully. You know I will. You were Pack once. You've seen me do it and not fucking blink." In a flash, Dad pulls out his switchblade, grabs the back of Hank's short hair a pits the sharp blade against his neck.
Hank's breaths become more pronounced as his sweat mingles with the blood dripping from his battered face and puddles on the floor. Triumphantly, the scent of fear pours from him inciting growls of approval from our group.
Dad, unwilling to let up, presses the blade in another millimeter. Hank yells in pain, "Alright! Alright! I'll tell you!" Releasing Hank, Dad straightens his back and continues to scowl.
Demoniac laughter sputters through Hank's bleeding lips. "I can't believe you're the fucking Alpha, Jack. Especially when the answer has been right there, staring at you the whole damn time!"
I look at Dad in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about, Hank?" I growl as my patience gives out.
Chuckling, Hank looks over at me, "Ask your dad. Your Alpha. You wanna know who BJ is?" He sneers as he rolls his head back in Dad's direction. "Think about it, Jack. A wolf shifter who has ties to this area and has the initials BJ? Are you that dense? Course, when he was here he went by another name. A Confederate General's name to be exact."
Metal clattering to the floor draws my attention to Dad. His blade rattling on the ground at his feet, "No," he mutters as he shakes his head.
Realization pools in my belly when I see Dad's face redden with unspoken rage. Glancing back at my pack, I see the wave of understanding hit them too. Logan's chest puffs out and the smell of fur permeates the air. Furry flashes in Charlie's eyes as his fist clench, knuckles popping in succession. Danny, Trent, Mason, and Micah also share a look of comprehension.
Nolan, however, wears a mask of bewilderment, "Who?" he asks, "Who's BJ?"
Dad staggers back a bit, "Robert James. Bobby James," he chokes out, "My brother."
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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a comment and don't forget to vote.
This chapter is dedicated to Littlemissflawed
Thank you for reading and for the vote! I hope you continue reading.
Also, special shoutout to my Watt-Hubs HicksScribbles because when I write about Trent, I think of you...and it is so fluffin' fun!
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So, questions??? I don't bite, I promise.
Did the reveal of BJ's identity surprise you? How many of you figured it out?
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Your friend and shifter interrogator,
Bon