Carnage Island (Reject Island)

“For work,” he explains. “We have to fund all this somehow. And the Elders just give us scraps. It’s why the docks look like shit—we maintain the facade of being a dystopian world in order to make them think that’s how we’re living life here.”

I glance around the elegant bathroom and peek through the door into the massive bedroom beyond. The mattress is fit for five or six big wolves, the furniture around is all crafted wood, and the technology of this place screams money. “They don’t know this exists.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“Not at all,” he says. “Nor do they know about our frequent trips inland.” He finishes with my final boot and stands, his fingers running through my hair.

I start to turn, but he grabs my hips to keep me facing the mirror, then grabs a brush.

“We’ve explained a lot of the jobs on the island, which are all traditional pack roles for the most part. But there’s a whole other level to what we do. And that’s where the boats come in.” He starts running the brush through my hair, the brown strands at odds against my cream-colored sweater.

“Which is why you go to the mainland regularly,” I hedge.

“Yes. Tieran’s father, Alpha Umber, owns a global finance organization that manages estates for some of the most elite humans in the world. But he does more than just that. Many of our clients are outwardly innocent, but inwardly nefarious. Which is where my role comes in. And Volt’s, too.”

I ponder that for a moment as he meets my gaze in the mirror. “What do you do?”

“I blackmail them,” he tells me without remorse. “Or I make deals they can’t refuse. It’s all about reading the room and understanding motives. But I’ve always been skilled with money, something I’ve learned from my father, who happens to be Alpha Umber’s Chief Financial Officer.”

“And the Elders have no idea?”

“Oh, they’re aware of Alpha Umber’s organization and the roles Black Mountain Pack plays in that company. But they’re unaware of our involvement from here.”

“Because they assume you can’t leave the island,” I say.

“Yes, and Tieran has been tasked with handling the more unsavory parts of the business, and those items are purposely kept quiet.” He gathers my hair over one shoulder, kissing me on the neck. “His father wants our clan to work our way up the ladder, which has proved challenging since being sent here. But we’ve developed a good system over the last seven years.”

“So coming here wasn’t part of the plan.”

He snorts, setting the brush back on the counter. “Not at all. However, our pack is all about challenges and proving our worth. So we’ve worked with what we have, aided minimally by Alpha Umber, and have grown from there. For example, the blackmail side of the business is new. As is Volt’s role in the organization.”

“What’s Volt’s role?” I wonder aloud as he finally lets me face him.

“Death, sweetheart,” Volt replies as he enters the bedroom. His wolf ears must have let him hear our conversation as he’s still about twenty feet away, but sauntering toward us in a pair of low slung jeans and nothing else. “I kill for money.”

I gape at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “I like pain. It’s my skill.” His eyes heat with the words and I swallow. “Maybe you can come with me on my next assignment.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, V,” Tieran says, entering the room next.

Definitely wolf hearing, I decide. I couldn’t hear them approaching because they seem to make no sound when they walk, the three of them skilled predators who move on silent feet.

“Why not?” Volt asks, pausing to glance at the approaching male. He’s dressed similarly in jeans, but also has on a pair of boots. “I researched the Senator yesterday. He’s a prick who rapes women. I even found a video of him taking one of his barely legal interns last week. Not only will he be an easy kill, he actually deserves it.”

“A-a video?” I repeat, somehow stuck on that more than the rest of his statements. I kill for money should probably have been my first concern, but somehow that news doesn’t shock me as much. Volt possesses a lethal aura, one that definitely screams murderous intent.

“Yeah, I was using the camera in his computer to study his office layout and instead ended up watching his naked ass drill into a crying intern.” He shudders. “I didn’t actually need the extra detail to want to kill him as I tend not to ask questions, but I think I’ll enjoy making him suffer a little more.”

“Hence the reason I don’t think Clove should watch,” Tieran interjects.

“I’m not shy about who I am, T,” Volt tells him. “She needs to know who she’s getting into bed with, so why not show her?”

Tieran studies him for a long beat while I swallow, uncertain of how to feel.

Volt has a point—I want to know more about these men and their clan. My wolf already accepts them and considers them hers, but it would be nice to understand them better.

“Do you kill for fun?” I ask, interrupting the heated silence.

“Yes,” Volt says without remorse. “I enjoy it.”

“But you always have a reason for it, like the Senator raping women?” I press.

“I enjoy those kills more, but that’s not always the case,” he replies. “I take jobs to fulfill the lethal urges of my wolf and I never ask questions. But I almost always learn something about the mark that warrants their death, which is why I usually end up enjoying the kill. On the off chance I don’t, I make it quick.”

All three men study me, waiting to see how I’ll react.

I’m not quite sure how to feel.

Death is a part of life, and mortals tend to experience it far earlier than my kind. Shifters stop aging around thirty years old and many breeds can live forever, unless taken down by silver.

But he’s not talking about killing shifters, he’s talking about assassinating humans.

Because he’s paid to do it.

That makes whoever hired him the true culprit; Volt’s just carrying out the task. Wolves take down prey every day, and while we may be part-human, we are more animal than anything else. He’s using his skills to make money to support the pack, and also slaying whatever violent urges he seems to possess in the process.

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