Unfortunately, the past was not so easy to forget.

Like many self-proclaimed white trash Americans, Thunder was a sucker for Starbucks. He had tried everything on the menu, including their overpriced food. He had tasted every seasonal item, including all the limited edition drinks. He had even tested out every single secret menu item that he could find, even if doing so made his barista hate him.

It wasn’t that he was a rabid fan. He thought some of the fruity teas and herbal drinks tasted like soap. The food wasn’t usually worth the cost. The secret menu items never tasted like they were meant to, based on the explosive internet raves.

He just… couldn’t stop going. He couldn’t restrain himself from trying the new items. Some days he just stood there looking at the menu and would create a hideous concoction of his own, containing espresso and strawberries and who knew what else. It was a guilty pleasure he partook of a little too often.

Way too often.

Today, he was nursing an iced coffee with milk and light sugar. The drink sweated at his elbow, dribbling condensation down to the tabletop. The coffee shop was air-conditioned, but customers came in so often that it was difficult to escape the heat and humidity Florida was famous for.

In front of him was his laptop and his notes. The day before, he’d sent off a preliminary design to that surfboard company. They had sent back a lengthy reply, listing a lot of ideas and recommendations that had probably occurred to the owners while they were in the shower, or falling asleep. Most of them made no sense, and quite a few contradicted each other.

It was up to him to decipher just what the hell they wanted. To do that, he’d felt in need of some coffee, and wasn’t it so convenient that Starbucks offered free, unlimited Wi-Fi? Just another reason he loved this place, no matter how much he wanted to hate it.

The door opened again, sending out another lengthy draft of warm air. Thunder paused in his note-reading and reached over for his drink. The cool beads of moisture on the outside of the plastic cup felt like heaven.

The person who had just come inside was a teenager who looked like he probably should have been in school right about now. Either that, or he had just recently graduated and his foray into college had left him feeling and looking immature.

In contrast to the teen’s youthful face, his hair was spiked and he had so many piercings Thunder wondered if he was more at risk than the average person for being struck by lightning. He had on a leather jacket that was much too big for him. Through a hole in his jeans, Thunder caught a glimpse of a scaly tattoo. Probably infected, having gotten it from somewhere cheap that was willing to work on people who weren’t old enough.

The teen paused, looking directly at Thunder. His lip was curled up in a sneer that was clearly trying too hard. “Oh, shit, man. That any good?”

“Beats the heat,” Thunder replied.

“Looks damn good on a day like this,” the teen said. “I’m gonna have to change my order.”

As Thunder was speaking to the youth, the door opened again and another young man came inside. He was dressed in a similar trying-too-hard fashion, though his scowl was real. “Can’t nobody order if you don’t move your fat ass,” he said.

After this short and baffling exchange, the two teenagers headed on up to the counter. However, the parade of punks wasn’t quite done. As soon as they had moved on, several more men entered. They were all in their teens or early twenties, and they actually looked as if they meant business. There was danger in the way they carried themselves, in the fierce glint in their eyes.

A gang on a coffee break. I don’t believe my eyes.

Shaking his head a little, Thunder went back to looking through his notes.

That was when the door opened yet again, and Abraham stepped inside.

Thunder froze, like a startled rabbit who is hoping it won’t become prey. Tall as a pole, Abraham walked gracefully over to join the rest of the gang. One of the other members noticed and reached up to whack him on the back of his head, saying something or other about being slow. Thunder hardly heard it, and didn’t hear at all what Abraham said in response. His thoughts were whirling, buzzing, his heart pounding in his ears.

This was the same Abraham he had met at the park a few days ago. Yet, at the same time, this was not the same man at all.

Abraham wore ripped black jeans which puddled around the tops of heavy combat boots. He had on a leather jacket that fit him like a second skin. His ear was pierced with a silver ringlet, and his hair was greased and shining. Somehow, the style suited him.

The attitude did not.

Thunder couldn’t equate this bitter-faced man with the one he had once loved. When Abraham had reached out to him through the dating app, it was immediately obvious that he had a playful spirit. Abraham was never serious. He was wily as a fox and mischievous too, with endless stories of escapades and pranks. Talking to him was like seeing the world in a different way. Forget the wars, the corrupt politicians, the struggles of the day. None of that mattered when Abraham was describing the first time he’d smoked and how he’d acquired the cigarettes through a Rube Goldberg-ish series of events.

Nothing mattered when you were with Abraham, because he didn’t seem to see boundaries: never following the rules, never believing what he was told, finding fun and adventure wherever it lay. Thunder could appreciate that, especially since he was living a freelancing, roaming life that many people looked down upon. Coming home to have an online chat with Abraham was more relaxing than a beer and a TV show could ever be, and far more fulfilling.

The question now was how much of that had been the truth, if Abraham had lied about being so easygoing and carefree just like he had lied about his age. Or, had he grown out of that, naturally progressing from mischief to delinquency? All the joking and steps outside the line were clearly not so insignificant anymore.

He’s with this gang.

He should have figured that, given what he knew now about the packs in the area. It hadn’t taken long before he’d learned about two biker gangs in the city. Seeing as Abraham had mentioned two packs, this could be no coincidence. They were one and the same.

Except, this couldn’t be the same thing, because the only wolves in this Starbucks were the two of them. The rest of the punks, slouching and scowling around at the world as if they hated everything, were distinctly human. Abraham was part of this gang as a choice. He was undoubtedly a troublemaker.

Abraham hadn’t looked over. Either he was pretending not to notice Thunder, or he really hadn’t noticed. Either option was unsettling and painful to consider.

The few years of separation had pushed them apart in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

Looking at his work, Thunder tried to focus. The words on the screen and in his notebook swam in front of his eyes. He was too aware of Abraham’s presence, his scent, the feel of his very existence. The way the air wrapped around the shape of his body.

Suddenly, it was like he was touched, a brush of fur in his mind. His breath was stolen away and if he was seeing anything at all anymore, he wasn’t aware of it.

Abraham had either just noticed him, or let his control slip. The touch Thunder had felt was recognition. For only an instant, their thoughts had connected.

He was breathing too fast. His palms felt sweaty. The very thing he had ached for was right here and he couldn’t have it.

Through the fog surrounding him, Thunder heard Abraham say, “Can’t these idiots work any faster? They aren’t getting a fucking tip out of me.”

Thunder winced inwardly, a flinch traveling from one shoulder to the other. Abraham wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Yeah, yeah. Big talk,” another of the punks said. “Yesterday, you tipped that waiter.”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, when I want,” Abraham snarled. Outwardly, he looked like a sullen millennial, the entitled sort with a self-esteem complex who would take it out on anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He looked like someone who carried a knife habitually and wouldn’t hesitate to whip it out at the slightest offense.

He looked like a shifter who knew his own strength, who knew that, omega or not, he could take down a human in only a few seconds.

But, the way he looked was telling a much different story from the way he was feeling on the inside. Thunder couldn’t figure it all out and wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Brief pulses of emotion kept slipping through the wall Abraham was trying to keep between them. Uncertainty, impatience. He wanted to get out of here.

Pain.

Thunder could relate.

“Maybe he’s right,” one of the others said, speaking up out of nowhere.

“Damien?” someone else said, uncertainly. Thunder thought the speaker might be the teen he had spoken to, who asked him how his drink was.

Damien turned out to be one of the few who actually looked dangerous. Of those few, he looked somehow the most dangerous. He was the only one not wearing a leather jacket. He clearly felt no need to. He had a faux hawk, dyed an unnatural shade of glossy black. His shirt was olive green and sleeveless, exposing long stretches of tattoo that went all the way to his fingertips. Other than ripped jeans and small gauges in his ears, nothing else about him really stood out.

That was exactly the reason Thunder had a bad feeling about him. There was something in the way he held himself, the look on his face. The fact that he also looked to be the oldest made it seem very likely he was the one in charge here. He felt so confident in himself that he had no need of ornamentation like the others did.

“Maybe we shouldn’t hang in one place for too long,” Damien said. His eyes flicked around, seeming to take in the entire coffee shop in a split second. “Not good for us right now.”

Thunder tried hard not to seem interested in the slightest, though on the inside he was very curious and also concerned. Not sticking around for too long in one place was Thunder’s specialty, but he had never had to do so to avoid the law. He was pretty sure that was what Damien meant. They had done something and they didn’t want the cops to be able to walk in the Starbucks and arrest them.

Arrest Abraham, who had more than likely been involved somehow.

Aware that, for someone with a laptop, he had gone too long without typing, Thunder turned to his computer. He pounded out a few nonsense words while keeping his focus on the gang. A few voices echoed their support of Damien’s notion. As the last of their coffees came out, the members of the gang filtered toward the door. Hot waves came in through the gap, stirring the fliers on the walls, turning the pages of Thunder’s notebook.

Abraham held up the rear. He had a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, perfuming the air with scents of chocolate and cream. His gaze burned into Thunder, making it very clear that he had nothing to say. Everything that could have been said was scorched away by the intense heat of that look, anyway.

Thunder kept his head down. He shielded his thoughts, although it hurt him very much to have to cut off his awareness of Abraham’s presence like that. It made him feel like he had been holding hands with someone while walking through a dark forest, and now he was all alone in the shadows.

Apparently satisfied that his message had gotten across, Abraham took himself and his inappropriately hot drink outside and was gone.

Thunder deleted the nonsense he had typed into his email, then saved the draft he’d been working on. Closing the laptop, he tucked it and his notebook into the bag sitting at his feet. He only took the bag when he knew he was going to be going around to stores and such, or when he intended to be out for longer than normal.

Now, it seemed like he was going to be gone even longer than he originally planned.

Standing up, Thunder headed for the door.

“Excuse me!”

If the voice hadn’t sounded like it belonged to someone incredibly old, Thunder wouldn’t have stopped. As it was, like most wolves, he had a healthy respect for his elders, and so he turned back to see who had called out for him.

The culprit was an old man sitting way on the other side of the room, swathed in a blanket of light pouring in from the windows. Golden glimmers caught on his bald head, almost making it look like he had a halo.

“Can I help you?” Thunder asked. He struggled to keep his voice polite with how tense he was feeling.

The old man pointed at Thunder’s table, and his drink. “Don’t want to forget your coffee,” he said. “The price you pay for that, it’d be such a waste.”

Truth be told, he could care less about the coffee. He did hate to waste money, but whatever was happening right now was more important than a few bucks.

He went back over to his drink, picked it up, and sucked on the straw. The ice cubes had been busily melting this entire time, so the coffee was muted and bland now. Nevertheless, he downed all of it in a few long gulps, eager to get going. “Thanks,” he said, and turned to go again.

The old man let out a sudden chuckle. “Well, now. You must have quite the set of lungs on you. I bet you were a loud child.”

“I was a real howler.”

Thunder left the old man chuckling and hurried out the door. If this was any other time, he would have been proud of his pun.

He just hoped he hadn’t wasted too much time.

The humid air hit him in the face the moment he was outside, though he hardly felt it. In front of him was a street corner, with a cluster of people all vying to get across the crosswalk before the light changed again. The road was clustered with vehicles of all shapes and sizes imaginable. The smell of oil, exhaust, and hot metal clogged the air, making Thunder feel like he was choking.

How the hell was he going to track Abraham in all this?

I shouldn’t be tracking him in the first place.

The fact of the matter was he hadn’t made an intentional choice to do this. He had just acted, not that he could see any other way this might have come about. If Abraham was in trouble, if something was going to happen, he felt compelled to be there for it. The ties that bound them might have broken, but their memories were still there and Thunder could not escape them. The stories Abraham told, the jokes, the typed messages which held truths which were never spoken aloud, that they were wolves, connected at the soul through the distance.

He couldn’t rebel against this desire to make sure Abraham was okay. It was part of what made him alpha. If he could do something, then he would.

Closing his eyes, Thunder squared his shoulders. He pulled in a deep breath, held it, then let it out. He opened his eyes.

“Get the fuck out of the way,” a man said as they shoved past him to get into the Starbucks.

Thunder shoved his shoulder against the man, growling low under his throat, then got moving. He picked up on Abraham’s scent instantly, now that he had calmed himself enough to be able to focus. The omega’s scent mingled with that of the other men. It was difficult to tell them all apart, it was like he was tracking a herd of deer.

He followed the trail a considerable way down the sidewalk. For several blocks, the gang just kept plowing on straight ahead. Here and there on the pavement were splashes of brown that smelled of coffee and sweetener. Thunder pictured Abraham getting his head whacked as he came up to join the rest of the group. There had been tousling, then. Shoving and pushing. Playful, or at least not serious enough to cause anything more than a bit of spilled coffee.

He crossed the next street, and saw a few coffee cups rolling around on the concrete, stirred around by the wind. They were all empty, though a few still held ice cubes.

Just after the pile of litter was a resale shop. On the other side of that was an alleyway, where there were more discarded coffee cups.

The trail led through the alley. The scents were stronger here, though they had to compete with the other various smells which were always present in these dark, dank crossroads.

They went slower here.

Thunder ducked into the alley, moving quieter and slower than before. He trailed his fingers along the length of one wall of the resale shop, then quickly stopped when he felt something sticky and disturbingly ambiguous. Wiping his hand on his jeans, he continued on through the darkness.

For a big, powerful man who could more or less do anything he wanted, Thunder had not spent much of his time in alleys. If he was going to loiter, he preferred to be somewhere out in the open, with things to see. This alley was an atrocity to the eyes, even worse than the dirty mustard-yellow of his car. Shadows stuck to every surface, staining the crumbling walls. Speaking of stains, there were plenty of those too, most of them lower down on the walls where some homeless person, or drunkard, had taken care of business. The air reeked. His nostrils burned. He felt like there were spiders crawling down his spine, making his hairs stand on end.

The first alley ended in an open sort of intersection, which had been filled with piles of garbage cans, and loose, oozing bags. The stench was horrific. Flies hovered in black clouds over the molding feasts.

This was one of those times when Thunder wished his senses weren’t quite so good, because he could hear little squirming sounds beneath the humming buzz of the flies. Maggots and other insects, wriggling and worming around in the trash that had been here for who knew how long.

Nausea rose inside Thunder, a distinctive metal taste that climbed up from his stomach to the back of his throat. His stomach already felt full and awkward from the coffee he drank too fast, and now it roiled like a cold ocean, bitter waves of bile splashing around inside him.

No fucking way I’m going to just stand around here.

Although he hated to do it, he had to deliberately scent the air to see where Abraham and his posse had gone. There were three other alleys to choose from and he didn’t want to waste time going in the wrong direction.

Beneath the noxious, sickly-sweet odor of rotting detritus, he picked up on the trail again. Leading to the left.

Thunder hesitated for a moment. If he went lumbering on down this alley, he ran a very real risk of being discovered. If not by the gang, then by Abraham.

He didn’t want to be found out, especially not when he had been explicitly warned not to do so by that fierce glare the omega gave him.

He had no choice.

He shifted.

Dropping down to all four paws in his wolf form, he made the lovely discovery that sticky ooze covered the ground. The trash bags were leaking. There was no telling what foul concoction he stood in. It smelled like sour fruit juice, and rotting meat, and so many other, worse things.

Snorting, trying uselessly to clear the stink from his nose, he got moving. Much to his relief, the puddle was not very big and he was soon far away from it.

I could be back in Starbucks, getting actual work done. Drinking my coffee in peace and actually enjoying it.

Pressing his ears flat, unsure whether he was angry at himself or Abraham, Thunder stuck close to the wall, letting the shadows blend with his dark brown fur, obscuring his form. With any luck, anyone who saw him wouldn’t realize quite how big he was. They would assume he was only a large feral mutt, and he could escape without a fight.

Unless Abraham was the one to see him.

Voices.

Thunder stopped mid-step, his paw still held in the air. He pricked his ears again, trying to locate where the sound was coming from. Sound carried strangely in places like this, but he was quite sure that the voices were coming from the right, and they belonged to the exact people he was looking for.

Crouching down, Thunder crept even closer to the voices. He took a right turn as soon as he could, and now the sounds were coming from almost right in front of him. The gang must be just around another bend.

Thunder slipped back around the corner, so he would have more time to get out of the way if anyone came in his direction. Closing his eyes, he strained his hearing as hard as he could.

“What about you, John?” That was Damien’s voice. Smooth, charming, but only on the surface.

“I, uh, didn’t have any luck.” That sounded like the one Thunder had spoken with. “I’m sorry, Damien.”

“You fucking serious?” Damien said. All the pleasant things had left the surface of his voice, leaving the rotten interior exposed. He sounded angry, coldly angry, which was the scariest sort. A man in the midst of a blazing hot fury could be tricked; one who was cold and calculating in their anger was not likely to be taken advantage of.

Whatever Thunder was listening to, it could go very, very badly. His shoulders tensed up. What the hell had Abraham gotten himself involved with? This was much, much different from sneaking into movies, or being kicked out of WalMart for holding sword fights in the toy section. This was actually dangerous.

“You fucking work at Walmart. You know fucking half their cameras don’t work, right? You a pussy or what?”

Speak of the devil. It’s always Walmart. Shit like this doesn’t happen at Target.

Even though Thunder couldn’t see the men talking to each other, he could feel John cringing. “I’m sorry, Damien. I really tried. I even worked the jewelry counter a few times, but I didn’t get a chance. It’s inventory time. The whole store is busy.”

“Yeah. Busy. Distracted, you fucking idiot.”

“There are managers from other stores around! Eyes everywhere. I just couldn’t, okay?”

“So, what you’re telling me is you can’t pay up.”

Some sort of drug deal or something.

“I’m sorry,” John said.

Damien snorted. There was a brief sucking sound, followed by a long exhalation. He was smoking. “I’ll deal with you later. What about you, Abe? What you got for me?”

Thunder opened his eyes and lifted his head up to the sky, though only a brief strip of muted blue was available for him to see from down here in the alleyway. He could hardly hold back the urge to sigh. His heart hurt. This wasn’t how things should have been. It was all wrong.

“I got a Gucci watch a couple days ago. Took it to York.”

“No shit?” Damien whistled, clearly impressed. “Fucking Gucci?”

There was an awkward silence. Then, Abraham spoke, very slowly. “Turns out, it was a fake. York said it was a fake that could’ve fooled experts. Real nice still. If it was real, it would have been over a grand. As is, he said he could get maybe $400 from it.”

$400 for a fake, stolen Gucci watch still seemed like a hell of a lot of money to Thunder. However, he had the impression that Damien didn’t agree.

His impression was confirmed when Damien spoke again, and his voice had turned frigid once more. “So, how much did you end up getting?”

“$200.”

“Shit.”

“He said it could have fooled an expert, Damien. And at least I got something.”

Damien sighed. “Yeah, okay. So, hand it over.”

There was no sound as the money presumably exchanged hands. Muffled speaking sounds followed, as Damien probably counted the money. When he was satisfied it was all there, he said, “So, how about you, Barry?”

The process repeated again. Barry was moderately successful with his thievery. He listed off what seemed like an entire catalog’s worth of electronic goods. However, his total came out to less than Abraham’s. Thunder felt a strange surge of pride, though he quickly grabbed onto that emotion and tried to crush it. He shouldn’t be proud of anything that was going on right now, especially when he still had no idea what exactly that was. This didn’t seem to be a drug deal. The people giving money to Damien were not asking for anything in return, nor did they seem to be getting anything that might already have been decided upon. There was no talk of exchanges. Only money values.

Maybe they owed Damien something. Or, hell, this could just be some sort of class, where Damien was teaching them how to be criminals. Anything was possible at this point.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

Everyone stopped speaking. Listening. Waiting, as if on the cusp of some discovery.

Closing his mouth and holding his breath, Thunder listened to see what might be causing this disturbance. For another few moments, he heard nothing at all. Then, an extremely loud, staticky voice burst through the alleys, reverberating through the tight walls, distorting it even more.

“We know you’re in there!” the voice boomed. “You’re trespassing on private property. Don’t move.”

For a split second, no one did move.

The police really must have been looking for this gang and had now found them. How, Thunder didn’t know. He could only presume someone had seen them going into the alleyway and called the cops, thinking that kind of behavior was suspicious. The cop was speaking through a megaphone, which meant he wasn’t close enough to be heard distinctly when communicating normally. There was still time for the gang to react.

He hoped they wouldn’t. Whatever they had done, they needed to deal with the repercussions of having done it in the first place.

Then, Damien said, very calmly, “Scatter. No more than three down the same alley. They can’t get all of us.” He spoke in the reassuring, measured tones of a general who knows that he must keep his troops together.

In the background, probably out on the streets, Thunder heard a car drive up too fast, then slam on its brakes. Reinforcements.

Footsteps, rapid and measured, echoed through the passageways now. The police were coming. It was impossible to tell how many of them there were. There might have only been the one with the megaphone, or there could have been an entire army of uniforms converging on the gang. The distortion of sound gave no clues.

I’m at risk here, he thought. No doubt whoever called the cops on the gang had noticed him going into the alleys at around the same time. He would be considered suspicious, just like everyone else. His heart started to flutter in his chest, like a startled bird. Being arrested might not matter much when it came to the work he did, but it would make finding places to stay even more difficult than it already was.

Then, he got ahold of himself. He was a fucking animal right now. The cops weren’t on the lookout for a big, hairy brown dog.

More footsteps, a frenzy of them as the gang scattered finally.

Thunder pressed himself into the shadows, letting them writhe over his pelt. Two sets of footsteps came his way, and then two of the gang members burst out of the mouth of the tunnel right in front of him. John and Abraham.

Abraham didn’t look at him, didn’t seem to realize he was there. He was focused on running as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast when one considered the tightness of his clothing. Already he was falling behind John, lagging further and further with every step taken.

As the two men reached the intersection of the alleys, near the pile of garbage, someone else appeared around the corner. A tall, stout man, wearing a blue uniform. He had a heavy flashlight in one hand, the strong beam slicing like a knife through the shadows.

“Stop!” he said. “We only want to ask you some questions.”

John stopped in his tracks. His arms shot up into the air. His face was ghastly pale as the flashlight beam swept across it. His eyes were very wide, filled with artificial light and dark emotions.

Abraham paused in his running. He hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the frozen man. His face twisted in conflict. He seemed to be asking himself whether he should run or stand with his friend. Yes, friend. Not merely just a member of the same gang. His friend. That was clear to see now.

Thunder didn’t know what he was going to do until he already was in the middle of doing it. Lunging forward from the shadows, he barked as loud as he could.

The deep, powerful sound burst through the alleys like an explosion.

The cop swung in his direction, the beam shining painfully into his eyes. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed, forgetting to be a cop for a moment. He was only a man doing his best, twisting to face whatever shadow monster had decided to come for him.

The gang members were free to run.

John stayed where he was. He hadn’t even flinched. His arms were still straight up in the air, and he hadn’t even turned to look at what had caught the cop’s attention. He was a lost cause.

Abraham stared at Thunder over the shoulders of the two men. Then, he took off running again in the opposite direction.

The cop swiveled his head in his direction, though he kept his light trained expertly on Thunder. “Get back here!”

Abraham kept running.

The cop paused. From what Thunder could see of his face through this offensive lighting, it was clear he was dealing with quite a bit of inner turmoil. He had one punk. If he ran after the other, it was likely that the one he currently had would escape. Then, best case scenario, he would have one punk again. Worst case scenario, he would lose both of them.

And the worst-worst case scenario was that sudden movements would cause this mutt to come at him.

Wisely, the police officer turned his attention back to Thunder. “Don’t move,” he said, voice low.

John was clearly not going anywhere.

Thunder lowered his head and snarled, opening his jaws to let the light catch his fangs. He advanced one slow step at a time. He couldn’t do anything about all the other cops who might catch Abraham, but he could occupy this one.

“Stop!” the cop said. He waved the flashlight. “Stay!”

Thunder flattened his ears down and kept advancing.

“Shoo!” the cop yelled, raising his voice. “Go away! Shoo!”

He was close enough now to smell the fear pouring off both men, though only one was afraid of him. The other seemed to be locked in his own personal hell still, probably regretting all the choices he had made in life that led him to this point.

The cop reached for his belt. His fingers curved around the butt of his gun. He started to draw it. His face had gone hard. The flashlight dangled uselessly from a loop of cord wrapped around his wrist.

Thunder stopped. He had no intention of getting shot. He just stared at the cop for a long time, perhaps half a minute or more. Then, when the cop started to pull his gun out again, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. He wagged his tail in the air, though he had to force himself to do so because he was really not very happy at all.

As he turned the corner, he heard the cop say, “Was that a wolf?”

John, naturally, did not answer.

Thunder stayed in his wolf form as he navigated through the alleys. Distant shouts and footsteps kept him company. Cops yelling commands, gang members snarling out curses. Try as he might, he couldn’t tell if any of those voices belonged to Abraham, distorted as they were by emotion and distance.

Then, there was a gunshot.

He staggered to the side, his shoulder slamming into the wall. For a moment, he believed that it was himself who had been shot, that he had not escaped that fate after all. But no, the only part of him that hurt was his heart.

He knew.

He knew it had been Abraham.

The wretched thing was that he really didn’t know, but he felt it in his soul that all his efforts had been in vain. He couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved. That was just a fact of life, wasn’t it?

Thunder turned his head to the wall, pressed his forehead against the rough, stained bricks. Pain encompassed him entirely, wrapped tendrils around him, constricted him like a snake squeezing the life out of its prey. His stomach was filled with cold, heavy dread.

The way out of the alleys was right in front of him. He had only to take another few steps to be able to get out. Cars drifted by on the streets, ignorant of the events that had just taken place here. All he had to do was go out, start walking down the sidewalk, and that would be the end of it. He could pretend none of this had ever happened, that he had never met Abraham.

He could walk away.

The end.

Thunder pushed his head harder against the wall, trying to chase away the pain inside with a pain from outside. His attempt failed. All he succeeded in doing was getting blood in his eyes as sharp bits of brick sliced into his skin.

“Psst!”

Whatever that sound was, it wasn’t meant for him.

“Thunder!”

No denying that was for him. He turned his head to look at the mouth of the alley, where freedom and forgetfulness awaited him. Abraham stood there like a phantom, an anomaly, something that just should not have been.

Abraham looked all around, then gestured urgently with his hand. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he hissed. “Come on! Let’s get out of here! Let’s go!”

All he could do was stare at this ghost who was perfect and whole and unharmed, clearly not shot. Then, he grinned a wolfish grin, and shifted back into his human form as fast as he could. He staggered against the wall again, pushed away from it, and advanced on the omega with his arms out. “You’re okay!”

“Sshh!” Abraham dodged his embrace, then looked around again. “Don’t bring attention to us, you idiot! Come on!”

His arms felt empty without Abraham in them. It was a feeling he had often struggled with when they were in their online relationship and it was even more painful now that the possibility actually existed for him to hold Abraham.

He should have said no.

He should have gone his own way. There was nothing for him here. What he had done for Abraham had not mended the rift between them. Following after the omega would only bring him more pain, and he’d had just about enough of that.

Yet, if he didn’t go, he would never get any answers about what had just happened and why he’d had to rescue Abraham in the first place. He deserved those answers.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Abraham nodded, then started off down the sidewalk. Much to Thunder’s surprise, he didn’t run. He sauntered, strolling along as if he was out for an everyday jaunt. He was clearly trying not to attract any attention to himself and he was succeeding, because no one spared them a second look.

Thunder kept up with him, matching his pace. Though the situation was terrible, he couldn’t help but to feel that walking with Abraham was an intimate experience, the kind he had always dreamed of. No, even better. Not even in his wildest imaginings had he been able to feel Abraham’s presence so clearly. Their bodies moved through the air together. Their arms and legs moved at the same time. They were nearly the same creature, connected by intent. The only thing that could have made all this better was if they were touching. He would have given anything to feel their hips brush together, their fingers touch.

If he closed his eyes…

“Are you fucking sleeping right now?”

His eyes popped open. “Of course not,” he said. “Just…enjoying.”

Abraham snorted. “I know what you were doing and you’d better stop it. Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you for anything that happened.”

They had left the scene far behind and were now in a more industrial area, though there were still regular businesses scattered around. Factory workers had to eat too, after all. Abraham slowed their pace even more. They were crawling along by this point. Anyone who came near was walking at such a fast pace in comparison to them that there was no danger whatsoever of having their conversation overheard and understood. A passerby might catch a snippet, but there would be no way to have context for what was said, not unless that person lingered by in a very suspicious and obvious manner.

He wanted to disagree. If Abraham had been the one to save him, Thunder would forgive him for anything and everything, past, present, and future. That was what he felt, because a show of such devotion would mean Abraham still cared for him.

Might still love him, if there had ever been love in their relationship in the first place.

Could you love someone to whom you lied to on a daily basis?

“Okay,” Thunder said, softly. “I get that.” A lie of his own. “But I think you owe me an explanation for just what the hell that was.”

“Maybe you owe me an explanation for why you followed me. That’s creepy, Thunder.”

“I knew something wasn’t right from the way that ringleader of yours talked about not staying in the same place. I just wanted to make sure you would be okay.”

“Only me?”

“Why would I care about any of those other punk bastards in your gang? You’re the only punk I knew out of the whole bunch.”

Abraham gave a small smile. It transformed his whole face, which had been so grim and unfriendly up until this point. Some of the light returned to his gray eyes and Thunder felt his heart pick up its pace in response. This brightness was what he was more used to around Abraham. “I guess that’s supposed to make me feel special.”

“You were special to me,” he whispered. “You still are.”

Abraham didn’t respond. They turned a corner, started wrapping around back in the direction of the place they had come from. Thunder tried harder this time not to get lost in the sensation of walking with the other wolf, though it was more or less a useless endeavor.

“I understand that I owe you something,” Abraham said, finally. His light, musical voice was twisted with hesitation. “And that’s the only reason I’m going to tell you anything. I have to pay my dues. But after that, there’s nothing between us. You leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. Deal?”

He couldn’t agree to that. No way in hell. Not while he was still here in the same city, with thoughts of their love in his mind wherever he went. Snippets of conversations from the past raced through his mind, too fast for him to grab, too important to ever forget. Long nights in the summer, early mornings during what he now realized were school days, discussions of the absurd cost of the next iPhone, what it was like to watch a chicken pop out an egg, their place in the universe, the meaning of life, if a chameleon placed on a glass tabletop would turn clear or take on the color of the floor below. Anything and everything. That was Abraham.

Abraham must have taken his silence as acquiesce. He kept his voice low as he spoke again, finally solving some of the mystery for Thunder. “We just spray-painted the side of the police station. It’s no big deal. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be.”

Surprise jolted through him, stopping him in his tracks. “What?” he exclaimed. “Are you really that…” He cut off what he was about to say. The right word wouldn’t come to mind.

Stupid? No. Abraham was anything but stupid. In fact, he was too smart for his own good.

Naïve? Again, no. Abraham and his posse had known exactly what they were doing and what the consequences would be.

Mentally adjusting, he tried again. “There are security cameras all over police stations, inside and out.”

Abraham snorted. “Geez, we knew that. But, see, Barry’s brother’s friend works in the police station. He was supposed to fix it so the camera on that wall was on the fritz, so we could get in and get out without being caught.” He sighed. “I guess he flaked out. Or forgot. Or couldn’t get it done. They caught us, so we ran.”

Thunder shook his head as he watched Abraham recount the tale of his adventures. The omega spoke so brightly, so happily, using exactly the same tone in his messages when he recounted how he’d replaced his brother’s toothpaste with mayonnaise. He was so sure of himself, so confident. He reveled in talking about the mischief he had caused to people who were only trying to do their best. On the one hand, that confidence was extremely attractive and it was one of the many things which had really caught Thunder’s attention when they first started talking. On the other, it now made him want to grab Abraham by the shoulders and shake him around until all the scrambled pieces in his brain got put back together in the right order.

“What did you paint on the wall?”

Abraham laughed. “Mostly dicks.”

Startled, Thunder laughed, too. “Classy.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s classic, for sure.”

Somewhere along the line, this had gone from an interrogation to a regular conversation.

“And then you went to Starbucks?”

“We were hot.”

“But you got a hot drink.”

“White chocolate mocha. Yeah.” Abraham nodded. “But, see, that’s the best way to cool off. I learned that like the one time I actually paid attention in class. Chemistry? Maybe Biology? Anyway, when you drink something hot when you’re hot, your body freaks out and works harder to cool you down. It thinks, ‘Oh, shit, I’m hot on the inside, too.’ But if you drink something cold, it assumes everything’s fine.”

“Huh. That still doesn’t seem pleasant.”

Abraham shook his head. “It’s not. But it does work.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

By this point, they were nearly back where they started. Thunder slowed down even more, not wanting this to end. They were actually communicating. He wished it was for a different reason, but he would take what he could get. Really, the fact of the matter was that he was enjoying himself.

Abraham slowed down with him. Whether he did so on purpose or if it was a subconscious thing, Thunder didn’t know. He wished for it to be intentional. He wished with all his might, with the sincerity of a child blowing on dandelion fluff, that Abraham wanted to spend time with him, too.

“What else do you want to know?”

An open invitation to ask. The question was, did the offer come as a result of obligation, or did he really want Thunder to be interested in him? Perhaps he relished this chance to have a conversation about what he had done, having no one to talk to about it who wouldn’t already know. It was a new experience for him.

“What was all that stuff about money?”

Abraham stopped in his tracks. His expression closed off, going suddenly guarded. The ease with which they had walked together went away, leaving them both feeling awkward. Their emotions clouded the air between them, obscuring both of them like mist. Thunder automatically reached out for Abraham with his mind and was blocked by that wall of fog.

“You heard all that?” Abraham’s voice was very flat.

“Yeah, I did. What was that about? Drugs?”

“Do I look like someone who uses drugs to you?”

That question hadn’t even occurred to Thunder, but he knew the answer anyway. Whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with drugs. He had already ruled out that possibility.

“You don’t,” Thunder said. He kept his eyes open for any sign of the police or other gang members, but their walk must have given them enough time to arrive back when everything was already taken care of. There were no police cars anywhere. People roamed the streets without a care, unbothered by any police chases, or gunshots. It was as if nothing had ever happened. “So, tell me, then. What was that?”

“You have to keep this to yourself.”

‘Who am I going to tell, Abe?”

Abraham shrugged. “I guess you’re right. You’ve got about as many friends as I do.”

Interesting.

Thunder didn’t really collect friends. He never stuck around in one place long enough to want to find friends. He couldn’t be bothered with keeping up with the long-distance communication enough to keep them once he had moved on. The only people he stayed in touch with were former clients and business partners, and he didn’t exactly reach out to those people to just have a chat whenever he felt like that.

So, Abraham had that part correct. He probably remembered that about Thunder from before.

However, that meant Abraham didn’t consider himself to have friends. He was in a gang, yet none of them were his friends? How did that work? And what about John, who he’d been reluctant to leave behind?

Does he lie to himself, too?

“Sometimes, Damien gives us loans. If we can’t afford something, he gives us the money. Then, we pay him back.”

Thunder shook his head. “Why not just earn the money yourself in the first place? You have a job? I know that John kid did.”

“It’s not that easy,” Abraham said, very softly. “Sometimes it isn’t enough. And I don’t have a job.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” The terse reply put an end to that line of conversation. “Anyway, I think this is the last straw for John. He’s better off getting out. It’s not for him.”

“And it’s for you?”

“It always has been.” Abraham shrugged. “Anyway, if that’s all you want to know, then we’re done here.”

Thunder desperately racked his brain for more questions, but all of them had been answered. Except for one. “What about that gunshot?”

“I bet they were firing at Damien,” Abraham said. “A warning shot, probably. If they actually got him, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Jesus. And you take money from this guy? Where does he get it?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Some questions, you’re better off not knowing the answers to. Thunder, we’re done here. I need to go lay low.”

A pang shook through his chest. “Do you want some company? Two heads are better than one when it comes to making sure you aren’t being followed.”

“No. What if I come across one of the guys while you’re with me? What am I supposed to do?”

“You could tell the truth.”

“I don’t think so. I told you way too much for that to make sense to anyone else. I have to go.” Abraham stepped away. He turned his back on Thunder and started to stride away. Then, he paused. “Didn’t you have your laptop and shit earlier?”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about his laptop since he left the Starbucks. He remembered taking it with him but after that, he hadn’t a clue as to where it had gone. “I must have dropped it in the alley somewhere when I shifted. Guess it’s lost forever now, huh? I shouldn’t go back in there so soon.”

“The police probably took it as evidence. Go talk to them about it. Say we stole it from the Starbucks. They’ll give it back to you, or go get it for you themselves.” Abraham spoke with his back turned. Though he hadn’t actually said goodbye yet, his tone made it clear that that was what he was working up to. “Thank you, Thunder. I’m… I guess I’m glad you showed up. But we can’t do this anymore. It’s dangerous.”

He said nothing.

“Goodbye,” Abraham said, and walked across the street. True to his nature, he didn’t wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. He just started off into traffic, weaving his way expertly in and out of the flow of vehicles. A horn honked, and an enormous semi blazed past.

Thunder winced, fighting the urge to cover his eyes.

When the semi was gone, Abraham stood on the other side of the street, safe and unharmed.

That was what Thunder wanted when he set out after the omega. He had accomplished his mission.

It didn’t feel like he had done enough.

Sighing, he went into the nearest store to ask how to get to the police station. His heart ached.