Dustin's arms were pinned to his side, so there was no chance of him calling on his inner wolf. That would be too simple. Sanders was the one who he guessed was behind his abduction, right from the heart of the Dirty D.         

The cloth that covered his face —the one that tasted like old potato sacking. It prevented him from looking any further than his eyelids. His short and shallow breaths dampened the cloth, but he knew it was going to be a whole lot wetter, very soon. Sanders wouldn't be aware of the time Dustin had spent serving his country in the forces. Torture training, he'd excelled at it (giving and receiving) and he'd learned it was mind over matter. And in training; they wouldn't kill you in that, so you just had to knuckle down and accept it, grit your teeth, and not quit. Dustin had never quit at anything in his life, and he wasn't about to start now. He knew what Sanders wanted (the location of the shaman), but he wasn't going to get it from him.

          He felt the cloth over his face tighten and constrict —he tried to take a deep breath and the water surged in an unremitting stream over his face. Drowning torture, yes, Dustin knew it well. He tightened his core and stopped trying to breathe in and out, he called on the strength of his inner wolf. His throat locked. No water was going to enter his lungs and make him panic. Dustin tossed in some dramatics —just to make it look good, and he juddered his body.

          If they want to think I'm panicking, then let them believe it.

          The stream of water stopped. He listened for the voice. The voice that would signal HE was there.

          Dustin heard the low rasp of (who must be) Sanders, far across the room. Dustin calculated. Voice sounds twenty or thirty feet away. An echo, so a high ceiling. Footsteps approaching, (they were faint) carpeted floor. Steps on wood. The footsteps got louder. I'm in a theater or something like that.

          "So! You’re the one who’s holding it all together for the remains of the pack?" the voice said.

          There wasn't much Dustin could say with a large piece of soaking wet material pulled over his face. He muffled. He actually muffled fuck you, but Sanders never realized.

          "Remove the cloth from his mouth."

          The edge of the cloth lifted from over Dustin’s chin. He played on the theatrics again. "Huh-uh-uh-uh," he mumbled, as if he had taken his last breath.

          He smelled the rancid stench, now close to the side of his face. He guessed Sanders was close to his ear. He was right.

          "Well now, Dustin, if you don't mind me calling you Dustin?"

          "You can call me whatever the fuck you like if it makes you feel any better."

          "Dustin, it is. Whatever the fuck you like is too much of a mouthful," Sanders quipped. It fell on deaf ears. "Where’s the location of the shaman? We know it is in Desire (The Dirty D), but I want to know where, exactly."

          Dustin took a deep breath. In a short while, he’d have the potato sack stretched back over his face with water gushing over him with one sole intention. To make him feel as if he was drowning.

          "That was exactly the same question I was asking as your dipshit gang of half-deads pulled up in the van and..."

          Water gushed. His eyes closed and he slowly exhaled and pushed any drops of water from inside his mouth. Dustin was well aware he could resist as much as he wanted. As long as Sanders thought he had the location (he did) then he’d remain alive. Maybe a little battered by the time he escaped or was found, but he was a lone wolf, and he'd been through worse. He thought back to when Declan came across him, he'd been knocking at heaven’s door for quite a while. A few bowls of soup and he was right as rain, so a bit of water wasn't going to hurt him.

          The water stopped flowing.

          Dustin heard the all-too-familiar clink. He'd heard that clink before. Billiard balls.

          Now, this is going to hurt.

          Dustin had endured this situation before, but from the other side. He’d dished some severe carnage out when he’d traveled around the country looking for that place to call home. Scamming pool players for the odd twenty, here and there. If in doubt, a couple of pool balls (or any other heavyish thing that would fit in a sock) and whirl that fucker around your head as if your life depended on it. On a couple of occasions, Dustin did the exact same thing. Two balls in his pocket and a trip to the bathroom. Off with one boot and drop the balls in the sock (the one without the hole in the toe). Casually return to the bar where the couple of rednecks he'd scammed called on a few of their friends (or relatives). Tiny, who was usually (more often than not) about six feet tall, and somewhat portly in stature. Hank and Marvin were other common ones among other inbreeds that they all shared between them. Keeping it in the family had a much tighter meaning in those parts of the country.

          The fights all started (and ended) the same. One of the guys probably watched too many movies and thought a cue would snap as easy as it was supposed to. After a whack or two on the edge of the pool table, he'd step forward screaming “cocksucker” or some other profanity, and then start asking for his money back. It wasn't very often the end of the pool cue ever made its way into contact with Dustin. It was surprising just how far a sock could stretch when you unleashed it from your pocket and twirled it a couple of times before planting it into the side of a reprobates head.

          Dustin had been there and done it on more than one occasion. He knew that it was going to hurt as all the guys he'd decked with his trusty sock and pool balls groaned very loudly after the hits. That's if they were in a fit state to moan. Actually, most ended up chewing crap off the bar floor. A fit state was never in question, they weren't.

          As the first arm rushed toward him, he smelled a familiar scent. It was one of the two pieces of fabric they'd snatched.

          Is that T...?

          The first balls hit him flat in the stomach. It came much sharper than he’d expected. He tensed himself, ready for the next one.

          It hit him again and knocked the wind from his sails.

          "Have you got anything to say?" Sanders asked, between blows.

          Between coughing up spittles of blood that didn't spittle, he tilted his head.

          "Yeah!" he replied, with a choke and a laugh. "Hi, Tanya! How's he treating you?"

Kelvin and Maria changed back to their human form as they rounded the corner at the rear of the club. Kelvin saw that the girls who smoked were chattering a little wilder than usual. The gaggle of geese sound flowed up the street, and he saw that something was amiss.

"Caron's upstairs if you want her," said one girl, who was partially dressed in a seductive Uncle Sam uniform. Kelvin pictured her in the club, pointing at all the johns who waved fat wedges of cash in front of her. I want you, she'd more-than-likely mouth the words as she looked at her john of choice.

They made their way up the back entrance to the rooftop. Caron sat in a puddle of tears. A gibbering wreck as Kelita held her close, comforting her. She turned when she heard the door open. With a half-hearted (forced) smile, she greeted Kelvin and Maria.

"What happened?" Kelvin asked as he sat on the other side of his Aunt.

Caron looked up and wiped her damp eyes on the sleeve of the New Orleans Saints sweatshirt sleeve. It wasn't the first or second time she'd done this in the last hour, the sleeve was bordering on becoming soaked.

She throttled back her urge to vomit and explained. "We were literally a block away from the shaman. We'd got a clean pass from the D Block gang and were halfway being cleared by three girls of the Dixie Mafia. Dustin’s hand was in his pocket, ready to pull out my gris-gris, and the van sped around the corner. It stopped, and they bundled him into the side door, and then sped off."

Kelvin stood and paced. He cursed a few times under his breath and a few times that everyone could hear. "Not Dustin, NO, they can't!"

He slammed his fist into the wall of the outside bathroom. A large crack appeared. He paced around and then walked back to the area where they sat.

"We've got to find him."

Caron looked at him blankly. It was easier said than done. How could you find someone just like that?

"How, where, and what do we do to get him back?"

Maria interrupted. She'd known Dustin much longer than anyone, she knew how he'd handle the situation. An ex-forces guy wouldn't take it lying down, and she knew Dustin wouldn't give up the location or any information at the snap of a finger, even if it were his.

"I've done it before, and I’ll do it again if it means saving the old man. This time, I’ll do it with the right backup and my eyes wide open."

Maria cast a glance at Kelvin. She knew he'd grown close to Dustin (the old man as he liked to call him) and also understood that he'd do anything to find him. Even if he wasn’t much more than a kid, one who was a little wild in his approach. Kelvin owned an intense instinct of pack preservation.

"You mean..." Kelvin nodded with a glint in his eye. Maybe it was excitement or anger, or just the wanting to save his dear old friend. "I'm gonna use myself as bait again."

Caron stared in disbelief. Maria looked on but without disbelief. She was more concerned how they could protect him. Last time, she and Dustin had been hoodwinked by Sanders and the vlad who'd carried Kelvin up to the roof.

"It’s too dangerous," Caron commented.

"I know, and that’s why it’ll work," he replied. "This time we're gonna do it slightly differently. I only want one person to be watching my back."

"Insanity," Caron remarked.

"Not really, and no offense Maria, but the person watching my back is as good as me watching my own back. You know, that lightning response —do or die, so to speak."

Caron sat puzzled. "Who’s that? You don't have anyone."

"You're wrong. He’s got me."

Caron’s head snapped in Kelita's direction. "No way! That’s out of the question. You know if they grab her all this has been for nothing. If they still think you’re the hybrid, we all have the advantage (and time), but if they find out Kelita’s the pureblood, it's sayonara motherfuckers."

"I know that. But we really don't have a choice," he replied. "Now all we need is something that’ll coax them out to grab me. We already know the location isn't enough, and that they’re hoping to glean from Dustin after a bit of torturing.”

Caron thought for a moment. "Dustin kept mentioning how the vlads always had a heads up on what you’ve been doing. Going to the Dirty D being the latest example." She sniffled as the thought of Dustin's hooded body being bundled into the van, and it fleetingly haunted her.

"Or someone’s watching?" Maria said. "You mentioned your gris-gris. That isn't enough though, is it?"

Caron shook her head and explained that was only good for safe passage through the Dirty D. It was proof she'd paid a visit to the shaman before. They needed the...

"The key," Maria said. "Dustin has hidden it."

Kelvin heaved a giant sigh. "We have to find it and let everyone know we have it. At least then, we'll know the vlads are gonna come looking for me."

Maria called Gabriel using her cell phone, and gave him instructions on what he needed to look for. Gabriel said he'd seen the key and would search for it and bring it to the club once he’d found it. Gabriel also made the point to say he would mention what he was doing, and that Kelvin needed the key. He also mentioned he needed to speak to Maria about something else when he got there. Maria hung up the phone and turned back to Kelvin and Kelita who now sat, going over their plan. Maria knew now, that once all this had been put into place, and if the vlads latched onto Kelvin, that time was of the essence. They had to be quick to find Dustin and free him from the clutches of Sanders, and then get Gabriel to the shaman in the Dirty D. It wasn't so much a race against time, it was a race against the devil. The devil, as they knew him.

Maria sat back with Caron who asked if there was anything she could do. Maria said she wasn't sure. It all depended on the next few hours. Night had come, so they were all at the mercy of anyone who could help, be it the gods, the spirits, or whoever wanted to help stand in the way of Sanders and his quest to create a new super race of daywalkers.

Caron chuckled. "You know, it sounds like we’re all doomed. We're being forced into a funnel, a big way in, but only one way out."

Kelvin finished laying out his plan with Kelita. It wasn't much of an idea. He'd get the key from Gabriel and place himself in a wide open area. Walking toward the Dirty D, being the most obvious location. Kelita would just have to do what she did best. Hang back and tail him, and when he was in trouble, kick the motherfucking vlads asses, as only a true hybrid could do. Not much of a plan, but it would work. Kelvin had his fingers crossed that Dustin was going to be in a fit state. His recovery time wasn't as fast as it used to be, and any severe beating could slow them down. Kelvin had another thought which he wasn't sure anyone else pondered over, or even considered.

He stopped everyone from talking because he wanted to say it only once. They sat and listened.

"Right! We know where the shaman is, correct?" he said first. Everyone nodded. "We have the key, and with a bit of luck, we'll be able to find Dustin and get Gabriel to the shaman and start the process of getting his wolf back. After all, this’s what we’re doing all this for, apart from stopping this Sanders dude from taking over and threatening any wolf races (and humans)."

"Yeah! So what's your point?" Maria asked.

Kelvin sucked in air from the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, and then he rested on his knees. A bolt of white and red lightning struck a tall building a couple of blocks away. It signaled that a storm (a real shit storm) was coming. Kelvin turned back to face everyone as the light faded and a colossal bellow of thunder rumbled overhead. One that shook the foundations of the club.

"Has anyone considered the fact that this shaman might not be able to help Gabriel?"

“We all live for something, don’t ever surrender or ever back down, die for nothing, apart from peace.”