Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
He pushed the door open slowly, waiting for a creak. It was well oiled, though, and opened silently. Ryder turned back to the group of people behind him. There had been no shortage of volunteers for this mission, even though Ryder knew that what they were going to do would not sit well with him, ever.
They'd been given no choice though. A person could be pushed only so much before they grew claws and fangs and tore out the throat of the man doing the pushing.
He entered the dark home along with Roscoe, Thorne, Zeke, Julian, and Garth.
In fact, now that they were all crowded in the small, dark living room, Ryder thought perhaps they'd brought too many people. The only person who deserved this ounce of revenge who wasn't here was Chuey, and Ryder would have never allowed that, even if his boy asked sweetly.
Garth shut and locked the front door as the rest of them circled around an old man sleeping in a recliner. He must have dozed off to the television, a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table next to him.
In sleep, Marcos didn't look evil. He didn't look like the type of man who would force a pregnant man to choose between certain death and maybe death. He didn't even look like the type of guy who would shoot a soon-to-be father. He was all those things. He'd proven himself to be too dangerous to not just Ryder's hybrids, but to the town of Noel as well.
"Wake up," Ryder said sharply. When Marcos didn't immediately stir, he kicked the chair, wondering how much of that whiskey the old man had drank that night alone.
His eyes did eventually open, though, and Ryder knew the moment he realized who was in his home. Marcos gasped, sitting upright. "What the fuck? You're dead," he said.
"Surprise," Ryder said with a bitter smile. "We're harder to kill than you think."
"I'll know better for next time; shoot you twice. Did I get your little boyfriend too? That one didn't look hard to kill."
Ryder could allow Marcos his blustering only because he knew it was one of the last things he would ever say. "You brought this on yourself," Ryder said.
"Didn't like me leveling the playing field?" Marcos sneered.
The comment was so unexpected, it forced Ryder to pause. "What are you talking about?"
"My gloves, they fucked your boy real nice."
"I'm still alive too," Zeke snarled from the back.
"Don't matter, they're only the beginning."
"The beginning of what?"
"Of us humans fighting back. We're sick of it. We've been living with the whispers of freaks, men that are more beast than human, men who can turn into animals, dragons? What's fucking next, vampires? We aren't going to roll over and let you all run the world. Those gloves were just the beginning. Just wait and see what we come up with next."
Ryder dropped down to his haunches so that he could look into the old man's face. He found so much hate there. "You aren't coming up with anything, Marcos," Ryder said.
"Fuck that, I am. You can't stop me, none of you pussies can stop me."
Ryder had to give the man credit. Even when surrounded, he acted like he was the one with the upper hand.
"No, Marcos. You aren't coming up with anything ever again. We didn't want this. You made it happen. Remember that." Ryder felt bile rise up into his throat. Thorne, his vice-president, the man whose opinion meant more to him than most others, stood by his side in solidarity. He didn't like this moment either.
Ryder let his claws grow. He could make it fast. He could do that. He swiped his hand across Marcos's neck, and his claws were so sharp, he doubted Marcos even felt pain. He watched until the end, owing this miserable man at least that much.
"Boss, there are like, boxes of those gloves in this room. What do we do?"
"Burn it," Ryder said. "Burn it all down."
***
When Ryder reached home, he nearly didn't go inside. He'd already showered and changed at the bar, but he felt sullied by what had happened, a sinking feeling like they'd somehow made it all worse. He looked into his cabin. The curtains were shut but the light was on inside. It looked warm in there, comforting, like a home.
In the end, it was only the thought of his mate that brought his feet onto the deck and inside his home. He searched for Chuey, not finding him in the living room or bedroom. When he wasn't in the bathroom either, Ryder panicked until he heard a soft snore. He pushed the door to the nursery open and found Chuey, under the crib, fast asleep.
Ryder had to choose between joining his mate on the floor or possibly waking him as he brought him to the bed. In the end, thinking of how sore Chuey's neck would be the next morning made him gently reach under the crib to pull his sweet mate out.
Chuey woke up, his eyes finding Ryder's face. "It's done?" he asked grimly.
"It's done."
Chuey exhaled. Ryder understood the relief, but also the regret. "What time is it?"
"Nighttime, my boy, we still need to sleep."
"And then we get to pick up Carlos and bring him home?" Chuey asked, though he knew as well as Ryder. They visited Carlos nearly every day. Felix—Dr. Feller—had even allowed them to use one of his vacant apartments in the building his pack shared.
They had a calendar, and each day was marked with ways in which Carlos was growing stronger, or other milestones. Tomorrow's date had been circled with a red marker. It was the day they got to bring their son home. Tomorrow's events were partly why Marcos needed to be dealt with that night. No one wanted to bring the baby back when there was so much worry.
"Tomorrow, our family will be complete."
"Until our next child," Chuey reminded him, slipping into Ryder's arms.