Page 39 of The Renegade Mate

She nodded. “Yeah, he made me feel useful. I wasn’t a traitor to my Pack; I was protecting them. Derek saw that.”

I glanced at Shya, her profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. There was a certain fierceness in her eyes, a kind of strength that came from overcoming hardships. There was a lot more to her than just being a Pack princess, and I had the feeling Mason would be in for one hell of a ride if he ever decided to make a move.

Chapter twenty-three

Mai

The scene in front of me was straight out of a rugged urban tale—a biker repair workshop nestled in the heart of bustling Haxton. Packed between an old hardware store and a graffiti-adorned brick building, it was a world of its own. Worn-out motorcycles and greasy parts cluttered the limited yard, while men marked by ink were either lost in mechanical work or passing time. They were all human, but the glint of metal—guns, knives, brass knuckles—made it clear that we were in a den of wolves, albeit of a different breed. I knew if it came to it, it would be tough going trying to fight our way out of this.

Ryan parked our car amidst the buzz of power tools and the metallic symphony of hammers and wrenches. The air was heavy with the smell of oil, gasoline, and heated metal. The workshop’s noises dimmed as we stepped out, replaced by an unnerving silence as every eye turned our way. Ryan moved to my side and placed a warm hand on my back. He was making a statement to everyone here, and my wolf sighed in contentment.

A man emerged from the crowd—a vision of raw strength and easy charisma. He had broad shoulders that rippled with muscularity, capped by a head of thick, tousled chestnut hair. Blue eyes, electric under the workshop lights, appraised us with measured curiosity. His biceps, where a snake tattoo coiled in a captivating dance, bulged as he crossed his arms. He was wearing a fitted black T-shirt that outlined his powerful torso, and a leather wristband around a strong wrist. This had to be Ronnie—even though he was young for a gang leader.

“Shya,” he greeted, his voice gravelly but not unkind. He barely glanced at the rest of us, his eyes only for her.

Mason was on alert. Only those who knew him best would see it, but while his body was casual, underneath his relaxed posture, I knew he was coiled and ready.

“Ronnie. Good to see you,” Shya replied, walking forward and shaking his hand. “These are my associates.” She introduced us one by one, Ronnie giving us all a curt nod.

“Come on,” Ronnie said, “we can talk in the office.”

He led us through the workshop. Men stepped aside, their hard gazes watching us.

Ronnie’s office was tidy, almost clinical, with clean countertops and a polished oak desk. A large window overlooked the workshop, giving a clear view of everything outside. There were no biker gang posters or naked-women decorations. Instead, it was clean, sleek, and modern with framed pictures of motorcycles, a corkboard neatly pinned with maps and notes, and a single black-and-white photograph of a teenage Ronnie with a beautiful woman and two young kids. It was the kind of office that reflected a man who valued order amidst chaos.

Ronnie sat down in the chair behind the desk and leaned back. “So, what brings you all the way out to Haxton?”

“Information,” Shya replied. “Mai is Jem’s sister.”

“I know who she is,” Ronnie said, never taking his eyes off of Shya.

“She and Ryan are going to challenge Brock and Hayley for the Three Rivers Pack. We’ve heard that Tristan has been seen with them. We need to know what they’re planning.”

Ronnie let out a low whistle. “That’s a big ask.”

“I’m aware,” she replied. “But it’s one I’m willing to pay for.”

Ronnie looked her over. “A favor,” he said finally. “To be collected at a later date.”

Mason bristled beside her. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

She raised a hand. “I’ve done it before, Mason. And I’ll do it again. Okay, Ronnie, terms. Nothing sexual. Nothing that requires me to remove my clothing. Nothing that will result in my death or serious injury. Nothing that puts the safety of my Pack or family at risk. Acceptable?”

Ronnie grinned. “Deal.” Then his attention shifted to Ryan and me. “And you two, are you also willing to owe me a favor?” His voice was heavy with implication, the question hanging in the air like a loaded gun.

Ryan flashed his teeth at Ronnie. But we were in uncharted territory. We needed this information, and it was a price we had to pay.

“Same terms,” I said, my voice firm. Ryan’s jaw clenched. He knew I was right, but he didn’t like it.

I felt uneasy agreeing to this deal, but the risk was necessary. We had to protect our Pack, avenge Jem’s death, and challenge Brock and Hayley. Nothing else mattered right now.

“Alrighty, then,” said Ronnie, and he leaned forward. “Brock and Hayley are sitting tight right now. They know you’re in Bridgetown. They can’t personally attack yet, not without fucking up their plans with Tristan. But we’re hearing whispers they’ve contracted out your removal. I don’t know who, but someone outside the Pack is supposed to be on their way. If we find out who, I’ll let you know. As for your boy Tristan, he’s been cozying up to Brock and Hayley, just as you suspected,” he continued, his gaze fixed on Shya. “They’ve got people on the inside of the Bridgetown Pack.”

My eyes darted to Shya. It couldn’t be easy knowing there were still traitors in her Pack.

“They’re keeping a close eye on Michael and Camille. From what I hear, Tristan is planning to attack them during the trip to your regional Pack Meet in two days.”

“You sure?” Shya asked, her voice strangled.

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