Page 6 of Wolf's Whisper

TANK: Will do. He's been talking big, but nothing solid yet. Stay sharp.

I pocket my phone, a growl rumbling deep within me. The thought of Janelle’s ex causing more terror is more than enough to fuel my resolve. No way am I going to let anything happen to Janelle or those kids on my watch.

Turning a corner, I pause, listening to the subtle sounds of the night — a distant car horn, a dog barking far off. It’s the calm before the storm, and every fiber of my being was ready for whatever is coming.

"Everything okay?" Hatchet's voice breaks through the quiet as he approaches from his position at the back of the house.

"Just got an update from Tank," I murmur, keeping my voice low. "Her ex is still making noises about some nonsense. We need to stay alert."

Hatchet’s face setting into a grim line that mirrors my thoughts. "Understood. We'll tighten up the perimeter even more. Can't be too careful with that scumbag lurking around."

I take a moment to scan the area again, feeling Hatchet's steadfast presence beside me as an unspoken reassurance. "I appreciate it," I say, clapping him on the shoulder before walking the perimeter again.

Chapter Six

Wolf

The rest of the night passes in a tense vigil. Every slight noise seems to amplify in the darkness, but nothing unusualoccurs afterward. As dawn begins to break, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, I finally allow myself a moment to relax against the cool metal of my bike.

Janelle texts me early in the morning, and her message is a balm to the night's stress.

JANELLE: Morning Wolf. The kids are up, and everything seems quiet. Thanks again for keeping us safe.

ME Morning, Janelle. Glad to hear all is calm. We'll be around if you need anything.

I pocket my phone and glance at Hatchet, who is just packing his gear. The night is exhausting, and the constant tension wears you down even though it ends without incident.

“Coffee?” I suggest, already knowing the answer. I think Hatchet nod, too tired to muster more than a grunt. We mount our bikes and head toward the local diner that serves as an unofficial checkpoint for the Wild Jester's MC whenever we are on this side of town.

The sun is up when we pull into the diner’s parking lot, casting long shadows on the pavement. The warm glow of the morning sun does little to ease the chill from the night’s vigil though.

Inside, we settle into a booth by the window. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with no-nonsense air about her immediately comes over with a pot of coffee. "Morning, Wolf, Hatchet," she greets us with a nod. "The usual?"

"Yeah, thanks, Deb," I reply, smiling at her familiarly.

She pours the dark brew into our mugs and leaves without further conversation. Silence settles between Hatchet and me aswe sip the hot coffee, letting the caffeine slowly chase away the remnants of fatigue.

After a few moments, Hatchet clears his throat. "We should probably update Battle Axe about the ex’s mouthing off," he says, referring to our MC president.

I nod in agreement. "I’ll handle it. He must know it might be more than idle threats this time."

The rest of breakfast passes in comfortable silence, with only the occasional clatter of dishes and murmurs from other early risers filling the space. I recheck my phone for any new updates or messages as we finish. None have come through, which was both a relief and a nerve-racking silence. Standing up, I stretch, feeling the wear of the night's vigil easing somewhat.

"Let's bounce," Hatchet says, tossing back the last of his coffee and sliding out of the booth. We toss a few bills on the table for Deb and head out, the bell over the door jangling loudly in the quiet morning air.

As we walk to our bikes, I can’t help but keep an eye on my surroundings, always alert for any sign of trouble. The sun is higher now, casting golden rays on the chrome of our bikes, making them glint menacingly.

We mount up, engines roaring to life beneath us. As we pull out of the parking lot, I can’t shake off the feeling Janelle’s ex is planning something big. My gut is rarely wrong.

As we ride back toward Janelle’s place, I decide to swing by her house again before I head home. I just want to reassure myself the perimeter is still secure and there are no signs of her ex lurking around.

As we near her house, I notice the usual quiet of the neighborhood was intact. Children playing in their yards, and neighbors went about their morning routines, none the wiser to the undercurrent of tension that had kept me awake all night. Ipull up to the curb across from Janelle’s place, my eyes scanning for anything out of place.

Everything seems normal, but my instincts tell me not to let down my guard. I cut the engine and sit there for a moment, watching. That’s when I saw a flicker of movement from the side of the house that didn’t match the rhythm of innocent play or mundane chores.

I nudge Hatchet and nod toward the spot. Without a word, we both dismount quietly, our boots hitting the pavement softly as we move closer to investigate. As we round the corner, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

There is a man crouching near one of the windows, and he isn’t anyone from the club. Hatchet moves faster than I’ve seen in a while, his large frame surprisingly swift as he closes the distance between him and the stranger. The man by the window freezes, his eyes widening as Hatchet's shadow falls over him.

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