Page 151 of Daisy
"That's our first mission?" Hawk asks, raising an eyebrow.
"That's our first mission." I look around at them. These incredible men who chose me, who let me choose them. "We save him. Then we save everyone else."
Through the bond, I feel their fierce agreement. Their love. Their absolute commitment to this path we're choosing together.
We're not just a pack anymore. We're a revolution.
And it starts now.
Chapter 39
Cassian
One year later
The warehouse reeks of sweat and blood and desperation.
Exactly like I remember.
Underground fights haven't changed much in the year since I've been gone. Same abandoned building. Concrete floors still stained with years of violence. Ring still marked out with rope and posts. Illegal betting in dark corners. Same broken men looking for a way to feel powerful, even if it's just for a few minutes.
Different now, though. Not here to bleed for money.
I'm here to recruit.
"Cassian."
The voice comes from behind me. Rough with cigarettes and cheap whiskey. I know that voice.
Fuck.
I turn slowly. Mack. The promoter from when I used to fight. Greasy hair, whiskey breath, always trying to short-change fighters. We've got history. Most of it involving me threatening him when he tried to stiff me on payments.
"Mack."
I don't shake his hand. Never did.
"Still running this dump?"
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Still making money off desperate men." His eyes narrow, studying me. "Though I heard you found something better. That librarian beta, wasn't it?"
My jaw tightens. Can't afford to lose control here. Too much depends on this.
"Need to talk to your fighters," I say instead. "The ones with nothing left."
"What kind of talk?"
"The kind that matters."
Around us, the crowd roars. Two beta-born alphas tear into each other in the ring. Blood flies onto the dirt floor. Money changes hands. These men fight because the system threw them away like garbage.
Tonight, I'm hoping to give them a reason to fight back.
"Room upstairs," Mack says after a long moment. "But if you're selling dreams, Cass, you can fuck right off. These men bleed real blood."
"No dreams," I promise. "Just truth."
The room upstairsis cramped and smoky. Maybe twenty fighters in various states of damage. Split lips. Bruised knuckles. Dead eyes from too many hits.
