Page 4 of Rogue If You Want To
I half wondered if he was ever gonna retire and pass it down, or if he was just gonna watch us destroy each other piece by fuckingpiece. I needed a way out of this pack that allowed me to still be breathing and didn’t ruin my brother’s chance to get what he needed, which apparently was being Alpha.
Half of an idea started to form in my head just as the first whack came down. And then the second. And then the third. And then I lost all track of how many there were.
I woke up the next morning on my stomach, my wounds still raw; my father made sure of it with a special ointment from the “healer” that made us suffer, unable to shift for a full twenty-four hours.
I needed to get out of here.
Time was running out.
3
TORIN
It’d been three months since I left my childhood home. But I was far from settled. I accepted any unskilled job I could get, but I was drifting, like a plastic bag being blown about by the wind.
The heartache I experienced from missing Mom was ever present, but it dulled by the day. Not that I missed or thought about her less, but the pain eased, and I filled my head with happy memories.
Initially, my wolf was pleased about my new lifestyle because I chose to live and work in small towns, close to the forest. Any free time I had, I let him shift and figured if he was content, he wouldn’t take his fur in the midst of a bunch of humans. But now he was uncertain about where we were headed.
I’ll know it when I find it, I told him as I parked in front of a diner with a Help Wanted sign on the door. The paper was frayed around the edges, suggesting it was a permanent fixture on the door. I had no references from the two jobs I’d had since leaving home, but I’d present the one from the factory manager in my home town stating I was a hard worker, reliable, and willing to do overtime.
There was no particular reason I’d left those menial jobs other than I wasn’t prepared to settle in a place that was good enough. I was convinced I belonged somewhere, and I’d continue to upend my life until I found it.
Multiple scents whacked me in the face as I walked in. The human one was first, overpowering even the aroma of bacon grease. I didn’t expect the diner to be a haven for shifters and assumed I’d recognize shifter scent when I encountered it. Mr. Garrison was a wolf like me, and I’d never met any other kind. It wasn’t as though I could sidle up to someone and ask if they had fur or scales.
“Let me guess.” A woman behind the counter eyed me up and down. Her weary gaze told me nothing surprised her, though if I sprouted a tail, that might alter her world view. “Are you here about the job?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Growing up where I did, the townspeople liked to be called ma’am or sir.
“Can you work nights?”
“Absolutely. I can work whatever shift you need.”
“You look more like a server rather than working in the kitchen.”
Neither was my preference, but I told her I had experience front of house and the back. That was a fancy term, more suited to a hotel or high-end restaurant, but her eyes lit up.
“Kitchen. You start at five this afternoon. The pay is minimum wage plus any tips the servers want to share, but I warn you, it won’t be much.”
I wasn’t expecting any tips. As long as I earned enough to cover a room, groceries, and gas, it’d be okay.
She introduced herself as Maisie. The name suited her, as it sounded strong and capable.
"Torin." I shook her hand. "Thank you."
She ushered me into the kitchen so I’d know what I was getting into. I was prepared for the cramped conditions and outdated equipment. But it was better than the drive-through I’d worked where the customers complained and were often rude. I’d gotten used to leaning out, my arm extended, but the humans had a worse time of it than I did.
My time as a gardener had been cut short when I mowed over someone’s prized flowers and the homeowner had gotten in his car and chased me out of town.
If I could survive those jobs, this kitchen wouldn't faze me.
Maisie ran over my duties that included dishwashing—of course it did. There was a never-ending supply of filthy crockery, cutlery, and pots and pans in a diner. She pointed out she might need extra help on the grill during the busy periods.
She introduced me to Saxon, the other kitchen hand. He seems nice enough, and he’d grown up in town and had worked for Maisie since leaving school. His life imitated my former one, but he seemed content when I got to know him.
I’d been at Maisie’s for a few weeks before Saxon mentioned a group of people living together in the mountains outside of town. I didn’t pay much attention at first, thinking they were into wellness or maybe they were part of a commune. Neither of those were my thing, but he often interspersed his conversations with tidbits about them.
“My cousin was working up the mountain today at that Stoney River place I mentioned last week.”
