Page 1 of Tossed into the Mob
ONE
TREYTON
“Night, Treyton.”
My colleague Clement waved as he strode toward the automatic doors holding a thermos of coffee. He was about to start his shift, and hospital coffee was crap. He was so full of energy I could almost see the sparks flying off him, while I could barely manage a grunt because I was so exhausted.
“Night.”
I trudged over the cold concrete and pulled my jacket tighter around me as I headed toward the parking garage. Behind me were the fluorescent lights of the hospital and ahead was more muted lighting along with shadowy spaces. If I were human and didn’t have a wolf security guard inside me, I’d have slung an alarm around my neck and gripped it in case someone jumped me.
My shift had run longer because I’d been attending the birth of twins. The alpha dad had panicked seeing his husband in so much pain, and that affected his laboring partner. They’d begged me to stay and not have another midwife attend them until their little ones were born.
I wasthatguy. The one who worked extra shifts and brought homemade cookies and pastries courtesy of my grandfather. The name Durand meant nothing to my co-workers, as the majority were humans and the few shifters who worked here weren’t associated with crime families.
But the long hours were taking their toll. I used to be full of life with a bounce in my step, and now I’d glance at the clock, counting the hours till my shift ended. I’d been contemplating starting a small business catering to pregnant omegas who couldn’t afford or couldn’t get to hospital checkups. For now it was just an idea.
I had the next couple of days off, so I’d sleep for twenty-four hours before joining the family at dinner Sunday night. Grandpa would cook as usual, while my cousins’ kids would be caterwauling and climbing the walls. My grandfather longed to have great-grandkids of his own, but I was concentrating on my career, and my brother Madden hadn’t been working for our cousin Flint, the pack Alpha, for long and had no intention to mate.
Being head of La Luna Noir was a burden Flint bore with the help of his brothers, Ranger and Hunter, the Betas. Grandpa was their great-uncle, and while he had been an integral part of the organization for decades, he now had his own food truck.
I needed to get home, shower, and sleep. I’d probably collapse on the couch while eating the food Grandpa had delivered yesterday. He was the best cook in the family and was now sharing a home with Flint’s dad, Rudy.He hinted he’d like me to live at his house which was sitting empty, but it was too far out of town.
My wolf didn’t ask to shift, though he was tired of what he called the hospital odor. He longed to be in his fur, but I’d been doing this job long enough for him to understand I needed rest.
Grandpa had put two meals in my fridge and the rest in the freezer and tut-tutted at my cramped apartment. But I needed to be close to work, and while I could have found a roommate and rented a bigger place, because of my family’s reputation and business activities, I preferred to live alone.
I straddled the space between the human, non-criminal universe and a shifter crime family, preferring to bring new life into the world rather than handle a gun and deal with the messy mafia environment.
My footsteps echoed on the parking garage floor as I strolled to my small car. While my extended family mostly traveled in expensive vehicles with bulletproof glass, I was paying off my secondhand one that had a dent in the front bumper. There were few vehicles on this level late at night, and I fished the keys from my pocket as I approached the bay where I always parked. I was a creature of habit and got annoyed if someone else put their car inmyspace.
My beast’s hearing was more acute than mine, and he warned me of a shuffling to the right of us, behind another car.
They’re human, maybe a patient because their breathing is ragged.
I picked up the movement and glanced to the side, not worried about a human staff member or even someone up to no good. That was Grandpa’s old-fashioned expression. “They’re up to no good,” he’d say about some kid lurking around the food truck, while ignoring the irony of the family business and their bodycount.
I shivered, not wanting to think of the people they’d killed, but as Grandpa said, those who the family had buried had been “up to no good.”
A shadow fell over the floor, and I tightened my grip on the keys. It was instinct, the human kind, though my wolf told me not to worry. If he took his fur and sprouted a tail, any humanhellbent on stealing from me would freeze, scream, and run. Or they’d faint and I’d have to raise their legs and pretend the partial shift never happened.
A man wearing a dark hoodie stepped out behind a column. No big deal except he had sunken eyes and his hand was in his pocket. While I wasn’t involved with the family business, I knew enough to understand he was clutching a gun. Oh gods no. I’d done everything to keep away from La Luna Noir, and now I was about to die from a bullet to my chest. Was there an adjective for an overwhelming amount of irony?
The human’s body was shaking, and the hand gripping the weapon trembled.
“D-Don't m-move." His wavering voice signaled my beast could easily overpower him. “We need to go somewhere and talk.”
Let me at him. I’ll have him on the floor begging for his life in two seconds.
But I told my wolf to wait because this guy’s face, even in the weak overhead lighting, was pale, and sweat beaded his browline. And he hadn’t demanded money or that I steal drugs from the hospital pharmacy.
My beast and I caught the scent of blood as it dribbled over his right wrist and dripped onto the floor. The keys clinked as they dangled from my fingers, while I studied the dark stain under his arm.
I was no longer Treyton, the guy some foolish human was trying to waylay, but the medical professional who abided by the oath “do no harm.” This human needed medical attention, and it didn't matter if he was part of a street gang or he’d double-crossed someone and his aim was to steal my vehicle, it was my duty to help him.
“It’s okay.” I didn’t raise my voice because his hand was still wrapped round the gun. I was used to calming first-time fathersin the delivery room and hoped to reduce the tension here by using the same tone."Whatever you need, we can talk about it."
“Quiet.”
