Page 2 of Taken By the Pack

The sun’s not up yet, but the horizon glows faintly with a bruise of purple and orange. I grip the wheel, steering toward the fishing grounds, the familiar rhythm of the waves both comforting and maddening.

This is my life.

Another day of fishing. Another day of silence. Another day waiting for the sea to decide if today’s the day it takes me, too.

* * *

The nets areheavy this morning. Good haul so far—bass, halibut, even a couple of lobsters tangled in the mess. My gloves are soaked, and the saltwater stings my knuckles where the fabric’s frayed.

I pull up another net, my shoulders burning. The sound of water sloshing and the occasional flop of a fish keep me company.

The engine hums low, steady like the rhythm of the tide. I glance out across the sea, my gaze snagging on that part of the water.

It’s darker there, almost like it’s warning me to stay the hell away. I don’t need the reminder.

That’s where Lena went under.

A sharp ache twists in my gut. It should’ve been me. But she… She had this way of stepping in, making decisions for me, always too damn stubborn for her own good. And now she’s gone.

I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake the memory. It’s not like the sea cares about who it takes. Fairness doesn’t factor in.

The radio crackles when I flip it on, static filling the air. I twist the dial until a song breaks through, some old classic rock track I’ve heard a thousand times. It’s enough to drown out the quiet, at least.

By the time the sun has climbed higher in the sky, the storm starts showing itself on the horizon. Dark clouds roll in slow and steady, but ominous like they’re deciding how much trouble to cause.

I pull in the last net, already weighing my options.

“Not worth it,” I mutter to myself. Staying out here during a storm’s a crapshoot, and while I wouldn’t mind if the sea swallowed me whole, the town depends on the business now.

I’ve got contracts to fill, and Jake’s stall isn’t going to restock itself.

I steerThe Heleneback toward shore, the waves growing choppier with every passing minute. The docks come into view, and I can see a couple of boats already tied up, their owners probably making the same call I did.

Once I’m docked, I work quickly. The fish go into ice containers, packed tight so they’ll stay fresh. The lobsters get their own little compartment.

When I’m done, I load everything into my truck, parked a few steps away.

By the time I make it to Jake’s stall, the sky’s a bruised gray and the wind’s picking up. Jake’s sitting on his usual stool, a book in hand. The cover has some ridiculous drawing of a mermaid on it, all shiny scales and flowing hair. He snaps it shut the second he sees me.

“Rowan,” he says, looking up with a grin. “You’re early.”

“Storm’s coming,” I grunt, setting the first container on the counter.

Jake stands and brushes off his jeans. “Yeah, figured as much. You don’t usually let the weather chase you off, though.”

“Didn’t have a choice today,” I reply, my tone flat.

He nods, already pulling the lid off the first container. The smell of fish hits the air immediately.

“Damn, good haul,” he says, inspecting the catch. “Rhys was here the other day asking for something specific. Wish you’d snagged some red snapper. He’s got this new recipe he’s been raving about.”

“Uh-huh.” I shake my head. I know the guy. Alpha, owns that fancy restaurant uptown.

Good food, sure, but not my kind of scene. Too many people, too much noise.

Jake chuckles. “Not saying much today, are you?”

I give him a look, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I know better than to expect a conversation.”

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