Page 6 of Heroes & Hitmen
My neck is stiff from the drive, a dull ache radiating down into my shoulders. I roll them out, stretching my limbs until some of the tension fades from my muscles. Shifter healing’s good for that. My ability to rapidly recover should alleviate any residual sorenesssoon enough, and I pounded so many energy drinks on the drive here that I’m currently wide awake, ready to check out the infamous Chicago nightlife.
Reaching back into the cab of my truck, I grab my duffel bag off the passenger seat and sling the strap over my shoulder, slamming the door shut behind me. The echo reverberates down the street as I start toward the red brick apartment building, a lone wolf in a concrete jungle.
It’s not natural for shifters to live like this, so far removed from the refuge of a forest, suppressing primal instinct to blend with the human population. I know the Chicago pack chose to settle here, but what I can’t figure out for the life of me iswhy. Most shifter packs keep to themselves, forming their own communities and living off the grid. It’s easier that way; gives us the freedom to be our true selves. Everything about this urban environment just feelswrong.
The apartment building has a single entry door, but when I reach out and yank the handle to pull it open, the damn thing doesn’t budge. I consider knocking, then belatedly realize there’s a keypad affixed beside it with a listing of apartments and last names. Punching the button for number three, I rake a hand through my hair as I wait, pulse skipping when a buzzer sounds and the door unlocks.
I quickly pull it open, stepping through into the dimly-lit lobby of the building and glancing around. There’s a staircase and an elevator across from me, but before I can even contemplate where to go, one of the doors on my left swings open and a tall, athletic guy greets me with an easy grin.
“You must be Ares,” Will says, his smile giving him away. Nash doesn’t smile much, but when he does, it’s identical to this guy’s.
“How’d you guess?” I chuckle as I pivot in his direction, matching his grin.
“The red hair.” He reaches up, carding his fingers through his own blonde waves in demonstration.
“Ahh.” I stride his way, giving him a fist-bump as he sidesteps to let me into his apartment.
Will’s place isn’t much– the walls are bare, the furniture is minimal– but it’s clean and has the unmistakable look of a bachelor pad. I take in the lone couch and TV as I move further inside, the coffee table piled with sports magazines and empty beer bottles.
“Appreciate the place to crash,” I say, glancing back toward Will as he closes the door and flips the deadbolt.
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” he quips, trailing after me into the main room. “So, when do you report?”
“First thing tomorrow,” I sigh, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. Will’s apartment is just a temporary stop-off on this journey I’ve been set upon. In the morning, I’ll be meeting the Alpha of the Chicago pack, getting my housing assignment, and learning exactly what they plan to throw at me once I’m officially on the books.
Will nods, stepping over to the couch and collapsing onto it, motioning for me to do the same. "You probably wanna head to bed early, then?"
I snort a laugh, dropping my duffel to the floor. “Fuck no. Know any good places around here to get a drink?”
His lips stretch into a grin. “Nash was right about you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Well, he told me you’d be down to go out, get drunk, and chase tail.”
“Then he was right about me, too,” Will remarks, leaning forward with a laugh and grabbing a half-empty beer off the coffee table. “There’s a place over on Archer Avenue. Pack-owned. Mostly shifters, though a few humans wander in.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, rubbing my palms together. “Should we head out now?”
His brow furrows. “Don’t you wanna shower or anything after that drive?”
“Fuck no,” I chuckle. “What I want is a drink in my hand and a she-wolf bouncing on my dick.”
Will barks a laugh, the sound echoing off the bare walls of the apartment. “Fair enough,” he says, pushing up from the couch and finishing off his beer, tossing the empty bottle into the overflowing trash can nearby.
I pull at the collar of my shirt, giving it the sniff test. “Maybe I’ll just change my clothes quick,” I mutter.
“Bathroom’s the first door on the left,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the hall.
I give him a nod in thanks, stooping to grab my bag off the floor.
I can already tell that Will and I are gonna get along just fine. And with any luck, he’ll be a decent wingman, too.
The bar Will takesme to is a total dive. It’s dark, crowded, and reeks of sweat and stale beer when we push through the door to enter, the loud thrum of music vibrating the chipped floor tiles underfoot. We thread our way through the swarm of people to get to the bar, where we flag down the server busy tossing drinks to the thirsty masses and order a couple beers. I slap a card down to start a tab when they’re delivered, snatching up a bottle and taking a swig.
“I’ll get the next round,” Will offers, tipping his beer toward me with an appreciative nod.
I shake my head, wiping my mouth off on the back of a hand. “Nah, drinks are on me tonight. It’s the least I can do since you’re giving me a place to stay.”
“You sure?” he asks, chuckling uncomfortably. “Drinking in the city isn’t cheap.”
