The Alpha's Gamble - Chapter 29: Chapter 29

MADELINE
To my surprise and deep displeasure, Logan stopped the car in the human town, outside a crowded bar.
Not a club, no. There was no pretty sign or big bouncer outside checking ID. No people standing in line dressed in their cutest, most reveling dresses swaying on their feet from an early buzz waiting to get inside and dance, and probably find a mate, which I’ve noticed is common at the human parties.
We stopped on a dirt-covered road outside a rundown shack where polished bikes stood lined up against the cement blocks separating the parking and the…bar? I wasn’t even sure what to call it, but shaggy and rough might be the closest thing.
Two large men, with their bellies fighting against their leather vests, stepped outside with a beer in hand. One scratched his thickly bristled beard that covered his jaw and his lips, all the way up with a mustache where the hairs were befriending his nose hairs- it was vigorous how he scratched the flea-infested nest on his face. The other one with his bald head and motorcycle glasses hanging around his neck pulled down his zipper and fixed himself in the corner of the lot, pulling out his dick for a piss while chatting to his friend.
“Uhm, Logan?” I said, and just then a loud shatter came from inside the bar, and I saw a large fist flying through the air and someone falling back into a table. The place was packed.
“Yeah?”
“Why the fuck are we here?”
A deep chuckle filled the car and vibrated against the windows as he undid his seatbelt.
“The guy who owns it is an old friend. Thought we’d pay him a visit,”
“And do what?” I asked.
“Last time I saw him, he took something of mine and I want it back. It’s in his office in the back,”
Pfft, easy, it’s a quick in and out. They were humans, so one shove would have them all parting like the Red Sea for us to walk through.
“Okay,” I said with ease and stepped out of the car. Nate walked ahead of us and Logan slowed to match my speed. He leaned down, his eyes narrowed on the club and a smirk grew on his face.
“By the way, the owner is a werewolf, so don’t do anything dumb,” I stopped in my tracks but his hand on my lower back ushered me forward, and the two men turned and watched us- they lowered their beers and slowly followed behind us to the door.
Well, fuck me. With the red dirt shifting under our feet and the sound of the two pairs of feet behind us, I kept throwing glances through the window to see what we were up against, while also relying on my senses to keep track of the men behind us. I wasn’t sure if Logan paid attention to any of that- he was strutting carelessly with that dumb grin on his face and his shoulders moving like he owned the place and Nate was already by the door, holding it open for us when we walked up.
I was tugged into Logan’s side and his fingers rested on my waist.
“Straight to the back,” he ordered with a smolder.
Why was he protecting me? All of these people were human; even if I hadn’t slept for a week and hadn't had a proper meal in days I could still take every single person in here.
We didn’t make it very far before a big man with curly hair hanging down his shoulders blocked our way. A rifle rested on his left shoulder and he gestured over the three of us with a twitching eye and plant-killing breath that I felt from one meter away.
“Why you here?” his thick Russian accent was dark and grave and it didn’t help that he looked like Hagrid from Harry Potter but with a meaner face.
I mean sure, we could still take him but the less drama we caused, the better.
“We're here to see Volokov,”
Great, more Russians.
Wait…a Russian werewolf?
I forced my expression to remain unbothered but everything in me started screaming, the voices in my head were laughing- screeching- and clawing at my sanity and soon they were so loud that I couldn’t hear anything on the man’s moving lips.
Logan knew a Russian werewolf, there was only one Russian pack in the states.
And everyone, including us, stayed as far away from their fucking radar as possible.
I looked down at the man’s feet to collect myself and cussed out the voices, begging my mind to shut up for a moment.
Begging for the last strings of my sanity to stick together because if one more string snapped I was done for. And now was not the time nor the place for me to lose my footing.
“He’s expecting us,” Nate said, taking another step. That was a confidence I hadn’t seen before, I’m pretty sure he was faking it but even so, he was doing a damn good job.
The man gave us a one-over and turned his weight on his poor feet, wobbling down the bar to the back of the house. Three loud knocks banged on the door and I took in the size of his hand.
What were they feeding these men in Russia?
The door opened to show a scrawny-looking younger man, with a cap tilting on his head and arms that looked like boiled spaghetti. Finally, a normal twig, my confidence rose a bit.
When he stepped away I was met with the vision that would haunt my nightmares.
Raising from behind the desk at least 6’9 with arms bigger than both of Logan’s combined and a trimmed beard that highlighted his sharp jaw, bushy brows that framed his grey eyes and tattoos covering every inch of his muscular bare chest was Volokov. The werewolf I was previously so sure we could handle. The one who made everyone back at the Obsidian pack look like gnarly frightened rats. The one who, with a kick of his giant foot, could wipe out this whole bar, us included. And there goes my faith and the silver of confidence that had warmed me for five seconds.