Back before Texarkana expanded toward the highway, the Coliseum used to be an old department store. Eugene wasn’t sure if it had been the original Sears in town, or maybe it had been JC Penney. Texarkana’s original downtown, like many small town’s original market areas, lost its momentum. Fortunately for the area, the locals were trying to bring it back to its old glory. Eugene was afraid they would start a boycott if they knew about their underground club.

  “You guys bought this place?” Bob asked Eugene as they made their way to the backdoor.

  “It was the obvious choice. After two failed attempts to turn it into a club, we figured third time was the charm,” Eugene told Bob as he fixed his collar, extremely proud of himself. “The place is packed every night.”

  “It probably helps that you are providing your clientele with tons of illegal drugs,” Bob told Eugene in a very neutral tone. Eugene couldn’t believe it. Bob wasn’t judging him, just pointing out the obvious.

  “We figured Famine shouldn’t be the only one making a profit out of his gifts,” Eugene told Bob as he approached a steel door. He knocked three times in a very specific pattern.

  “You don’t have a key?” Bob asked, concern etched across his forehead.

  “Of course I do, but club hours have started,” Eugene told Bob. When he realized Bob wasn’t following him, he continued. “We have massive security in place, so if I tried to open the door, I would get shot,” Eugene finished.

  “Isn’t that a little drastic?” Bob’s wide eyes darted every way they could. “Are we going to be searched?”

  “We are not, but anybody else that comes here would. We allow anyone in, but we also take a lot of precautions,” Eugene explained. He didn’t mention that the security was also there to make sure the cops didn’t bust in on them.

  After a few minutes, the doors cracked opened.

  “Boss, it took you long enough to get here,” a short man with a shot gun told Eugene.

  “Sorry, Roy. We were all the way at A&M,” Eugene said. “Roy, meet Big Bob. Big Bob, meet Roy.” Eugene decided to use Bob’s street name for the introductions because he knew Roy had connections everywhere and probably had heard of Big Bob.

  “Big Bob? The Big Bob that used to hang around Abuelitas?” Eugene was pleased when Roy didn’t disappoint.

  “I have never been referred to as ‘The Big Bob’ before, but yes, it’s me,” Bob told Roy as they shook hands with each other. “You can just call me Bob if you like.”

  “No way, Big Bob,” Roy told him. “You are a legend around these parts. I want people to know that I know the real Big Bob. But come in, hurry.” Roy stepped aside and ushered them inside the building.

  “Glad you’re a fan, but we need to get back to business,” Eugene told Roy, bringing him back to reality. “What is going on?” He moved down one of the side corridors to look inside the club.

  “Where do your customers come in?” Bob asked, his gaze taking in the empty hall.

  “The crowds get bigger and bigger each night. We have two underground entrances on opposite sides of the building. You actually go through a tunnel to get here. It adds to the mystique and the kids go crazy over it,” Roy answered, beaming with pride.

  Eugene appreciated his private entrance. He was not that excited to walk through another underground tunnel to get here. He wanted to take full advantage of the outside world whenever he was away from the lab.

  “That’s creative,” Bob told Roy. “Where are they?” Bob peered out a glass window Roy had taken them to. “Should I even ask if this is a one-way mirror?” Bob pointed at the glass window in front of him.

  “Of course, my man.” Roy smiled brightly. “It’s a mirror on the other side. We have a few across the place to monitor the crowd. You would be surprise what people do in front of a mirror in a club,” Roy finished, giving the mirror a mischievous look.

  “I probably don’t want to know,” Bob told him.

  “No, you really don’t,” Eugene confirmed.

  “Over there, back of the club, two o’clock.” Both Bob and Eugene looked in the direction Roy had given them.

  The table Roy had pointed at had four people. From his location, he couldn’t see their facial features. They were next to each other, but not talking or looking at each other. Eugene wasn’t even sure they were together.

  “Are you sure they are together?” Eugene asked Roy for confirmation.

  “I’ll put money on it. I never met four strangers that have the same dumbass tattoo on their necks,” Roy told them.

  “What kind of tattoo?” Eugene hadn’t seen any special markings on them.

  “You won’t believe it, but they have paw prints. Who gets a tattoo like that?” Roy asked him. “I have to admit they are fairly concealed, and unless you were taking full inventory of them, you probably wouldn’t notice. We almost missed them,” he explained.

  Eugene had hired Roy and his team for their top skills. They were responsible for tracking all movements in the club and watching for anything suspicious. That included any gang associations that decided to visit. Eugene appreciated their skills and their ability to keep up with everyone.

  “Boss, how would you like to handle this?” Roy asked Eugene.

  “Unfortunately, I need to ask our friends some questions. They have something of mine that I want back,” Eugene said, and he left it at that. He wasn’t going to confess to anyone else that they were missing Fourth. “We might as well get it over with.” He sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was go over there, but he would do anything for Fourth.

  Eugene made his way around the security door to the club. He waved at the team on duty and walked slowly toward the werewolves. Bob and Roy flanked him on both sides without seeming too menacing. The music was bumping and Eugene had the desire to start dancing. Although he had a feeling it wouldn’t have the same effect as it did in the Cave.

  He made it to the table after avoiding tons of drunk kids. “Good evening,” Eugene said to the group.

  “You!” yelled the female—the same female from the club.

  Eugene didn’t have time to add anything else to his statement. The female started shifting to wolf form and Eugene screamed. Before he could run away, she punched him in the face. Eugene went flying at least five feet in the air and landed on top of another group.

  “Fight,” somebody screamed, and with those words, the club exploded into violence.

  Eugene looked around the riotous club. He had no idea where to go or what to do, but if he didn’t do something, the rioting crowd would trample him to death. Except he was finding it quite difficult to breathe. In fact, he thought he might pass out at any minute, at least until he was dragged to his feet.

  “Bad place to take a nap, Eugene. Let’s get you out of here,” Bob tugged Eugene back to the safety of the security office.

  Bob was a trained soldier, which made it easy for him to clear a way through any crowd. When Bob let Eugene go, he followed behind him, keeping his head down. His face was already throbbing, and he was afraid his right eye had started to swell shut. Eugene couldn’t quite see how Bob had done it, but he wondered if people were being tossed out of their way.

  It didn’t take them longer than five minutes to get behind the safety of the glass, and once there, Eugene leaned against the wall and held his face. Bob didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he watched as security resolved the fight.

  After a few minutes, Bob said, “Eugene, those guys are good.” Admiration shone from his eyes.

  “They better be for the amount of money we paid them,” Eugene said softly.

  “Ouch.” Bob sucked in a breath as he saw Eugene’s face. “That’s going to leave a mark tomorrow.” He came closer, grabbing Eugene’s chin and moving his face around.

  “What are you looking for?” Eugene asked as Bob continued turning his face.

  “You got punched by a werewolf. I need to make sure you didn’t get scratched or anything,” Bob said.

  “Oh relax. It wouldn’t make a difference if I was,” Eugene told him. “I’m immune. Remember.”

  “I keep forgetting. That is one great gift to have,” Bob told Eugene. “You are still going to have a black eye. I’ll get you one of Eric’s shakes to help with the swelling.”

  Eugene must look really bad for Bob to be offering him a snake.

  “Tell me, how does Isis handle all this?” Eugene asked. Isis dealt with this kind of stuff on a daily basis, and it amazed him that she could still move the next day. He was already sore.

  “Training. Lots and lots of training. You should join us for practice,” Bob told Eugene. “You have to remember, Isis’s first couple of months were brutal. She got beat up at lot, and that kept happening until she got better. We can get you there.” Excitement gleamed from Bob’s eyes. He was way too enthusiastic about the idea of training Eugene.

  “I’ll think about it,” Eugene replied.

  Bob opened his mouth to say something, but Roy walked into the room and saved Eugene from further discussion on the subject.

  “Damn, Boss,” Roy said as his gaze fell on Eugene. “It’s like Mike Tyson said once, ‘everyone has a plan until you get punched in the face.’”

  “Information that would have been useful before I went out there,” Eugene replied.

  “How is the situation out there?” Bob asked, cutting off Eugene’s complaints.

  “Everything is under control, but the punks got away,” Roy told Bob, looking out the glass with him.

  “Boss, are you there?” a male voice came from a walkie-talkie.

  “What’s going on, G?” Roy replied to the speaker.

  “You better get over here. I got a kid overdosing, and it’s bad,” G told his boss.

  “Oh no. Not again,” Bob said. “Eugene, stay here. I got this.” Bob ran out the door with Roy leading the way.

  Eugene dropped to the floor and held his face. He had no idea how fighters could handle it because his whole face hurt. He was pretty sure even his hair was aching, and the pain made it impossible to think straight. He wanted to feel bad for not helping Bob, but he was too tired to care. Eugene leaned his head back and just like that, he passed out.

  Eugene woke up with a pounding headache and a stiff neck. To make things worse, his eye was swollen shut. As he tried to sit up, a case of vertigo hit him, and Roy and Bob had to carry him to the truck. He was grateful that they at least let him get in by himself.

  It was past two in the morning by the time Bob pulled into Reapers. Eugene tried to climb the stairs, but he stumbled more than anything else, so Bob helped him make his way to the top.

  Being up this late made Eugene feel disgusting. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt so tired, and the only time he ever stayed up this late was on the weekends when he visited Reapers. During a regular work week at the lab, the Interns had a curfew, and Eugene was normally in bed by nine. Days like today, he really missed his boring schedule. At the lab, nobody ever punched him in the face and he definitely never spent his time chasing crazy werewolves.

  They entered the loft to find both Constantine and Bartholomew still up. Isis had told him that everyone at Reapers was a night owl besides her, which was crazy to Eugene.

  “Holy cow, what happened?” Bartholomew shouted as soon as he saw Eugene. He ran across the room and helped Bob place Eugene gently in one of the dining chairs.

  “I’m fine. It probably looks worse than it is,” Eugene told Bartholomew. Hopefully they believed him, but he doubted they would.

  “It looks like somebody beat the hell out of you,” Constantine told him as he jumped on the kitchen table to get a better look.

  “In that case, it looks exactly how I feel,” Eugene admitted, ready to accept the humiliation.

  “You and Isis are officially magnets for people beating you up,” Constantine told Eugene, moving closer to his face.

  “Hey now. What happened to personal space?” Eugene asked as Constantine inched even closer.

  “You are an Intern. There’s no such thing as personal space,” Constantine told him. “Bartholomew, get the ointment from my bedroom. Bob, hand Eugene a shake and a cold patch. We will get this bruise gone in no time,” he said, putting a paw on Eugene’s cheek.

  “Ouch,” Eugene whined.

  “Stop whining, Eugene. We need to get this fixed before you get permanent scars,” Constantine told him.

  Even with how tender his face felt, Constantine’s paws were soft against it. Not that Eugene would tell him that. If he did, Constantine would probably hit him in the same spot he’d already been hit, and he really didn’t need that.

  “Here you go, Constantine.” Bartholomew opened the ointment and slid it on the table.

  “Bob, please hold Eugene down,” Constantine said.

  “Hold me down? What are you going to do to me?” Eugene shouted.

  “Dude, you look like you got in the ring with Rocky and he destroyed you,” Bartholomew told him.

  “What did they hit you with, a two by four?” Constantine asked Eugene.

  “It was only one punch,” Eugene whined.

  “One punch by a werewolf that threw him at least four feet in the air,” Bob said, adding the details Eugene had purposefully left out.

  “Those punks are acting like animals,” Constantine told him. “You were better off getting hit by a two by four. Your entire face is swollen, which means I need to release some of the fluids building up in there.” He leaned closer again.

  “Oh no,” Eugene said, trying to stand, but Bob held him down.

  “Here.” Bartholomew handed Eugene a rubber spatula.

  “What’s this for?” Eugene asked, not sure if he wanted to take the spatula or not.

  “Put it in your mouth and bite down. It always helps Isis,” Bartholomew explained.

  Panic settled in Eugene’s chest, but he followed the instructions Bartholomew gave him.

  “Okay, take a deep breath and close your eyes,” Constantine told Eugene. “This will only take a second.”

  Eugene wasn’t sure what to do, but as soon as he saw Constantine extending his claws, he shut his eyes.

  Constantine had been right. The whole process took less than three minutes. Unfortunately for Eugene, those were the longest three minutes of his life. Bob held him down on the chair and Bartholomew squeezed his hand for moral support, but nothing helped. As soon as Constantine cut his cheek open, Eugene bit down on the spatula, but his screams still came through loud and clear. When it was over, he was still shaking.

  “Eugene, you can open your eyes now,” Constantine said. It took Eugene a minute to realize he wasn’t being held down anymore.

  “Oh wow, I can see,” Eugene exclaimed as he slowly touched his face. “Wait. My head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode. Constantine, you are a miracle man. I mean cat. Definitely miracle cat.” Rambling was what Eugene did best, especially when he was happy. Which he was. Being pain free felt amazing.

  “Breathe Eugene. We don’t need you passing out with excitement,” Constantine told him. “Drink your shake and keep the cold patch on for at least fifteen minutes. The rest of the swelling will go down.” Constantine pointed to the two items on the table in front of Eugene.

  “You are looking much better already,” Bartholomew told Eugene with a smile.

  “Do I want to know what’s in the ointment?” Eugene asked, looking at the strange container next to Constantine. Inside was a glowing, greenish cream.

  “Not at all. Even a scientist would freak out if they knew my secrets,” Constantine told him with a smirk. “Let’s just say this one is imported from Guatemala, and an old medicine woman makes it for me.”

  Eugene really wanted to meet this woman. She was good.

  “Eugene, drink your shake,” Bob reminded Eugene.

  Eugene scrunched up his face as he glanced at the shake. It had a strange, brown hue, and even though he knew every shake was made by Eric and Isis drank one every time she got beat up, it looked more than disgusting. Of course, so did the glowing cream, but that had healed his face.

  He shrugged. What did he have to lose? Holding his breath, he took one long gulp. It tasted way better than he had expected, like peanut butter and bananas.

  “This isn’t bad,” Eugene announced with joy.

  “Eric is getting more creative with his flavors after Isis complained about one of his creations,” Constantine told him, rolling his eyes. “Those things cure almost everything and she still had the nerve to complain.” Eugene could tell Constantine was offended, but he didn’t blame Isis. Nobody wanted to drink something that looked like water pulled up from a sewer drain.

  “Well, this one is good. Thank you,” Eugene told Constantine as he placed the cold patch on his face. His muscles immediately relaxed and his breathing normalized.

  “Besides Eugene being used as a piñata, did you guys find out anything?” Constantine narrowed his gaze on Bob.

  “They are organized, and they know what they are doing.” Bob’s hesitant tone made sense. Nobody wanted to give werewolves that kind of credit.

  “Tell me about it,” Bartholomew told him. “They executed synchronized deliveries in over ten locations. I have no idea how many people are in this gang, but they are all over the town.” Bartholomew shook his head.

  “That’s the odd part,” Constantine jumped in. “Traditionally in a pack, you don’t have more than eight to ten members. Based on their patterns, they have at least thirty people working together.” He scratched his face.

  “What’s the big deal about that?” Eugene asked as he switched hands to hold his cold patch.

  “To organize such an attack in all those locations and with that many people, you need a really strong Alpha,” Constantine told him. “We would have noticed somebody that strong.”

  “We would have? How?” Bartholomew asked, and everyone’s eyes went to Constantine.

  “Texarkana has other shifters in town,” Constantine explained. “A strong alpha would try to dominate and take over a territory. We haven’t even had a scrimmage. That doesn’t make any sense,” he concluded.

 

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