The next few hours went smoother, less drama from who gets to bang Nikki and only a few idiots who thought I was on the market. I had no interest in the patrons and not enough time to deal with men. I made my way back to the far back where Papa Cat had been brewing up a new batch of chili, as well as a long line of fresh burritos and tacos for the cats since we tended to eat a ton. I started eating tacos, sitting on the far end of the kitchen area. My back to a wall sipping the water that Papa insisted we all drink while eating, his caring for us “cubs.” I ate, listening to his stories about the old days. What his own children were up too, eating my way through a large plate of food. I gave a wave to the cats that bothered coming through until Six, the chapter president and current leader of our San Antonio pack, came through. He took several burritos for himself before leaning against the counter next to me.
“Good night.”
“Manageable night, someone came for Nikki, but he is gone.”
“Trouble?”
“Not really, and if it becomes something, I can handle it.” I shrugged.
“Good, finally taking a few days off.”
“I’ll be back for the fight on Friday night to make sure the kids keep in line.”
“Good, Axel and crew will be back from the west Texas run by then.” I nodded, we had a smooth operation through Texas, only a few new bumps after the chop shop move but for now, it seemed like we were finding our way back to some normalcy. We finished up the minor details of the day's work before I hopped off the counter to leave. It would be nice to get some quiet time, peace without always being around humans. Six leaned down, our foreheads bumped with a short rub, one of the few cat things we could do without people thinking something else. I patted the back of his hair as he mimicked the movement. Our scents flickered to a short mingle before I gave a small peck on his cheek.
“See you on Friday, Fina,” he said. I left the kitchen area, picked up my well-worn leather jacket from the hook. I gave a wave to several of the remaining people to head outside into the hazing early morning hours of Wednesday. The punishing brutal heat had left off to a breathing heat with the rain of autumn beginning to crawl in, the early morning finally was not melting. The leaves and plants were starting to prepare for the coming winter, green changing to the multi-colored hues that signaled their time was nearly done. It was ultimately a temperature that was not trying to murder with humidity and heat, one of the pleasanter times of San Antonio.
Walking past the rows of bikes, I once again was thankful that everyone had gotten away from crotch rockets into real motorcycles. I had parked at the far end, the old Indian I had updated, modernized, and customized with a deep amber shade with several well-painted jaguar spots. No one thought much about the decoration, even if it was showing off my shifter side. I sat on the soft black leather seat, started up my bike, enjoying the freedom of the road it gave me while living in the city. The freedom of the bike, the wind, and the rain against my skin feeling wild, free. I could enjoy the scents of the city, taking a long way home to pass by all the club places; meeting places, gambling holes in the walls, the fight warehouse, even a few of the members' abodes before heading to the updated garage to park my bike. With my patrol of the area complete, everything appearing normal, I locked down the motorcycle and garage to walk to my apartment building close by.
The older building had seen better days, but it nestled nicely into the edges of the city. Gardening was allowed by the sides and rooftop for those who lived within. I had bought the building after I left the military and rented it out to low-income families or women running from abusive homes. The cheap rent and high security was a draw and the fact that I happened to scare the hell out of those who came uninvited helped keep the people safe. I felt for the families, like mine, my parents had run from Mexico, bring my older siblings with the rest of us being born in America. They all had to fight to become citizens, and some of the residents were in similar boats; giving them a cheap place to stay helped. The early morning began to creep in, predawn arriving with most of the apartment people well asleep. I left the building quiet with only age making noise through its older pipes and stairs.
I smelled the blood on the stairs from a source I hadn’t smelled in years. The male scent carried lightly from the spots of blood that led upward towards where my apartment was at the top. I had ripped apart the top floor to make
