Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

38. Hall of Fame

The eyes of the men focus on me. Honing in on my steps as I slice through the crowd, as sharp as a knife, as swift as a bullet.

Even the dancers, dressed in shimmering swaths of silver and sapphire and pink, glance towards me. They know who I am—there is no doubt they don't recognize me as the second-in-command of Anise. The sister of the Alpha. And even if they didn't know me, my resemblance to my parents is astonishing.

Our family has held the power of this city for fifty years.

The Saints came later—a few years after. By then, we were already well-established. But with the charming, charismatic uncle of Elijah Napier, some of our people flocked to him. The Saints formed, our enemy in every aspect. The 1960s were brutal. The 1970s were worse. In the 1980s, there was a tentative peace. In the 1990s, blood flooded the streets of New Orleans.

For the past twenty years, war has been coming. The Saints and the Wolves have been brewing.

But now that the Yakuza are involved, there is a wildcard.

Because the moment in this war when both our gangs at our weakest, they will take over.

If that happens, the city will belong to neither of us.

Which is what I am counting on, as I yank the curtains to Elijah's private chamber aside. The Saints have their fingers tightened over their guns. The music hasn't stopped, but the dancing has.

I hear murmurs. What is she doing here? What are we waiting for?

A harsh whisper silences them. We wait until we have orders.

Elijah Napier becomes immediately aware of my presence the moment the gauzy, violet curtains are swept aside.

The chamber floor glitters with the shimmery, silver light from above.

Elijah is dressed in green velvet. The front button of his pants are undone. He wears no shirt, but he has a jacket that is splayed over his chest, revealing the muscular lines of his stomach.

His rich brown skin darkens as he sees the movement of the curtains.

Rage engraves itself into the lines of his bold, beautiful face.

Then, he realizes who I am.

All at once, a terrifyingly bright, silky smile is on his face, displaying his white teeth. "Hunter," he rumbles, his chest shaking with barely concealed laughter. I would be a fool to think he is amused—there is pure power in the tightening of his fingers. "What brings you here?"

Here—the heart of Saint territory. A direct violation of our precarious treaty.

But damn the treaty to hell. They started this war.

I might have walked in here alone, and I might be stupid to think I could survive a fight with close to forty gang members, but I am betting on one thing.

This deal.

"I have information," I say, showing my teeth in a cool smile.

I am a Wolf, after all—through and through.

There are two strippers in the chamber. One is a light-skinned female wearing red satin and gold fishnet leggings. The other is a thin, white male with dark circles under his green eyes and rakish black hair. This doesn't surprise me—I've always known Elijah has no preferences.