FATED TO ALPHA HUNTER BY VENNEH LISAH

𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

Travis smacked my chest, jolting me awake as I caught sight of the town limits as we drove in.

"Pack house first," I instructed him, and he nodded, steering us straight to our destination. I leaned over into the backseat, retrieving my jacket from my bag. The morning air was a bit chilly, and I wanted to be prepared. We pulled up in front of the building.

The place was in a state of disrepair, but someone had constructed a ramp to help the man in the wheelchair get inside. However, his future was limited, as his life would end today.

Travis parked the car by the curb, and I stepped out, closing the door quietly behind me. No children were awake; I could tell by the lack of noise. Everyone was still tucked into their beds. I stepped over the small brick fence at the front and heard Travis open the trunk.

"It won't be necessary here; there are children present," I informed him.

"So what's our plan then?" he inquired.

"We'll grab the bastard who was stripped of his kingship by the Alpha of kings and get his name before leaving," I explained. Travis let out a sigh but complied, shutting the trunk. I made my way to the front door and knocked, waiting to see if anyone would answer. No one did, but it was early, so I wouldn't be surprised if Lucy and Richie were the only adults present. As I circled around to the back of the building, I found the back door unlocked and shook my head. Stepping inside, I immediately noticed that it was colder inside the pack house than outside.

"Damn, it's freezing in here," Travis grumbled.

"I'm guessing he doesn't live upstairs anymore," I said, eyeing the dilapidated spiral staircase.

"Not unless that bat grew wings and learned to fly," Travis laughed.

"Well, he'll be flying soon enough," I replied, searching the ground floor for any sign of where Lucy might have moved his room. The sound of banging and cursing led me to the right place. It seemed like he had fallen out of bed, and the smell of urine and feces filled the air.

"Looks like he shat himself already, and we haven't even touched him," Travis chuckled. Richie looked up at us from where he was trapped beside his bed, his wheelchair overturned. His eyes widened, and he shrank back in fear.

"Haven't you done enough?" he trembled. I scanned the room for Lucy but couldn't see her anywhere.

"Not yet, but I'll make it quick. All I need is a name," I said, grabbing Richie's shoulders as Travis righted his wheelchair. I lifted him and set him down in the seat, and he clung to the armrests.

"How about a nice cup of tea, love? You look rather parched. I make an outstanding brew," Travis taunted, grabbing the handles and steering him out.

"There are children here," he said, flinching as he passed me when I held the door open for him to push him out.

"Well, it wouldn't be a pack house without children, but where is your mate? Did she run away at your weakest point?" I asked him, not that I really cared anyway. He didn't answer, and I didn't insist. I followed behind as Travis took him to the kitchen. Travis zipped around the kitchen, and I shook my head. He liked the theatrics, and I knew he was just easing him into his death.

"What have I done this time? What did the king order you to do to me?" he asked, his lips quivering.

Travis chuckled, finding an apron and putting it on before flicking the kettle on. "The children will be up any minute; I have to start making their breakfast soon," Richie claimed. Travis snorted.

"You can't even reach the bench. What use would you be in a kitchen?" Travis asked him, and his eyes pricked with tears.

"Either way, today you will be put out of your misery. So, if you answer honestly, I will make it quick. If you don't..." I stopped talking as Travis turned quickly, plunging a knife into his hand. His other hand clamped over his mouth as his eyes widened, and he screamed.

"Do you get the idea?" I asked him, folding my arms over my chest and glaring at him. He wheezed, his withered face bright red as he stared at his hand. The knife had gone all the way through to the handle and was sticking out of the wooden armrest.

"Oh right, I forgot," Travis said, ripping the knife out.

"Ah, none of that, you're a big boy," Travis scolded when his mouth opened to scream. The sound shrilled and quickly died out when he waved the knife in front of his face. He then cleaned it on the apron around his waist. "I need to get me one of these," he said, admiring the floral apron.

"Do you have one with skulls instead of flowers? I'm not complaining, though," Travis asked. Richie shook his head, tears falling down his cheeks. His mouth widened open, and he reminded me of one of those clowns at the carnival where you pop the balls into their mouth.

"I'll just keep this one. Suits me right," Travis taunted, wiggling his jean-clad rear end at the withered man. "Does it make my butt look big?" he asked, and I shook my head, trying not to laugh as he paraded around the kitchen. He shook his head.

"Now that was a lie, wasn't it? It's alright. I'll let that one slide. One sugar or two?" Travis asked, and Richie just stared at him wide-eyed.

"You look like two. Let's make it three, though. You seem like a bitter b*st*rd," Travis said, turning back to make coffee.

Travis handed me mine when he was done making them, and I sipped it, watching Richie hiss when Travis forced the cup into his injured hand.

"Bottoms up. It's nice and hot. Don't want it to go cold," he said, sipping his own. "Ah, now that's a nice brand. What is it?" Travis asked, looking back at the counter. It looked like some expensive coffee.

"Hmm, where did you order this?" he asked.

"Online," Richie stuttered out.

"Good, you can write down the site before I kill you," Travis said. Richie whimpered and pointed to the fridge where a card was stuck to the top board. Travis walked over and plucked it off.

"Well, that was easy," Travis said before pocketing the card with the same name-branded label as the coffee jar. Richie sipped his coffee like it would delay the inevitable, and we decided to entertain him. Travis kept making small talk with him until I finished mine. I placed my mug in the sink, washed it, and put it to dry. Turning around, I leaned on the counter and watched the man shake like a leaf as he watched Travis.

"So I hear you have a mighty fine butcher in town," I asked Richie, and his hand froze as he went to tip the cup to his lips; I watched him gulp.

"Now that looks like a guilty face, doesn't it, brother?" Travis said, nudging me.

"Very guilty. Do you have something to confess, love? Want to get it off your chest before you meet your maker?" I taunted.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, and I clicked my tongue.

"I was hoping to do this the easy way. I am not here for you, but if you want to be difficult, I need a little practice anyway. I haven't sliced and diced for a while," I told him, holding my hand out for Travis's knives.

He pulled the rolled-up leather pouch from inside his leather jacket pocket, handing it to me. I rolled it out along the bench, picked them up, and showed him each one, and Richie began to sweat. His eyes flickered between us; Travis smiled sadistically, and I turned to him.

"Which one?" I asked him. He shook his head, clutching his mug, but Travis took it from him.

"I never... My mate and I had to feed the children... It was only the one time... She probably doesn't even remember..." He started stuttering.

"I want a name," I said, picking up the boning knife and turning it between my fingers as I approached him. His blood pooled around his feet from the wound on his hand. His lip quivered as I stopped in front of him. I touched the back of the blade to his cheek and slid it down to his chin before tilting his head up to look at me with it.

"Name or the ear goes first, then the toes, then I will de-glove your hand," I said calmly. I had every intention of following through with my threats if he didn't answer. His horrified gaze met my cold, gray eyes. He knew I wasn't lying.

"Martin Parker," he blurted out.

"What's his address?" I asked.

"3 Lincoln Way," he replied.

"Are there any wife or children we should know about?" I asked, but he shook his head.

"A pig like that would have no family," Travis sneered.

"Go check it out and load him up," I told Travis, who quickly left. While he was gone, I cleaned up the blood on the floor and wrapped Richie's hand in case any of the children woke up. He was still their alpha.

Travis was gone for about twenty minutes when my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket just as a little girl came down the steps, rubbing her eyes. Reaching for a tea towel, I covered Richie's wrapped hand.

"Yep," I answered the call, watching the child as she walked down the stairs. She looked up, hearing my voice, and I waved to her before kicking the wheelchair. Richard smiled insincerely and waved to her, earning a strange look from the child who waved briefly as she stepped off the last step.

Travis informed me that he had already found him and was on his way back.

"The trunk?" I asked.

"Nope, he showed me to his store; he is tied to a chair in the cold room," Travis laughed.

"Even better," I told him before hanging up.

"What is your name?" I asked the little girl, who remained frozen on the step. I could hear more kids moving around upstairs.

"Keon, sir," she said. I bent down and scooped her up.

"Are you hungry? What do you usually have for breakfast?" I asked her. She furrowed her brows and yawned, her tummy rumbling.

"No breakfast since Rina and Ania left, sir. You came with the king?" she whispered into my ear. I nodded and looked at Richie, who dropped his head. I growled before turning my attention to the girl. Her hair looked like a haystack on her head, some parts matted like it hadn't been brushed for a long time.

"What did they usually make?" I asked her.

"Pancakes, but Richie can't get the flour from the basement, and the bag is too heavy," she reported.

"Right, I will get the flour. You go do whatever it is you kids do in the morning," I told her.

"Can we watch cartoons?" she asked before her eyes went to Richie, who pursed his lips.

"Yep, and make sure you turn the volume all the way up," I told her, setting her on her feet just as a few more kids started rushing down.

After a few minutes, the place was filled with chatter, and I quickly ducked down to the basement to find the flour. It was no surprise that none of them could carry it. I could tell they had attempted it, as there was flour spilled all over the floor, as if they had been scooping it out of the bag with cups. Shaking my head, I grabbed a fresh 20 kg bag and headed up the stairs.

Travis walked in just as I dropped the bag on the bench. "What's the deal with the flour? You gonna use it to batter the old bag?" Travis chuckled.

"No... the kids are hungry," I told him, turning my attention to Richie.

"When do the staff come in?" I asked Richie.

"Scovia comes in at lunch," he said.

"Call her in early," I told him, and Travis handed him his phone. Richie dialed the number and did as he was told while Travis went out to count heads to know how many pancakes to make.

"Who wants pancakes?" I heard him scream out, and all the kids cheered.

"Alright, settle down. Uncle Travis is going to make them, so settle down and watch your dancing puppet show," I heard him say just as a little boy stumbled down the steps with a blanket dragging behind him.

"105, f**k me, that's a lot of pancakes," Travis said, coming back in before his eyes went to the boy. I sniffed the air, realizing he was a rogue, and Richie growled before realizing who was standing next to him. I glared at him, making him drop his head and flinched away.

The boy cowered, whimpered, and ran from him, heading back up the stairs, but I grabbed the back of his pants, plucking him off the steps. He was only about three years old, wearing holey pajama pants and no shirt. He was covered in goosebumps and holding a filthy blanket.