“Here’s breakfast. You must be hungry,” I said as I put the tray in the middle of the bed. I fished out a bottle of strong painkillers from my pocket and gave it to him. “And here’s something for your hand, but you should eat first, okay? Otherwise you may get sick.”

He peered at the food I’d brought. Fruits, bagels, yogurt… I kind of went overboard, but only because I had no idea what he liked.

“Do you see any of your favorites?” I asked. “I can make something else, an omelet, some bacon, toasted bread – I think I won’t burn the house down if I try.”

The kid was still staring at the food. I gave him time and turned my attention to his hand. He held it in his lap, his palm down, protecting the injury. That’s why I never noticed it. He’d never let me see it.

I forgot the hand when the kid leaned in and carefully took a banana from the tray. He retreated from me, turning his shoulder at me like he feared I’d take the fruit away from him.

“That’s a good choice. I love bananas,” I told him. “Lots of protein. I think.”

Again, I just stared at him, completely forgetting my own empty stomach. The kid was eating with a better appetite now. Still slowly, but better. He even seemed to stop fearing I was taking the food away from him.

Once he was done with the banana, I slowly reached toward him with my hand, my palm up, silently asking for the peels so I could throw them away. I didn’t take them from him. I just waited to see what he would do.

He didn’t look at my hand, but he knew it was there, and it made him timid. He ignored it and kept his head down, staying still. Maybe I should’ve retreated, but my instincts told me to be patient. It was my alpha whispering in my head, telling me what to do. I trusted it. So I waited.

And only a moment later, the kid found his courage and peered at my hand. His movements were very subtle while he still tried to figure things out. I could almost see his thought pattern. I wasn’t hurting him. I wasn’t touching him. I wasn’t scaring him. I wasn’t yelling and screaming and threatening him in any way.

He figured it out and slowly picked up the peels and turned back to my hand, though he still was uncertain if that was what I wanted. I lifted my hand, carefully gesturing for him to give the peels to me, helping him to find the right answer. He was careful when he placed the peels in my hand, then pulled away.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile before he could shut me out again.

And he… didn’t? He took a moment to recollect himself, then turned a little more toward me. Maybe… Maybe after a good night’s sleep, that piece of glass out of his hand, and with food in his stomach, he had more energy to deal with this new, scary thing that was me.

“You’re doing great, baby boy,” I told him in a mutter. “I know you’re scared, but you’re safe here. No one will ever hurt you again.”

He looked at his bandaged hand. And I realized… our alphas didn’t understand words, only body language, but this kid clearly knew what being hurt meant.

It was the human side of him that was listening.

I had a wide smile on my face as I watched him. “I wish I knew your name, kid.”

He ignored me.

My instincts told me to leave it at that, so I tore my eyes off him and grabbed a bagel from the tray. I didn’t get to finish it, though. Someone was at the gate, ringing the doorbell.

“You can eat anything you want,” I told the kid while I got out of bed. “I’ll be right back. That’s probably Francis. You remember him, right? From last night?”

The sudden noise had forced the kid to retreat behind his walls. I held back a sigh as I watched his frozen posture.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and hurried out to stop Francis from brutalizing the doorbell.

I reached the entrance hall and opened the intercom. It indeed was Francis’ ugly face on the camera.

“You are disturbing my guest,” I growled at him.

“Morning to you too, Boss,” he replied, smirking. “Now here I was thinking maybe the kid was an assassin or something.”

“How can he assassinate anyone when he can barely pick up a banana?”

“Just let me in,” Francis said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“If it’s another roach infestation–”

“Not another one, no,” he said, his expression grim.

I wrinkled my nose and opened the gates. I watched him drive off, then made sure no one else sneaked in while the gates were closing. Francis was already knocking on the door by the time my yard was secure again, so I let him in.

“What is it?” I asked him, gesturing for him to follow me into the kitchen.

“Have you seen the news today?” he asked, taking a laptop from his bag.

“No.”

He put the laptop on the counter and turned it on. A moment later, I found myself watching the news. The nightclub was looming behind the reporter, and the street was filled with cops, soldiers, and ambulances.

“A mass shooting took place last night in a local nightclub at–”

I glanced at Francis. “Is there a particular reason you’re showing me this? I want to go back to the kid to make sure he’s all right.”

“Just watch it.”

I sighed and turned my attention back to the video. Well, most of it. Part of me was still worrying over the kid. And then…

“–has been identified as Lonnie Hill, the leader figure of the newly formed terrorist organization, Rightful Sons. With me is Captain Hale from the special operations unit to answer some of our questions.”

The camera zoomed out and showed me an ugly face I didn’t care to see first thing in the morning.

“Ugh…”

Francis chuckled at my reaction.

“Captain – your team was in charge of finding and arresting Mr. Hill and his organization, correct? Is it true that all thirteen bodies have been identified as members of Rightful Sons, the newly formed group who posted a video of themselves burning the memorial flags in front of the City Hall only a day ago?”

“We have confirmed all bodies wore their emblems, but we are still in the middle of identifying all of them,” the captain said, looking so all and mighty in his uniform, holding his rifle.

“And is it true no civilians were harmed during the shooting?”

“Correct.”

“Would you say all victims were executed in cold blood, as our witnesses are claiming?”

“It appears to be this incident was carefully planned, and the goal was to eliminate the gang.”

“And what about the shooters? According to the eyewitnesses, a group of unidentified men entered the club around two in the morning, executed Lonnie Hill and the rest of Rightful Sons, then left. Do you have any leads on who these men could be?”

“We are currently conducting our own investigations, so it’s too early to say at this point.”

“To me, this attack looks like a dispute between rival gangs,” the reporter said tentatively. “According to some witnesses, one of the unidentified shooters could have been Michael Mercer.”

The captain smirked a little behind his stupid mustache. “Like I said, it is too early to say at this point while we still have days’ worth of evidence to go through. But I can assure you, if Mercer had something to do with this, I will personally make sure he will be treated accordingly.”

“But–”

“Sorry, this is all the time I have,” the captain spoke, interrupting the reporter. “I must get back to work.”

The reporter gave him an annoyed glance, then turned back to the camera while the captain walked away. “While the investigation is still–”

Francis stopped the video. I let out a deep, annoyed breath at the frozen screen, then crossed my arms over my chest.

“I suppose we’re expecting visitors soon,” I said with a snort.