Chapter 22: The Steel Door

Kellan's POV

I rented an angle grinder on Friday.

On Saturday at six in the morning I carried it into the pack house kitchens.

The freezer was where it had always been, at the back past the pantry.

It was a walk-in with a steel door and a handle as long as my forearm.

The cooks had worked around it for eleven years.

The Beta met me at the kitchen entrance in his shirtsleeves.

He had worn the Alpha's ring for three weeks, and it did not sit well on his hand.

"You don't have to do this yourself," he said. "There are contractors."

"I do."

"Then I'll hold the door."

"No." I took the grinder from the bag. "I'll do it alone. But stay and watch. I want somebody from the pack to see."

He folded his arms and leaned on the wall.

I put on the goggles.

The first cut was at the hinge, and the whole kitchen filled with white sparks and the scream of steel.

It took three hours.

I cut the compressor off its mounts and the shelves out of their brackets.

The panels came down one at a time, and I carried them out to the truck.

The cold was still in them, and my hands ached, and I did not stop.

When the last wall was gone the room looked small.

It was only a square of concrete with a drain in the floor.

I had never stood in it.

Only the door was left.

It hung on its last hinge, and I took it in both arms and lowered it to the floor.

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