Mr. Garth. Bigwig alpha of the Pine Hills Pack. Any recommendation for anything from Mr. Garth went a long way with David.
“Why leave the Pine Hills Pack?” I asked.
“Mr. Garth retired,” Zak said. His voice did something incredible to my insides. He sounded smoky and sexy, like a rock star at the end of a set.
Made sense. I nodded.
David took a step to the right. This time, I did, too.
The man before me was a giant, towering over the rest. This was what a grizzly shifter was supposed to look like. His wide shoulders bunched within his white t-shirt, stretching the thin fabric to its limit. His biceps were as thick as my head. Maybe I could insist that this one had to work shirtless.
“Everett Robinson,” David said. “Grizzly shifter.”
Called it.
He wore his hair short, though not buzzed. His face was clean-shaven, and his brown eyes were hard like Logan’s.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Soldier.”
“Navy,” David said.
“Navy SEAL,” Everett corrected.
I nodded. Shifters made the best soldiers—inhumanly strong, quick as hell, and with their heightened senses, they picked up on threats others couldn’t.
He was stiff, and possibly no fun, but if I was just counting looks, I was liking two out of three so far.
“This is Roman Ellis, a wolf shifter,” David said, taking a step farther.
“Not just a wolf shifter, my dear. But the wolf shifter.” A wide smile spread across Roman’s way-too-gorgeous face and I melted. Swoon.
He wore black jeans and a leather biker jacket. I imagined him taking me for a ride, the rumble of the engine between my thighs as I held tight to his back.
The sides of his head were shaved, and the blond hair on top was swept back. His beard was full and came down to a point that I wanted to grab in my fist so I could pull him to me. His eyes were the brightest of blues, like the morning sky, and I was pretty sure I was completely in love. Yep, three out of four.
“Bouncer,” David said.
“Bouncer?” I asked. Bouncers had to be strong, but all shifters were strong. I was a little surprised that it was enough of a qualification for David’s standards.
Roman wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“At The Freak for four years,” David said.
The Freak. Well, that made more sense. That place was supposedly crazy, the wildest shifter club in New York with the freshest beats, where brawls turned bloody on the daily. And the booze and sex flowed freely. I’d always wanted to go.
That left one more.
“And finally, Drake Velasquez,” David said.
I was caught in the gaze of Smolder, the man who had affected me at Magic. The one who hadn’t cared when I’d walked away. I considered telling David I’d take all but him, but that was giving up, stepping down from a challenge. I forced myself to look away, leaving Smolder—Drake—to stare at me and and let him think I didn’t feel a thing. I had the power. Now he worked for me.
I opened my mouth to speak.
“You can’t say no,” David said, as if he expected me to protest. “This is not a request. You’ll stay confined to the compound with two guards on duty twenty-four hours a day in rotating shifts.”
Well, that sucked. At least for the most part, these guys were eye candy. But confined to the compound? Hell no. I’d go crazy. I needed to move—movement was as necessary to me as breathing. However, I also knew that David, once he had an idea in his head, was nearly impossible to dissuade.
“I’ll agree on one condition,” I said.
David raised his eyebrows. “What is that?”
For a moment, I reconsidered. Maybe I should make it two conditions, and ask to get rid of Drake.
“I’m going to work,” I said. “I’m keeping my job.”
David clenched his jaw. I watched the little blood vessel throb in his forehead. Causing that was my specialty.
Time to sweeten the deal. “It’s the only way you’ll get me to not try to lose them at every opportunity.”
“Fine,” he said.
I held out a hand. “Deal.”
We shook and I glanced quickly at the five guys—guards—lined up against the wall. When I’d gone to Magic tonight, I’d been hoping for a little bit of adventure. Looked like I should have been more careful about what I wished for.
Chapter Three
I woke up at eleven in the morning to my phone ringing. Grumbling, I rolled over to answer the call, if for nothing else than to make the obnoxious ringtone go away. “H’lo?”
“Is this Ms. Sparrow Solaris?” a voice asked. Male. Professional. If this was another bodyguard, I was going to break things. As far as I knew, two guys were camped out in front of my door. I hadn’t asked for them, and I didn’t want them there, either.
“That depends on what you want.” My voice sounded like gravel. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth and tasted like stale tequila. In my irritation last night, I’d forgotten to brush my teeth before going to bed. Gross.
“Please hold for Ms. Charlize Geard.”
“I—what?”
But he didn’t answer; I was already on hold. I pulled my phone away from my ear to stare at it. Who did that—call someone and then put them on hold? Charlize Something-or-other, I guessed. I already hated her.
I had two choices. Say “fuck that noise” and hang up, or wait around and see what Ms. Important Pants had to say.
Curiosity got the best of me, so I waited. A couple of seconds later, she came on the line.
“Hello, Ms. Solaris,” she said in a clear, polished voice.
“Hi,” I said. “Why are you calling me?”
“Straight to the point,” she said. “I admire that.”
I waited. She still hadn’t answered my question.
“Very well,” she said, “I’m calling to offer you a position with my firm, Geard Enterprises. Word of your special talent has reached my ears, and Geard needs someone like you.”
I lay back on my bed, already exhausted with this conversation. “You’re in need of a bartender who can shimmy the house down?”
To her credit, she didn’t sigh with exasperation. “No, Ms. Solaris. I’m looking for an Oracle.”
Ha. Poor lady. She’d called the wrong Solaris sister. “That so?”
“Yes, Geard Enterprises could really use someone with your talents. Now, you might be wondering what’s in it for you.”
Actually, I was wondering how soon I could get off the phone. But now I wondered—what did an Oracle go for these days? What kind of living could Wren hope to make?
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “What’s in it for me?”
“Well, a fifty-thousand dollar signing bonus for starters.”
I nearly dropped my phone. “Fifty—fifty thousand?”
“And a two-hundred-thousand dollar annual salary. Living in California isn’t cheap; however, we have an excellent building for our partners and employees. It has a pool, a gym, and its own cafe on the ground floor. You would live here free of charge, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmured. Damn. Sometimes I hated my sister. I wanted to get away from here so fucking bad, and here was an opportunity calling me up. “There’s only one little problem, though,” I said.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I can’t See anything.”
“You can’t?”
“Nope. Trust me, I’ve tried. I get flashes every now and then, but that’s it. You’ve got the wrong sister.”
“Can you at least See your own future?” she asked.
I laughed. “No Oracle can See their own future. Even I know that.”
“You’re convinced you don’t have the talent?” she asked.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Good luck.” I hung up without waiting for a goodbye.
Man, a fifty-thousand-dollar signing bonus, a sweet apartment, and sunny California. I hoped Wren knew how lucky she was. If I was a good sis
ter, I’d tell her about the call from Ms. Geard. Maybe I should try to See her now, without my mom breathing down my neck, her desperate expression making me lose my concentration….
I closed my eyes and tried to picture Wren—her warm, quiet smile, her twinkling green eyes.
But muted conversation came in from outside my cottage, intruding on my thoughts. My bodyguards. I wondered who was on duty right now. With any luck it was the private security guard with the auburn curls and the delicious scruff. What was his name...Zak? Yeah, I’d take Zak, and the bouncer with the leather jacket—Roman. His bright blue eyes penetrated in exactly the right way.
Hopping in the shower, I wondered if their duties might possibly include helping me in other areas. Like getting clean. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that someone else held the washcloth and ran it slowly over my skin…
The rest of the day was spent in my cottage, lounging around in the same yoga pants and tank I’d slept in. Maybe I was pouting, I didn’t care. I texted Wren, even though I knew it was futile. Of course there was no response. We had no details from Chad Curtis, still, but I was pretty sure if some asshole grabbed her, they hadn’t let her hang on to her phone.
I sat as still as possible, trying to conjure her in my mind. She had to be okay. I had to know that she was okay.
Long golden hair fell straight down, framing her face. Bright green eyes stared back at me, but they were only imagined. This was the part where she was supposed to blink, where my imaginings were supposed to fade away. This was when I was supposed to See Wren.
But I couldn’t. There was no one but me—me and my memories. No Wren.
Fuck.
I paced my bedroom, the living room, the hall.
There was nothing to do. I wanted to run, get this itchy feeling off my skin. I needed movement and dancing.
I flipped through my phone until I found my favorite playlist, then hit play. Music boomed from my speakers—a special set I’d had to save up my wages to buy. Booze and music—that’s where most of my money went.
First on my playlist was Avicii’s “Wake Me Up.” Solid choice, but not what I was in the mood for. I skipped ahead three more and settled on Led Zeppelin’s “Trampled Underfoot.” The beat was perfect for exhausting some energy.
If I closed my eyes, I could picture the darkened atmosphere of Magic and imagine myself surrounded by other dancers, all of us moving together, swept away in the throbbing bass, our heartbeats picking up. I could fool myself into thinking the exhilaration was here with me now.
The song ended, to be replaced with “Bla Bla Bla” by Gigi D’Agostino. I opened my eyes briefly, wanting to make sure I didn’t crash into Wren’s fugly coffee table—an upcycled monstrosity she’d purchased at the local boutique.
Movement outside the window made me shriek and grab my chest. Roman was right out there, bobbing along to the music, his pointy blond beard moving with every beat.
His white t-shirt brushed up against well-defined abs as he moved, and his thick biceps flexed deliciously.
I marched over to the window and yanked it open. “Dammit, you scared the shit out of me!”
He locked his gaze with mine. So bright, so blue, so disarming. “Sorry, it sounded like a party over here. I can’t turn down a party.”
“Creeper,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it. “The polite thing would be to knock.”
“Tried that. You didn’t hear me over the music.”
Lo Fidelity Allstars’s “Battleflag” came on next.
“You’ve got some old-school dance on that list,” he said.
I shrugged. “I like what I like.”
He made a silly face and bent halfway over, locked his hands on his thighs, and wiggled his ass. To his credit, it was a nice ass.
I couldn’t help my laughter. “What the hell is that? Are you twerking? Shouldn’t you be like, guarding me or something? And since when is tattered jeans and a t-shirt a uniform?”
“It’s fun.” He straightened up. “My jeans are stylishly well-worn. David doesn’t care what we wear so long as we’re doing what he’s paying us for. And my shift just ended. I’m gonna be going to work with you tonight, so Logan took my place. He and Everett are on duty now.”
I couldn’t give a flying shit about Logan, but the thought of Everett—and his big-ass sexy muscles—standing outside my cottage did things to my insides. And now Roman stood here, still moving slightly to the music. Annoyed, I skipped to the next song.
“Shall we?” he said, as a dance remix of Lana Del Rey’s “Summertime Sadness” started.
I considered him. Those beautiful blue eyes were earnest yet playful. How did he contain so much emotion, just in his eyes?
“All right, let’s dance, creeper,” I said.
Laughing, he started moving to the beat. Damn. Channing Tatum had nothing on this guy—the way his torso moved along with his feet and legs was hypnotic.
Before I could give away how much of an effect he had on me, I started dancing, too. Here in the afternoon, we didn’t get the benefit of hiding in the darkened club, and we didn’t have the pull of skin to skin because he was still outside my window. But our connection felt just as strong, if not stronger.
He segued into some old-school dance moves, like the Running Man, the Moonwalk, and even some choreography from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” I laughed and got in on the game, with more classic moves like the Cabbage Patch and the Butterfly. By the time the song ended, we were both clutching our stomachs and giggling.
But when the next song on my playlist started, I turned it off.
“No more?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling.
I shook my head. “I gotta get ready for work.”
“We’ll pick you up in twenty. We can take your car, but Drake’s driving.”
Fuck that, Drake wasn’t touching my precious Nova. “Fine, we’ll take one of David’s cars,” I said.
Roman smirked. “I saw that look on your face.”
“What look?” I asked innocently.
“Drake’s not horrible,” he said.
I popped open the screen so I could reach out and pat his cheek. “It’s sweet of you to think that.”
His gaze darkened. In a voice laced with sarcasm, he said, “That wasn’t patronizing at all.”
“Then I wasn’t doing it right.”
Laughing, he walked away with a bounce in his step, as if he could still hear music that wasn’t playing.
My two escorts to Magic were quiet on the way over. Roman sat in the back with me while Drake drove us in David’s Land Rover. I’d changed out of my yoga pants and sleep tank and into a pair of black skinny jeans and a dark silvery tank top. Along with my black corded wrap bracelet and combat boots, I looked like the perfect bartender...or a throwback to the goth era.
My dark ensemble didn’t seem to faze Roman, who had looked me up and down with an appreciative expression on his face. Drake, of course, had barely glanced in my direction when I’d met them at the car.
I was so drawn to each of them, but I kept my hands beneath my thighs to prevent me from reaching over and hauling Roman across the bench seat. Our impromptu dance party had made me actually want to like him. That was a dangerous impulse, just like my nagging temptation to both jump Drake and tell him to fuck off.
It still bothered me the way he had let me walk away last night. Just as strange was that a random guy from the club ended up working for David. Was that why he had danced with me? Why he’d rubbed his hands over my body? Some fucked-up game?
“Drake,” I said as cool as I could.
“Yes?”
“Why were you at Magic last night?”
“What?”
“Why does some guy I nearly fucked at the club show up at my parents’ house an hour later working for my step-father?”
Roman’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide. “Nearly fucked?” he mouthed.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “But this co
nversation doesn’t leave this car.” As much as I liked messing around, I didn’t need any more rumors going around the compound of my promiscuous ways.
“No complaints here, sweetcheeks.” Roman smiled wide.
I wanted to kiss that playful smile right off his face. Hard.
Drake’s dark, sexy eyes met mine in the mirror. “We were passing through.”
“We?”
“Me and Logan. We were each looking for work,” he said.
Logan had been there that night. Was he the one dancing behind me? It didn’t matter.
“You just happened to be at Magic that night. You happened to be there with me in the hall, and you didn’t know who I was?” I asked.
“I got the job offer right about the time you left, Sparrow. I didn’t know who you were or where my next job was going to be. I was planning to go to Boston in the morning.”
Roman took my hand, and I turned to him.
“He’s telling the truth. I can smell it.” Then he touched his nose. “Shifter senses and all. Plus, scout’s honor.” That sexy, mischievous grin crossed his face and I wondered how I could not just nod and agree to anything he said.
What reason could Roman have for lying to me? Drake either? I inhaled, wishing I could scent their honesty—or their deception—but all I got was Drake’s sandalwood cologne and a faint whiff of sage from Roman.
We reached Magic at nine, which was still early by club standards. I waved to Allen, the bouncer, and told him that Drake and Roman were with me. “Babysitters,” I added with a snort.
Allen just laughed, revealing the three gold teeth at the side of his smile. “Well, if anyone needs a babysitter, babycakes, it’s you.”
“Shut up.” I shoved him, but all it did was throw me off balance. Built like a tank, Allen didn’t even move.
Drake and Roman didn’t make any comments, but from the corner of my eye, I could see Roman fighting a smile.
“You two,” I said to them, pointing, “stay off to the side, stay out of my way.”
Drake nodded, his face a mask of professionalism that I wanted to crack. Possibly with a well-timed throat punch. Roman grinned and moonwalked over to the corner where I’d pointed them. When I turned around to take my place behind the bar, I felt their gazes on my back.
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