Wolf (A Little Red Riding Hood Retelling) (Brother's best friend romance)

by J. A. Wynters

  I kiss his tumbler with my own and it clinks softly. I take a small sip and the bubbles rush down my throat in a churning waterfall.

  “Why don’t you entertain much?” I ask as I grab two toasts and start eating.

  “We prefer the quiet.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Hunter.”

  He chuckles and nods, “I didn’t say we don’t party, I just said we don’t entertain much.”

  “So, what you’re saying is you don’t bring people back to the house?”

  “I’m saying we prefer our privacy, and in our line of work, it’s safer. The less people know about you, the better.”

  “Is that why you always act like such an ass?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Push people away, keep yourself closed off.”

  “It’s not all as simple as that?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Red, you know I can’t talk about my job.”

  “Why not, you’re basically a glorified babysitter.”

  His lips purse for a second and his brow furrows, “It’s a little more than that.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.” He tucks into his food and gives me a stone wall.

  “The way I see it, your job is to sit around all night then go home and sleep.”

  He glares at me and his mouth thins into a long line, “If it was that basic, I’d have a lot less paperwork at the end of every night.” He bristles and swipes his palms over his thighs. “There’s lots of red tape and procedures. Our job is to make sure everyone has a good time and doesn’t see the ugly side.”

  “The ugly side?”

  “The weapons, the drugs, the fighting…” he tampers off, “we make sure our guys are highly trained.”

  “Are you ‘highly trained’?” I mock him and he shots me an annoyed glance.

  “Yeah, I have a brown belt in Jiu-Jitsu.”

  “So, your speciality is hugging?” I drive the poker deeper.

  “What can I say, I’m a lover not a fighter.”

  I scoff, “Think you’re in the wrong line of work then.”

  “Well.” He smirks, shrugs and attacks another piece of toast.

  I ignore the flutter in my chest as I watch him. The way he tears at the toast, and the way his hands move and how his throat bobs as he swallows with his wolfish expression locked on me. I pretend not to notice how his full lips glisten with a buttery shine till he licks it away.

  I have to talk just to clear the constriction in my throat, “Do you ever get scared?”

  He rolls his eyes as a smile creeps on my face, getting under his skin is going to be my new favourite hobby. “Nothing scares me.”

  “Liar.” Something passes across his face, and he stuffs more food into his mouth.

  He takes another sip of his drink, “I don’t want to talk about my work. Tell me about this internship,’

  “Nothing to tell, I don’t start till next Monday.”

  “But this Becca Oakwood, she was the one that painted ‘Roses in the Fields’?”

  I give him a sideway glance and my brow furrows, “Yeah?”

  “It’s really dark isn’t it?”

  “Only in its story. The colours are actually incredibly vibrant, it’s what makes it so powerful.”

  He nods like he agrees, “It was a bold statement at such a young age.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a snicker. He sounds so well versed, like he practiced. There’s something incredibly sweet in his manner. But I have no intention in putting him out of his misery.

  For the rest of dinner, I talk to him about mood, colour and composition in Becca’s work then spill over to other influential artists. By the time I’m done his eyes are rolling to the back of his head, and I can see he’s suffered enough.

  Almost.

  Sometime between Becca and Monet we have nearly finished the bottle of Champagne and I’m on the right side of buzzed. A lovely warm hum that sings under my skin and makes me forget that I should not be enjoying myself as much as I am.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I say as he piles up our empty plates and clears the table.

  “Want to watch a movie?” he calls from the sink, and my eyes jerk to his face. He looks like the Wolf I used to know, his shoulders hang with confidence and his mouth quirks up in a half smile. His searching look makes something drag down in my lower belly, and I ignore the tugging inside me, ripping my eyes from his as I stand up.

  “Sure,” I say it even as every fibre in my body screams for me to call it a night.

  His smile spreads and he lazily pushes away from the counter and heads to the lounge, where he drops into the couch and grabs the remote.

  He flicks the TV on, and I take a hesitant step into the lounge and sit on the other side of the couch.

  Where it’s safe.

  “What do you want to watch?”

  “How about Ghost?” I clench my teeth to keep a straight face. Nothing tortures Wolf more than emotional chick flicks.

  “Fine.” The muscles of his jaw twitch for a second before he puts it on.

  There is a trench between us; it’s deep and wide, and I don’t know how to cross it as he shuffles closer to me, his eyes darting over every now and again.

  He’s like a lazy current, languidly closing the distance between us, till I can feel the heat of his shoulder against mine, and his fingers twitch alongside my own. They stroke a long, slow trail that sends shivers down my spine and spread like ink inside me, blotting out all the empty spaces, sketching images into my head, threatening to awaken dead things.

  I want to touch him so badly, I want to feel so much more of him, but I can’t.

  I jerk away from him and feel him turn to ice beside me. His eyes shoot to mine, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something, but his phone rings and he pulls further away as he shifts and yanks it from his pocket.

  He eyes the number before swiping, “Hello?”

  A muffled female voice on the other end. He grinds his jaw and anger flashes in his eyes, then he abruptly stands up.

  He storms out of the room, “Je—.”

  He’s gone for another few minutes and when he comes back, he’s a different man. Tension leaks from him and his neck is taut with agitation. He paces and rips a hand through his hair like he’s forgotten I’m here.

  “Are you okay?”

  He stalls and his eyes snap to mine, “Oh shit, I’m sorry about the movie. I just have to take care of something.”

  “Of course.” My heart pinches in my chest.

  His gaze lands on my face and in two steps he’s in front of me, and his hands come up as if to cradle my face, then freeze in mid-air. They drop to his sides, “I’m sorry Red, I know we’re celebrating, but I have to take care of this.”

  I nod and stand up, moving out of his reach, feeling the anguish claw my insides, “Thanks for dinner.”

  I shut the door to my room and climb into my cold bed, it feels like every chamber of my empty heart.

  21

  Wolf

  Her sunken face spikes the rhythm of my heart but I wait for her to close her door then shake it off and call Hunter.

  “What’s up?”

  “She’s gotten through again.”

  Hunter sighs, “Again?”

  I shrug even though he can’t see me, “I’ve already blocked her a hundred different times, but I’ll need to have a chat with boys about giving out my phone number without my consent.” I growl.

  “Did she confirm it was one of them?”

  “How else?”

  “We own a business Wolf…”

  “My number isn’t listed.” I remind him.

  “Fine, but I’ll talk to them.”

  I bristle, “Fine. But they better get the fucking message.”

  “They will. How’s Red?” He changes the subject and electricity tingles along my skin.

  “Fine,
she got herself a job.”

  “Really?” He sounds too surprised.

  “At some gallery.”

  “And you?”

  “Just keeping an eye on her.”

  “Just an eye?”

  “We’ve had this conversation.” My stomach rolls.

  “I just like to know you’re keeping your end of things.”

  “You know she hates me.”

  His silent reply is confirmation.

  “Just talk to the boys and get this sorted.” I hang up before he can say anything more.

  22

  Red

  The rest of the week passes as if I’m nothing but a mosquito in Wolf’s life soup. He snaps and growls at me, giving me precious little time and endless icy looks that I pretend don’t stab my insides. He follows me around in silences that see him stuck with his nose to his phone. He doesn’t mention our celebration and I use the quiet to prepare for my internship. The echoes return to my empty heart chambers, and the world feels normal again.

  My first week at Becca’s gallery is a black and white blur, smeared with too many colours. I’m given endless dates and a virtual calendar that’s going to be my new best friend, along with Caleb, who despite being a ‘bitch,’ as Becca called him on our first meeting, is really gentle and kind. He’s also been shagged in a back alley at least twice that I know of during work hours, and I think that helps his mood. He’s only asked about Wolf one other time, but I shut it down.

  Becca isn’t around as often as I’d hoped, and Caleb placates me with reassurances that once we start doing exhibitions, I’ll be sick of her. I can’t wait to be sick of her. He tells me about an upcoming charity fundraiser in a country estate.

  Becca has agreed to contribute a percentage of her sales, and we will have to oversee the installation. A buzz of excitement thrills through me. I spend the rest of that week learning about Becca’s social media accounts, yearly planners, and art installations.

  When the weekend finally arrives, I’m exhausted and thrilled and, most importantly, alone. Hunter is back, but with three guys still down, him and Wolf have been covering shifts at clubs. They leave one celebrity client and go straight to work standing outside a door somewhere. Sometimes I hear them slipping in in the early hours of the morning.

  When I get up, they’re still down or have already left. It feels almost like I’m living alone. And it feels safe, because I don’t have to see Wolf at all, and my heart can stay intact just a little bit longer.

  I spend my day off sketching in the rare sunlight, autumn is creeping in and with it, cooler days and darker nights. I shower and pull on some comfy tracksuit pants and a white singlet.

  I make some popcorn and snuggle on the couch ready for a thrilling Saturday night with the cast of Dirty Dancing.

  I’m mid chew and Johnny just threw Baby into the water when the doorknob rattles and opens. I swing around to see Wolf coming through the door, he turns his face away as he notices me, and I check the time on my phone.

  “You’re home early.” Suspicion leaks from my voice.

  He mumbles something under his breath and disappears into the corridor. A litany of noises tells me he’s gone from his room to the bathroom and is now showering.

  I keep watching the movie till I see movement in the corner of my eye. Wolf slinks back into the room. I can smell him before he arrives, spice and the things gods are made of, enticing delicious smells that make clever girls like me do stupid things. I pretend not to notice him. Given his entrance, he obviously doesn’t want to talk.

  He slides onto the couch and we sit in silence watching the movie.

  “Can I get some of that?”

  I turn to look at him and gasp. He points to my popcorn as if everything is fine.

  His eye is a dull red, swollen almost shut and his lip is split. “Shit, what happened?”

  He shrugs, “It’s the job.”

  In a second, I’m out of the couch and in the kitchen throwing ice cubes into a towel. I bunch up the fabric and bring it over to him.

  “Here.”

  “Don’t need it.”

  “You do.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Take the fucking ice Wolf.”

  “Just drop it.”

  “Please? Shaw?” His mouth twitches and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

  I pass the towel over, and he winces as it lands on his face.

  “What happened?”

  “Not important.”

  “Was Hunter involved?” My heart spikes with worry.

  “Oh, he was involved all right.” He grumbles then hisses.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He won’t be when I get my hands on him.”

  “Don’t say that!” I jab his ribs and he sucks in a pained breath, his head falls back, and I realise I’d hurt him.

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know how to help.

  His eyes peak open. “It’s fine.” But I can see that it’s not, in the way his face is grim, and his shoulders are bunched up, and the way that he breaths—slowly, like it hurts.

  “Is he?”

  “He looks better than me,” he grizzles and winces, and I wince along with him, my hands feeling helpless and useless at my sides.

  “Where is he?”

  “I’m sure he’s got someone looking after him.” He smirks then groans as his eyes pinch shut.

  “I guess that sounds about right.” I don’t spend too much time thinking about it.

  He chuckles, and sucks in a sharp breath, “Yeah .It’s his fault this whole thing started in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shakes his head and I know I won’t get anything else out of him. He pulls the ice away from his face and grimaces. My heart cracks a little at the sight of him.

  “I think you need to get to a hospital.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Wolf.”

  “Just a few bruises and a probably a bruised rib. I’ve had worse.” He’s tight jawed, his eyes find mine.

  “Probably?” I draw in a shaky breath, my eyes sting with unshed tears.

  “Hey,” his voice softens, but I can hear his pain underneath, “I’m fine, so is Hunter. Everything is okay.”

  Anxiety swims inside me on a loop. Worry and fear I never imagined I’d have to feel for these two big men who seem so invincible. My stomach locks up and I find myself sucking air into my lungs through choppy breaths. I push down the worry.

  “Let me get you into bed.” I offer him my hand as if I’d be able to pull him out of the couch. Instead, he snatches my wrist and rips me to him. I land in his lap and he hisses behind me sucking in a long, agonised breath. His entire body stiffens for almost a full minute before I can feel it relax again.

  “Shaw.” I make to get up, but his strong arms close around me.

  “Stay,” his guttural, breathy voice whispers over my neck and goose bumps erupt along my skin.

  I nod and he releases me, but only enough to slide in beside him, then his hand tightens around my shoulder, and his eyes lock firmly onto the TV. His long fingers trace a line from my neck, along my shoulder, slipping off the thin shoulder strap of my singlet. My heart thrums in a frenzy while he trails slow circles on my shoulder.

  “Relax Red,” he whispers above me, “everything’s fine.”

  But it’s not fine; I’m in Wolf’s arms, and I can feel his warmth around me and hear the pounding of his heart as it smashes through me calling to my own heart, asking it to wake.

  I watch the movie, totally aware of all of him. I want to relax, it should be easy and feel more natural, but with every stroke of his fingers and every sharp breath, I feel the tension build inside me. He unnerves me, he makes me feel totally vulnerable, and it scares the shit out of me.

  Every time I move, he winces, and each time I try to pull away, his grip around me tightens. His presence tears at my defences and threatens to unleash my longing. My heart suffocates as he claws at the scars, a
nd I clutch to his lies as a last ditch effort to save myself. Everything’s fine.

  We sit there till Johnny dances with Baby and announces that no one will put her a corner, and we watch the credits reel up the screen. I try to get up but he holds me. His hands wrap around me and he pulls me to him, and just as quickly, he lets me go and I’m on my feet at a safe distance. Except that I know there’s no such thing. Not anymore.

  “Let me get you to bed.” I take a small step towards him.

  “I’m going to sleep here, it’s easier,” he speaks through gritted teeth, and I wonder how much pain he’s hiding from me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes shut and his head falls to the back of the couch.

  I retreat.

  I go to his room and tear his blanket from his bed and return to the couch where he leans back. His body tense.

  I throw the blanket over him. He doesn’t move.

  I turn away.

  “Red?” I falter and turn back towards him. “Thanks.” His hoarse voice screams of agony.

  I nod, because I can no longer speak or stand here with him in the same room.

  The desire to hold him and take away his pain consumes me, seeing him like this shatters me into a thousand pieces. I know if I go back in that room, I will be signing my fate to him again. I can't risk a second fall, yet it’s all my body wants to do. Instead, I close my door and pull the blanket over my head and pretend I’m far far away.

  The next morning, when I check the lounge, Wolf is gone. I don’t see him again for the rest of the week.

  23

  Ten Years Ago

  Wolf 18, Red 15

  Wolf

  The muffled sniffs and slight moans travel through the silent house and smash against my chest as I close the door behind me. I round the foyer wall to find Red curled up on the couch, her notepad and pencil deserted, her face twisted with grief, her green eyes swimming in red pools.

  Her eyes shoot up and when they land on me, her hands fly to her face and wipe away the tears. She looks so broken and frightened sitting there; I want to pick up all her pieces and put her back together.