by Anne Marsh
I head for the clubhouse. Jace called the meeting as soon as he got back from torching Big Dog’s bayou cabin, and I don’t need a PhD in rocket science to connect the dots in this puzzle. He’s gonna bring up my Marly. A couple of club whores hang by the doors rocking the kind of club wear usually not seen in daylight. The girls look good, though, in their stilettos and leather mini-skirts. Tina’s there, her tits almost popping out of the bright red bustier top. She gives me a hesitant smile, ready to fade back into the woodwork, but I nod. She did me a solid, and I appreciate it.
She’s got a pretty smile—kinda lights up her face.
I shove past the human males guarding the doors and enter the clubhouse. Place is definitely cleaner now that Big Red’s passed. Unlike his predecessor, Jace was willing to shell out the cash for a cleaning crew—and he didn’t threaten to eat them, either. Makes it way easier to retain the help that way. That’s for sure. Otherwise, despite the recent change in leadership, the place still looks and smells the same. Lots of wide-open space, a back room full of pool tables, a bar serving cheap beer and cheaper whiskey, and a mismatched collection of sofas rimming the room. Pretty sure half the furniture came from the curb, but it gets the job done and none of us need it to be pretty. It’s just gotta pull its weight.
It’s not a party night, and things have definitely changed for the better since Jace challenged Big Red for pack leadership and won. That fight was beautiful, the stuff of legends.
We’re still a bunch of rough bastards, and it’s definitely no fucking beauty contest. Our uniform consists of boots, jeans, leather, and chains. Plenty of ink, too. We’re bikers, not billionaires—there’s no fucking tuxedo material here. The junior wolves give me a wide berth as I stride through the clubhouse, which is just the way I like it. I fight mean, I fight dirty, and I always fight to win. You let a wolf walk away from a fight, and he just comes after you again.
Forty wolves ride with the Breed MC, plus another forty humans who are full-patch members. Dozens of prospects hang around the edges of the room, waiting for a member to snap out an order. They fetch, carry, and kill on demand—perfect club minions. Because Fate’s a grudge-carrying bitch, the first wolf I spot is Fang, the goddamned perpetual thorn in my side. He smacks the last remaining club whore on the ass, urging her to move along outside with the rest of the girls. The club’s no place for females; not that women aren’t smart enough, mean enough, or loyal enough—but we’ve always been a boys’ club. Gotta have a dick to ride and to belong.
Jace is standing at the front of the room, bristling with aggression and weapons. He’s a big, ink-covered bastard who doesn’t take shit from anyone. His old lady is Keelie Sue, the daughter of our pack’s former alpha. Mating with her was a smart move on Jace’s part, but thinking didn’t come into it much, not as far I can see. Jace thinks with his dick and his heart—but not his head—when he’s got that girl around. If someone went after her, it’d be like a sucker punch to the gut. She makes him vulnerable.
She’s not here today, though, because this is club business and she’s not a member. Jace mounts the steps to the banquette at the back of the room. It’s high ground, and he can see anyone coming for him. The bar’s not open, indicating this meeting is serious shit, because my brothers like nothing more than getting down and dirty with a beer and a girl.
Jace lounges in Big Red’s chair at the head of the table, the Alpha. The top wolf. I meet his gaze for a long moment, but the funny thing is? I don’t want his spot.
I’m too fucking old, for one thing.
Jace is the new blood. Even wolves wear out, and I’ve been fighting a long fucking time. First my service for Uncle Sam, and then my years under Big Red. Enough time to know that setting Marly free isn’t as simple as killing one big, bad wolf.
I stroll casually up to Jace’s throne, taking the steps two at a time. Gotta play it cool even if my head’s working overtime trying to figure out all the angles. I greet Jace with the barest tilt of my head, flashing him the ink on my throat. He growls, a low, harsh rumble, but fuck him. That’s what he gets from me—my loyalty and a token nod. I don’t roll and show my belly to anyone.
So naturally he goes for the conversational jugular. “How’s Marly?”
Fucking land mine right there. She’s not my prisoner, but I mate-claimed her. When she drives away from my place, I’m gonna lose face. Gonna need to kick more ass to make sure my wolves don’t think I’m weak. Starting with Fang seems like a good idea—business and pleasure.
“She’s doing fine,” I tell him. Hope it’s true too. Bet she could be fifty, sixty miles from Baton Rouge by now. “Didn’t know you cared.”
Jace bares his teeth. “She’s a problem.”
“She’s my problem,” I counter. Of course, her bugging out is gonna be a whole different problem. Things are gonna get a lot worse when her bunk is discovered.
“We’ll discuss it,” he growls, and that’s as good as I’m getting for now. He turns to the waiting wolves and calls the meeting to order. The first thirty minutes are devoted to regular club business. I sprawl in my chair, comment when called on, and keep an eye on the wolves in the crowd. Most of them are listening more or less respectfully, but there’s always the possibility some hot head decides to challenge Jace.
Next item of business is all Blade’s. The club enforcer updates us about the drug trade. That’s messy shit. The market’s all human, and there’s always collateral damage. Jace is winding down the club’s participation, taking us legit, but there are loose ends. Looking at Blade, you might not realize his lanky build hides a downright scary talent with knives. If the local dealers refuse to move from our territory, he’ll be the one problem-solving their refusal, and he’ll do it at knifepoint.
Jace shoves to his feet and steps toward the brothers. “We’ve been cleaning house. Over the last few years, Big Red took us in a bad direction. Guns, drugs, bad shit that’s cost us good brothers and run the risk of exposing the pack. I’m fixing that, and I’m glad to have you all behind me, but we’ve got to talk business. Yesterday, Ware and I went for a ride to Big Dog’s.”
Heads nod here and there in the ranks. My brother wolves sense what’s coming next.
“Big Dog took a mate,” Jace rumbles, “And he didn’t do any asking. We couldn’t leave a female locked up out there against her will. We sprang her, but now we’ve got another problem. Big Dog not only failed to keep his dick to himself, but he shifted in front of her. She knows about the pack.”
“So we take care of her. We’re not the fucking tooth fairy or Santa Claus,” Fang growls. He’s pushing his luck, and Blade moves toward him. Pretty sure Fang’s about to get a beat down. Fucker’s lucky it’s not me, because I’m not feeling gentle.
A wolf steps forward from the crowd. “She gonna talk?”
That’s the million dollar question right there. I stare at the wolf doing the asking, trying to figure out if he’s just putting a legitimate question out there, or if he’s Jace’s plant. Eli is another Jones brother who seems to have come along for the ride when Jace broke away from the Jones pack. I’m okay if he hangs with us, but he hasn’t patched in. Hasn’t asked to prospect, and damned sure hasn’t broken it off with the Jones pack. So you’d think the other wolves wouldn’t trust his loyalties, but no one stops him from attending our meetings or voicing his opinions.
I don’t give a shit if Eli and Jace share DNA. Plus, Eli’s almost as much of a pain in my ass as Fang is, but since it’s clearly my turn to speak up, I shove to my feet, ignoring the painful twinge in my knee, and cross my arms over my chest. I just have one thing to say.
“Doesn’t matter what she saw, what she knows. She’s mine now.” I stare down the other wolves in the room. Most of them are indifferent about what happens to Marly, but a few look more concerned. Those are the faces I need to remember.
Gator crosses his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. As always, he’s watching the meeting from the edge of the roo
m, his back to the wall. “Didn’t get my wedding invite.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” I flip him the bird. “Kept it short and simple and claimed her in front of Jace. You got a problem with that?”
A werewolf claim isn’t PC. We’re not big on poetry, vows, or words of more than one syllable. Mine works just fine, and a good female will answer that with hers. I may have claimed Marly, but she hasn’t claimed me. She’s been abused by werewolves, though, and no way she’s gonna want the likes of me hanging around her. Doesn’t matter how good my intentions are—she’ll want the space and that’s why I’ve left her the means to run.
Gator rolls his shoulders, like he’s actually considering his answer. Gator was one of Big Red’s right-hand wolves, and he’s made it clear he plans on being the same to Jace. Not sure how Jace feels about promoting the bastard, but he’ll answer to me if he tries any shit. An old scar bisects his left cheek, and I’d be happy to give him a matching mark on his right. Balancing him out would be a fucking public service.
“You shoulda claimed her here,” he says eventually. He looks dead serious too, but not much makes Gator smile. I’ve seen him grin ear-to-ear in the middle of a fight, but he’s not the kind of wolf who greets you at the door with a smile and a cold one. It’s obvious to me why the alligator that chewed up his face spat him back out. He’s one tough son-of-a-bitch.
Blade sides with Gator. “She’s club business.”
Not anymore. “She’s my business.”
Temporarily and until she runs far enough to get away, but I’m not sharing that piece of intel with my brothers—they’ll learn soon enough. My loyalty to the club has never been called into question before and I respect the hell out of Jace and my brothers. In letting Marly go, I’ve put my personal shit over the club’s, and it doesn’t sit well—but I’d do it again. She deserves a second chance.
“How much does she know about the club?”
Her werewolf know-how is bad enough. I lift a shoulder. “Don’t know yet.”
It’s not like Marly and I have had much in the way of fucking conversation. I busted her out of Big Dog’s place, gave her a ride and a bath, and then got my fingers in her pussy. While I enjoyed the hell out of my night, we didn’t do a whole lot of talking.
While I’m going back and forth in my head, a whole lot of conversation breaks out, the wolves arguing back and forth about Marly. Sure, I’d like to keep her naked and on her knees, sucking my dick before I return the favor and go down on her pussy, but right now I need to keep her alive and that means letting her go. Breathing trumps orgasming, although I’ve got way too much interest in learning the way she sounds when she’s about to come.
“We’ll vote on it.” Jace puts an end to the discussion before I seriously consider murdering my brothers. We’re going straight majority vote here, so it doesn’t take long. Most of my brothers vote with me on keeping Marly, and I take note of the ones who vote against her. Bottom line? She’s now officially my responsibility. If she steps out of line, I pay the price—so her road trip out of Baton Rouge will cost me.
Keeping the wolf pack on the down low has been rule number one for the last decade. We’re not the only wolf club in the country, and Jace has been making noise about reaching out to some of the non-local brothers. Seems smart to expand our base some and build relationships.
After working through a couple more items, the meeting breaks up. Some of the brothers grab a cold one and mill around the room. Might shoot some pool or talk some—they can be a bunch of fucking gossips. Others sprawl on the couches or head out toward the parking lot and the bikes. I join the crowd making for the door.
Jace falls into step beside. “I’m thinking about cutting in the humans. Letting them know we’re here.”
That’s a bad situation waiting to happen right there. “We’re tough, but the numbers don’t work in our favor. If the governor called in the National Guard or we got Washington’s eyes on us, things could head south fast.”
Jace nods. “True, but we’re also gonna be outed at some point thanks to i-this and i-that. The Internet is not our friend.”
“Got a point.” Wish I could disagree with him, but he’s not wrong. As soon as we step outside, Jace peels off and makes for his bike. Bet he’s heading back to his mate.
Tina’s waiting for me. She kinda smiles when I get close, but then she takes a step back. Guess I look pissed off, and she’s not stupid. Still, she sucks in a breath, licks her lip, and puts her question out there.
“You want to ride?” How the fuck does she manage to sound hopeful and scared at the same time?
I look at her, and she drops her gaze somewhere south of my belt buckle. Couple of days ago, maybe I’d have taken her up on that unspoken offer. Today, though, it doesn’t sit right. I’m temporarily mated and I don’t want the company anyhow, so I shake my head.
“Gonna take off alone,” I tell her.
She nods, her gaze tracking someone over my shoulders. Bet Fang’s moving in. He always wants what’s mine, but that’s not tonight’s problem. I throw my leg over my bike and gun the engine. The throaty roar of the pipe bounces off the buildings, filling the air with my fuck-you to the world. I need the road, the wide-open space, and nothing between me and my future but empty air and speed. I wanna fly, just for a moment, and leave all this shit behind me.
WARE
It’s way past dark when I pull into the warehouse. It feels like I’ve covered the better part of Louisiana, and I need a beer. Fuck. I need more than that, but I’m in no real hurry to be done with the day even if I’m not in the mood for the club’s social shit. Marly’s not gonna be here, and I have to admit I liked thinking about her in my bed. Fantasizing about her waiting for me to come home and take her for a different kind of ride.
Except she’s not gone.
My truck’s still in the parking lot. It’s not exactly where I left it, however, as if she took it out for a spin and then came back. The back bumper practically touches the wall and one tire points right. She can’t park worth shit. That’s the first thought that I manage to process, followed by a WTF of colossal proportions.
Marly is the cutest little submissive ever. She’s not a wolf, but she’s no challenger and she’s not stupid, either. She’s gotta understand that the longer she hangs around the pack, the more likely it is someone takes her out just as insurance. She’s a liability, and we both know it. I as good as ordered her to go, giving her the means to make her exit, so her disobeying makes about as much sense as teaching nuclear physics in a kindergarten.
I head in. Before I’ve gone more than a few feet, I know she’s not trying to hide. More like advertise. She’s belting out some off-key hum-along version of Justin Bieber, proving her taste in music is as shit as her parking skills.
The interior door pops open easily in my hand—she hasn’t locked it, barred it, or dragged the couch in front of it. She’s vulnerable alone, especially now, so she should have fucking locked it. I’ll be explaining that to her. Might have to do that explaining with my palm on her ass, but that’s one point we’re gonna be clear on. She stays safe—or she doesn’t sit comfortably for the rest of the week.
It’s not like it’s hard to find her once I’m inside—hello, open floor plan. She stands in my kitchen, leaning over the stove I never use. My mouth waters, and not just because I smell steak. She’s wearing another one of my T-shirts, and her legs and feet are bare. Somewhere, she found nail polish because her nails are a girly hot pink. She’s scooped her hair up on top of her head and anchored it with a pair of chopsticks. She looks sexy and rumpled—downright delicious, in fact.
She looks over her shoulder as I prowl closer. “Hey.”
And then she smiles and my brain fucking short-circuits, because she looks genuinely happy to see me. The smile gets bigger before it dims when I don’t respond. Yep. I’m the leading candidate for asshole of the year.
“Why are you here?” And with four words and a question, I clinch t
hat award. Instead of answering, however, she hums and turns her attention back to the stove.
I. Don’t. Think. So.
MARLY
My genius plans for seducing—and keeping—Ware fly out of my head the minute he stalks inside. He’s big, he’s pissed, and he’s so hot that I seriously contemplate melting into a puddle of needy goo on his kitchen floor. And this is why I’m no seductress extraordinaire.
“I cooked dinner,” I chirp way too brightly. He’s a wolf—not one of the three blind mice. He can see perfectly well what I’m doing with his brand-new grill pan.
“You’re supposed to be gone,” he half-snarls. The lock on the door clicks into place, shutting me in with him. This is what I want. Sure, the sensations streaking through my belly—and lower—are part trepidation, but they’re hot, squirmy, delicious sensations and I want more.
“I decided to stay,” I say with a shrug that sends his pilfered T-shirt sliding down my arm. “You want to make me leave?”
I have no idea how he moves so stealthily, but one minute he’s by the door and the next he’s in the kitchen. There’s not so much as a scrape of his boot against the floor. Too bad he’s not a cat and I can’t bell him.
“What are you doing here?” He growls the question, flattening his palms on the kitchen island.
“Cooking.” Mentally I measure the distance between us. Is five feet of butcher block enough to keep him from pouncing on me? That island is practically the only piece of furniture in the room. The man’s place is almost entirely empty. Even the kitchen cupboards are a sea of empty space. He must eat straight out of take-out cartons or something, because he owns a mismatched but extensive collection of disposable plastic silverware and nothing else in the way of dishes.
“You need to stop fucking with the pack and leave.” He certainly sounds unhappy. His knuckles tighten on the counter, and I’m pretty sure he’s imagining strangling me. Funny, then, that I still feel so very safe. It’s been a long time since I felt this way, so I’m not ready to give it up just because he says so.