Bad Blood Wolf (Bad Blood Shifters Book 2)

by Anastasia Wilde

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Come on inside, then.” He headed for the main house.

  When they stepped inside, there was no Jasmin, only a blond man measuring coffee into the coffeemaker. He glanced up in surprise.

  “Who the fuck is that?” he asked, looking at Brody.

  “It’s a Nashville wolf,” Xander said. “I think it’s a stray.”

  “And you didn’t kill it yet?” the man asked. “Why not?”

  “That’s Sloan,” Xander said, as Brody backed up a couple of steps, trying to keep both of them in his line of sight and hoping he could take them. “Sloan doesn’t really like to kill stuff that much. He usually lets me do it.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sloan muttered.

  “You don’t actually need to kill me,” Brody said. He wasn’t sure if they were really hostile, or just fucking with him.

  “You’re Nashville,” Xander said. “Nashville tried to kill us.”

  “I actually fought on the other side,” Brody told him. “With Donnie Jenkins?”

  Xander narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember you.”

  “Um, I think you were kind of passed out at the time,” Brody said. “Poisoned?”

  “Hmph,” Xander grunted. “That wasn’t my fault.”

  At that moment, Jasmin walked in from the back of the house, fresh from the shower, wearing sweats and rubbing her wet hair with a towel. The feelings from last night hit Brody in the gut like a sucker punch.

  “Shit,” she said, looking at Brody, then at Xander. “Where did he come from?”

  Not exactly the welcome he’d been hoping for. But she didn’t sound pissed. More… surprised. Maybe that was a little smile at the corners of her mouth?

  “He followed you home,” Xander said. “I think he’s a stray.”

  Sloan finished measuring coffee and pushed the ‘start’ button. He gave Jasmin an exaggerated ‘what did you expect?’ look. “You fed it, didn’t you,” he said. “How many times do I have to tell you? If you feed them, they just keep coming around.”

  “That explains you two, then,” Jasmin said. She was smiling. Brody felt himself start to relax, warmth spreading through him. Maybe he could still convince her to let him spend the day.

  “She didn’t feed it,” Xander said. “I think she did the boingo-boingo with it. Now it’ll never leave.”

  Jasmin head-smacked him as she went by.

  “Then it better be able to make itself useful in the kitchen,” Jasmin said. “Because I’m about to make dinner for the crockpot, and those who do not help do not eat.”

  Brody only wished he’d be able to stay for dinner, but he was supposed to meet his contact tonight. He wasn’t about to bring that up now, though. Not if she was going to let him stay.

  “I can do that,” he said. “Just tell me what you need.”

  “Brace yourself,” Xander advised. “Those who do help get yelled at a lot. Hope you’re not a sensitive little puppy.”

  “I hope you can tell the difference between cubes and slices,” Jasmin said. “Unlike certain asshole panthers.”

  Brody saluted. “Yes, Chef,” he said. Her smile got a little bigger, even though she was trying to hide it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Xander said. “It’s like one of those evil chef shows on TV. You get abused no matter what you do.”

  “Not scared,” Brody said. “I’m going to wow you with my knife-wielding prowess.”

  There were snorts and snickers all around the kitchen.

  “Sucker,” Sloan coughed behind his hand.

  Jasmin handed Brody an onion, a cutting board, and a French chef knife. “I need this diced,” she said. “For those unaware of it, dice are cube-shaped.”

  “I like the sexy Iron Chef thing you have going on,” he murmured.

  She just gave him a sideways glance and said, “Impress me, Tornado.”

  She turned away, but not before brushing her hand over his ass. Brody willed his dick to stay down, but it was a losing battle.

  Jasmin started gathering ingredients and measuring things into bowls. She was just as beautiful doing that as she was fighting in a cage. She had a fluid economy of movement that just made him want to pull her on his lap and bite the side of her neck to feel her writhe…

  “Hey!” Xander elbowed him in the ribs. “Better slap down that boner and get to work, or that knife will probably end up where the sun don’t shine.”

  He leaned on the countertop at Brody’s elbow, giving him ‘the benefit of his knife-wielding experience,’ explaining the difference between chopping and mincing in excruciating and totally inaccurate detail.

  Brody knew Jasmin was watching, even though she pretended to ignore him. Sloan was peeling potatoes and smirking.

  Showtime.

  Brody set the onion on the cutting board and the knife slipped effortlessly into his hand. He hadn’t cooked much lately, but…

  With three quick strokes, he slashed the onion into four sections. Blade flashing at warp speed, he moved down the row until he had four piles of onion, each cut to a different size.

  He pointed with the knife blade. “Sliced, diced, chopped, minced.” In one quick movement, he wrapped his left elbow around Xander’s neck and held the blade to his throat. “Dead.”

  The whole room went still. Brody released Xander. “Any questions?”

  Sloan turned to Jasmin, potato peeler poised. “I like him,” he said.

  Jasmin was staring at him as if he were Thor defeating Loki in a superhero movie. She walked over, hooked her finger through the belt loop of his jeans, and whispered in his ear, “That was so hot.”

  Brody melted.

  “Dude,” Xander said. “That was amazing. You’re like, Jasmin’s perfect wife.” Jasmin head-smacked him again.

  A deep voice came from behind them. “Who the fuck is that?”

  Brody sighed.

  “Hey, Dad!” Xander said. “It’s a puppy. It followed Jaz home. Can we keep it?”

  Brody turned to see an enormous man padding down the curved staircase. He wore only a pair of jeans—sort of. There seemed to be more rips than fabric, and large expanses of skin were showing through. His tangle of black dreadlocks was wild and unkempt, and his alpha presence rolled out before him.

  Holy fuck, this guy had more alpha in his little finger than the Nashville pack’s whole leadership team, alpha and lieutenants combined.

  Jasmin’s face went still, but she kept her fingers in his belt loop. “Flynn, this is Brody Jameson. Brody, this is Flynn, our alpha. Brody’s from the Nashville pack,” she added.

  “Not from the evil murdering douchebag part, though,” Xander said. “He says he’s one of Donnie’s guys.”

  Flynn looked him over. His eyes were dark brown—almost black—filled with cool calculation and formidable intelligence.

  “I thought all Donnie’s people moved to Idaho.”

  “I didn’t go,” Brody said. “Personal reasons.”

  Flynn just held him in that steady gaze. Brody felt like a butterfly pinned to a board.

  Then he turned his gaze to Jasmin. “Where’s my truck?” he asked.

  “Parking lot, Mad River Road House,” she said. “You need it? I was going to go over later and get it.”

  Flynn shook his head. “Later’s fine.” He went over to the coffee pot, which was still filling. He picked up a mug and swapped it with the pot, letting the coffee drip straight into it, and then poured more coffee from the partly filled pot into the mug. He swapped them back.

  “So Brody,” he said. “You ever been on Tinder?”

  What?

  Jasmin gave a muffled snort, patted Brody’s ass and went back to cooking.

  “Um, no,” Brody said.

  “I heard you’re supposed to wear pants on dates.”

  Ooookay. If this was a test, it was the weirdest one he’d ever heard of.

  Brody considered. “I doubt that’s in the Terms of Service. And isn’t the whole point o
f a hookup app to end up not wearing pants?”

  Flynn nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

  He added cream to his coffee and said, “Don’t fuck with my crew, or I’ll kill you.” He wandered out.

  Chapter 13

  Jasmin couldn’t believe Brody had stayed. After she’d gone jag in the middle of the night, she’d figured he’d take off. But he stuck around and helped her make dinner, made friends with the crew, and insinuated himself easily in arguments about sports and debates over TV shows and assassination techniques.

  That place inside her that had gone all warm and squishy last night still bubbled with feeling. She didn’t quite know what to do with that.

  She liked having Brody here.

  She didn’t know what to do with that, either.

  She could feel him watching her at odd moments. She knew he wanted something from her—some kind of relationshippy thing that she was pretty sure she didn’t know how to do. She kept waiting for him to get bored and leave, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he offered to take her over to the bar and pick up Flynn’s truck. But when they got to the turnoff, he went on by.

  Jasmin twisted her head and watched it disappear. “You know it was that way, right?” she said.

  “I know. We’re going to town first.”

  She frowned. “What for?”

  “I’m taking you to lunch.”

  “What, like a date?” Jasmin felt a little flash of panic. She didn’t do dates. She didn’t know how to do dates.

  “Yes,” Brody said. “Exactly like a date. We’re going to my favorite restaurant, and we we’re having food there, for which I will pay. Datelike.”

  “You should have asked me first.”

  “You would have said no.”

  True.

  Jasmin tried again. “I hate eating at restaurants. The food pisses me off because I’m always thinking about how I could do it better.”

  Brody grinned. “Excellent. Tell Toni that. He’s the owner—he loves to talk cooking. He’s the one who taught me how to wield a knife.”

  Huh. It might be kind of fun to talk to a restaurant owner. But not on a date. She felt like she was on a roller coaster that was just cresting the big hill at the beginning of the ride.

  “This isn’t a date,” she insisted.

  “Yep, it is. I’m working up to being your boyfriend.” He reached over and took her hand.

  Jasmin pulled it away, like a cat that hates having its paws touched. “You’re not going to be my boyfriend. It makes it sound like we’re in high school.”

  “Fine.” Brody was still smiling. “What do you prefer? Lover? Paramour? Fuck buddy?” She just shook her head.

  He reached over and took her hand again. She pulled it away. “Stop doing that.”

  “I thought you liked it when I touch you.”

  She did like it. She loved the feel of his hands, the warmth of his skin. His easy affection made her jag want to wind herself around him and purr.

  But it made her feel soft inside. Warm and squishy and pliable, like she’d do anything he wanted.

  “It’s too… boyfriendy.”

  He bit his lips, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “I want to do tons of boyfriendy things,” he said. “I want to buy you ice cream, and flowers, and stupid little presents. I want to take you on dates. I want to take you dancing. I want to rub your feet when you’re tired and make out with you in the movies and go in one of those photo booths and make faces at the camera, and stick the pictures in the corner of my bedroom mirror so I can look at them every time I get dressed.”

  “Stop being an idiot,” she said. It sounded fun. And silly. And like something she could never do.

  He reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. She leaned back in the seat, but she didn’t push him away. Stupid Tornado. He never gave up.

  “This still isn’t a date.”

  He just grinned. Fucker.

  They pulled into the parking lot of a shabby little building on the outskirts of town, that Jasmin had never noticed before. There was a small sign—La Cabañero. Fine South American Cuisine.

  It was late for lunch, but the parking lot was still half-full. She liked that already. South Americans worked on a slower timeframe than Americans, and they liked their leisurely meals.

  Then they got out of the car, and the smell of the food hit her.

  Grilled meat and spices, and a hint of home. It hit a place in her heart she hadn’t realized was there.

  Brody glanced sideways at her, as if sensing something of how she felt. He caught her hand and twined his fingers with hers.

  This time she didn’t pull away.

  “Don’t know if you’ve been yearning for Brazilian food,” he said, “but Toni does some great dishes. Also Argentinian specialties, Chilean… lots of meat, and traditional food from different cultures. You’ll love it.”

  She did love it. She loved Toni the minute she met him. He was a portly little man with silver hair who looked like he enjoyed his own food. He came out of the kitchen the minute he learned Brody was there, exclaiming in a mixture of English and Portuguese, and kissing Brody on both cheeks.

  He fussed over Jasmin, pinching her cheek and telling Brody she was beautiful. When he found out she spoke Portuguese he was thrilled; when he found out she was a chef he was in ecstasy.

  He insisted on bringing them a selection of what seemed like everything on the menu, explaining to Jasmin his ‘secret’ ingredients and asking her opinion on everything.

  “I am thinking to add more chili pepper to this filling,” he said, handing her a fresh, hot, deep-fried pastry stuffed with spicy meat. “What you say? Yes? No?”

  Jasmin filled her stomach and gave her opinions. Brody sat back and watched, chiming in every now and then. He seemed distracted, though, glancing at his phone every few minutes where it lay on the tabletop.

  About halfway through the meal it vibrated. Brody picked it up, glanced at the notification, and dismissed it.

  “Anything important?” Jasmin asked.

  He shook his head. “Just a friend.” He put the phone down, but a certain tension had left him.

  Sunday, she remembered suddenly. He’d said he needed the money by Sunday night, and it was Sunday. Was that whoever he needed to give it to, messaging him? Dealer? Bookie? Blackmailer?

  Brody was talking to Toni, tasting a new dish, laughing at something the older man said. There was no chance to ask him.

  And she had the feeling he wouldn’t tell her, even if she did ask.

  That knowledge made her feel suddenly cold inside. She didn’t really know this man. He was a stranger.

  Finally, when they were full and the restaurant was nearly empty, Toni said, “Dio mio, it is good to see you, Brody! And your lovely lady. It has been too long. When you going to leave that stuffy office and come cook for me, so I can retire?”

  Brody laughed. “You’ll never retire, and I’m not that good.”

  “Ah, well, semi-retire, then,” he said. “I am tired, and Rosa needs me at home.” He turned to Jasmin. “My wife,” he said. “Her health is not always so good, you see.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

  He patted her hand. “Getting old sucks,” he said, eyes twinkling. That made her laugh.

  Brody went off with him to haggle over the bill. Presumably Jasmin wasn’t supposed to hear these delicate negotiations, because she was a female and this was a date.

  Men.

  Men with secrets, men who left their women out of everything important.

  Men who left their cell phones on the table.

  She eyed his phone. It was wrong to read other people’s messages. A violation of privacy. Of trust.

  But Brody was into something he almost certainly shouldn’t be. Secrets were dangerous. Secrets could kill.

  Secrets could lead to people being captured and sent to experimental labs, scarred, broken and tortured.

  She picked
up the phone and checked the last message. There was no contact name—just a number—and the message was nothing but an address and time. 1303 Sycamore. 6:30.

  She put the phone down.

  Brody came back to the table laden down with bags of leftovers. After many double-cheeked kisses and effusions, they left, Toni waving from the door.

  “He liked you,” Brody said as they drove away.

  She liked Toni, too. “He’s a sweet old man,” she said. “And a good chef.” A really good chef. She didn’t know if Brody had any idea just how good he was.

  “He really is looking for help,” Brody said. “Maybe when your jag settles down?”

  She looked at the restaurant disappearing in the rearview mirror. She’d give a lot to work in a place like that. But she had the feeling that if she and Brody had a smackdown over whatever he was doing tonight, Toni wouldn’t like her quite so much.

  “Maybe,” she said. She looked at the bags. “He gave you enough food to keep you going for a week.”

  “It’s for the crew,” Brody said. “I’m going to bribe them to make them like me.”

  Good luck with that. If he didn’t come clean with her, she was going to use the leftovers to bribe the crew to bleed him until he talked. They’d see who won.

  By the time they picked up the truck and made it back to the compound, the day was already turning to dusk. Brody knew he was going to have to go soon.

  He hated to see this day end. It had been a bright spot in the dismalness of his life for the past year—the one thing that had given him a sliver of hope for the future.

  If only the past wasn’t rearing its ugly head, dragging him down with its sticky tentacles.

  They only thing that might—might—make things right was if his contact came through for him tonight. If he had what Brody needed. If it worked the way it was supposed to.

  If Jasmin didn’t try to get involved.

  He couldn’t drag her into this. Not after everything she’d been through. It was too dangerous. He just didn’t know if she’d understand that.

  The crew dove on the leftovers like a horde of ravening locusts. He didn’t know if it made them like him any better, but hell, it couldn’t hurt.