The Wolf (Billionaire Vikings Book 2)

by S. M. Maddox

  The aroma of soggy, garlicy, buttery, cheesy, noodle-y food wafted through the house as I opened the door to let him in. The bag he was holding smelled almost as good he looked, and Otis and I both licked our lips.

  Otis bounded up to Roland, sticking his nose directly onto the take-out bag.

  “Hellhound! How ya been?” Otis shoved his head underneath Roland’s hand, and Roland dutifully scratched him behind both of his ears.

  “That’s not his name, and I’d appreciate it if you’d quit calling him that.”

  “Relax, Malone. It’s fun watching your face scrunch up.” He wrapped his arm around my waist in a quick motion and kissed me so deeply, so intimately, that my heart skipped two beats and, just for a minute, I entertained the idea of fucking him right here in the doorway for all the neighbors to see. Do not fall in love, Jessie. You better shut that shit down fast. He may not be around once he hears how you’ve been using him.

  He let me go and marched towards the kitchen, instantly making himself at home. I stood there in the doorway watching him, unsure of what exactly I was going to say to him to keep him from hating me. That knot I’d had in my stomach since he’d nearly discovered me was growing heavier and heavier, combining itself with the hunger pains. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep anything down or throw it up from nerves.

  “You gonna freeze us out or shut the door, Malone? Me and Opie are about to start eating without you.”

  I closed the door and moved to the couch. I sat down, pulling the coffee table up closer as Roland brought the unwrapped food to me. I turned on the tv to watch Jeopardy!, my favorite show and a good silence killer.

  We sat there, unspeaking to each other as we chowed down on noodles. Roland had chicken parmesan, and he’d brought me grilled chicken alfredo. Between the two of us sat a huge box of cheesy bread, which of course Otis got to sample. Roland had also sweetly considered Otis and brought him a bowl of buttered noodles, which I could tell from the way his body was spastically wiggling had made his whole week.

  “Mikhail Baryshnikov. Caravaggio. House Stark. Eminem. Hard Out There For A Pimp,” I said out loud, answering all the questions perfectly as if Alex Trebek could hear me.

  “Are you an undiagnosed genius, Malone?”

  “Only in useless trivia. It’s my superpower. Liquid crystal display. 1963. Elia Kazan,” I continued, unphased.

  “Remind me never to go against you in Trivial Pursuit.”

  Otis, full of noodles and cheese bread, went over to his dog bed and crashed hard, leaving the two of us alone after our meal.

  Roland turned his body towards me on the couch, his knee hitting the back cushion and his left arm stretched across the back. I tried to look at him, but fuck, it was like staring at the sun. He’d left the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. I whipped my head back towards the tv screen, now a black mirror. I could feel him staring at me, boring a hole into the side of my head trying to get my secrets to leak out.

  “I’ve fucked you and filled you, Malone. Start talking.”

  “Do you have to be so vulgar about everything?”

  “Yes. I don’t like bullshit, and I find brutal honesty always is the best policy. It turns off the wrong people and attracts the right ones.”

  “What about the tiramisu? I asked for tiramisu.”

  “That’s for later, if you’re a good girl. Start. Fucking. Talking.” The lust in his voice was apparent, and I wondered what he meant by ‘good girl.’

  “I’m just saying, it makes it hard to talk to you when you’re being such a, such a,” I couldn’t find the words I wanted to use.

  “Such a primal, fuckable beast?”

  “Sure, we can go with that.”

  Roland scooted closer to me on the couch, shooting every electrified hair on my body straight out outward as if trying to escape from me. He gently took my hand and kissed it lightly, feathering his lips up and down my wrist in the process.

  “I’m sorry, Jessica, for how I behave around you. You make me so fucking hard that all I want to do is watch my cock fill your pussy over and over until your eyes pop out of your head. I will try to listen to your words and not watch your heaving tits as you talk to me and open up.”

  He moved up to kiss my neck, whispering in my hair in the process. “Would you please let me know why you insist on working off the clock, so that we may get to the part where I suck your clit into orgasmic ecstasy? There is truly nothing I want more.”

  I burst out laughing at his seriousness, letting out a small snort in the process.

  “Wow, Malone, I didn’t think you could get any sexier. So how ‘bout it?”

  “Was that your idea of dirty talk? It’s awful.”

  “Is it, though? I’ll make you a bet. IF you take of your panties right now and you are NOT soaking for me, then I’ll let you keep working on your secret project.” That fucker.

  I took the bait. “And if I am?”

  “Then I’ll lick you dry.”

  I looked away from him in the opposite direction, taking him completely out of my eyesight and peripherals. If I didn’t focus, we weren’t going to get anywhere. “Could you please try to be professional for a few minutes? And maybe throw a blanket over your entire body so I’m not distracted while I talk?”

  I felt Roland scoot back to the opposite end of the couch. “Scout’s honor, Malone. I won’t touch you until you beg me to. Start from the beginning.”

  The beginning. The beginning was the hardest part, wasn’t it? You never know where the beginning begins, until one day you wake up and realize that at some moment, some decision, somewhere in your life set you on the path from whence you would never recover.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jessie

  Roland, as I had asked, had wrapped a blanket around himself to help a girl out. He studied me intently as I began my story.

  I started from the supposed beginning. These moments had replayed themselves over and over in my mind, as if I could snap my fingers Thanos-style and change the outcome if I just thought hard enough.

  “I double majored in journalism and communications. All I ever wanted to do was report the news. I don’t know how it started, but ever since I was a little girl I just wanted to be in the thick of the action, you know? I thought it was the most prestigious job in the world, to interview world leaders and get them to tell you their secrets.

  “When I graduated college, I sent out my news videos. I’d paid a friend to film me doing local news reports, so I could look professional when sending out my application. I reported on events around town, at the college, whatever I could find to blow up and film a story about it. A few of them even got featured on the local channel. A few months into sending out applications, I heard from WFYR in Hartford. They needed a weather girl, and they thought I was sexy and professional enough to bring in viewers.

  “And oh, bring in viewers, I did. The weather segment shot up in the nightly news rankings 10% alone. On the weekends, when I was off, the rankings dropped. Needless to say, I felt like a was on top of the world, that I had topped out my star power, but I was wrong.

  “After successfully dominating the weather segment for a year, WFYR promoted me to nightly news anchor. The entire show shot up 20% and held there. I had dreams, big dreams. I thought maybe I could send out videos to the major networks, try to get some Today Show status or something down the line.

  “Then, about two years ago, a big story broke. I threw myself into it, researching and interviewing everyone I could find. You probably remember hearing about it. The prominent businessman who was found tortured and beaten to death in the abandoned warehouse? His name was Bart Collins.”

  Roland nodded, “I do. He owned several fast food chains, right?”

  “Right, he was a real self-made entrepreneur. The kind you always hear about that go on to be the richest, most respected people. Well, he was a great man. He donated a lot, and he and his wife had adopted four
children, all from different countries. He was a man’s man, the kind of guy that everyone with money should be, but so few really are.”

  “I remember there was a big funeral, lots of big wigs came in from all over the country.”

  “I went to both the wake and the funeral. Afterwards, when things had settled a bit, his wife asked me, practically begged me, to find out what had happened. She and I had worked several fundraisers together. I guess you could say I had a personal interest in the case. She said he’d never done anything off color. That’s what they always say, right? Except normal people don’t end up with two shots to the chest, one to the head, throat slit for good measure, bound and gagged and strung upside down to bleed out in an abandoned factory.”

  “Sounds like the mafia.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. It’s not like he was killed by a drunk driver or shot in an armed robbery. This was a specific death, to send a message. So, I started digging deeper. I got his rolodex from his wife, and I started doing recon work. On my off days, I’d tail anyone and everyone who’d been associated with him, marking them off my list one by one. I’m telling you, when I go deep, I go fucking deep.

  “I had close friend on the police force who offered to help me. We’d dated back in college, and he still held a soft spot for me. He pulled phone records, arrest records, whatever he could find on anyone I thought might have been any sort of suspicious. His name was Jack.”

  I paused, tears starting to well up in my eyes. Jack. I didn’t want to tell Roland he’d been my fiancé for a minute. That I’d broken his heart after I’d graduated. Everything would’ve been better if I’d have stayed with Jack. He wanted the simple life; me in his arms every night, kids piled up on us, a white picket fence, the whole package. I knew I wanted more than that, that I could do more with my life than be a wife and mother.

  I didn’t want to tell Roland that I’d killed the only man I’d ever really loved.

  I took a deep breath, feeling my hands start to shake in rhythm to my beating heart.

  “20, 19, 18, 17…”

  “Jessie?”

  “I just need a minute, Roland,” I stammered out as the hot tears flooded my face. “10, 9, 8…”

  Roland moved towards me, wrapping the blanket which had covered him around my shuddering body. He held me close in his strong arms, protecting me from the world that had nearly destroyed me. Otis woke up, and came over to lay on my feet for comfort. He was used to my panic attacks.

  “About a year and a half ago was when it all went to shit. I didn’t know it at the time. I just fucking let everything happen and didn’t try to stop any of it.

  “That night had been a rainy, windy night. I remember, because my favorite umbrella broke. I ducked into a local bar that I’d been to several times. It wasn’t like I was off the beaten path in a strange area or anything. They always talk about that in the serial killer documentaries you know? Either the woman did something completely different from her normal routine and the killer happened to come across her, or the woman was doing her exact same routine and the killer happened to come across her. I always think about that, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, I know it wouldn’t have mattered. Jason was after me. He would’ve found me no matter what.

  “So, I go into the bar to wait out the storm. I was already mad about my umbrella and I’d had a bad day at work. Jack and I had been working on the case for about six months by then, and we’d hit another dead end. I had so many pieces of the puzzle, but nothing was adding up. Dead ends across the board. You’d think between a cop and a journalist, one of us could’ve put the pieces together.

  “I sat down, and pulled out my phone to check my e-mail. I ordered water on the rocks, because it makes people laugh.”

  A faint smile played across Roland’s lips as I continued.

  “I was still scrolling through e-mails when this guy sits down beside me. Real Wall Street looking guy, you know? Tailored suit, shiny shoes, slicked back blonde hair. Looked like he walked out of a banker photo shoot, and he sat down beside me.

  “Now I say that, because I learned later the next day when I was telling my friend that it was Singles Night and I just didn’t read the sign as I went in. Couldn’t see the forest for the trees, and whatnot. I had set myself up to be hit on and I didn’t even realize it. After Ja-I mean, after I started working at WFYR, I made it a point to not date much. It’s a messy business, losing your heart.

  “My guard was somewhat lowered. I had seen there were plenty of other, much more attractive, women in the bar when I’d walked in so I hadn’t been particularly on a heightened sense of awareness in the first place. I’ve always made a habit of scouting out the crowd for perceived safety, you know? Women do that sort of thing on instinct.

  “This guy sitting beside me starts making small talk. He was hot, like really hot, so I indulged in his conversation. He ordered me a refill of water on rocks, and complimented it with ‘crab with scissors.’ The specialty appetizer that night was snow crab legs, which came with the dull scissor thing to break into them. I asked what he was doing and he replied, ‘Oh, I thought we were playing rock, paper, scissors?’ I’ll never forget that, because he was so corny he caused me to let my guard down just a little more.”

  “I hate him already.”

  “Guys usually mention how familiar I look, because they’ve seen me on tv. He didn’t start with that, which made me fall deeper into the conversation. I assumed if he knew who I was, he figured I must get that line all the time. And if he didn’t know who I was, then fresh start for me. Win-win situation.

  “So, we’re cracking crab legs over garlic butter, talking and laughing, I think we went through three or four orders of them, and he finally says it, but not how I thought he would. I’m wiping the butter off that’s running down my elbows and he says, ‘I should probably tell you, I just got a job in your office. I’m your new producer.’”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Exactly. My eyes go wide, and I’m not sure what to make of the situation. I mean, we hadn’t done anything but eat crab legs, but it felt very much like a date, you know? I was a little dumbstruck, to say the least.

  “I looked at my phone, and it was damn near midnight. We’d been eating crab legs and talking for nearly four hours, can you imagine? I thanked him and told him I needed to get going, and of course he offered to walk me home.”

  “Of course he did, the asshat.” Otis started whimpering at my feet. He got up and hobbled over to the end of the couch, where he threw up again.

  “Oh no, baby! Did you eat too many noodles?” I jumped up and ran to the kitchen to grab the paper towels and garbage can. When I got back, Roland was in the floor beside Otis, stroking his back and trying to comfort him.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a soft spot for animals, Mr. Andersen.”

  “If you ever tell a damn soul, I’ll fire you. Sexy, fuckable ass or not. What’s making him throw up?”

  “I’m not sure. He ever used to get sick much but since we moved here, he’s been throwing up more and more. Sometimes he acts like he doesn’t want to get out of bed in the mornings, too. But other times he’s totally normal, so I’m not sure. I wish animals could speak to us, and tell us their hopes and dreams. Maybe he misses Hartford?”

  “Don’t get weird on me, Malone. Have you taken him to the vet?”

  “Not yet. I made an appointment for him on Monday, though.”

  “Ok, good. Back to the story. I believe you’d just met a doucheface.”

  “Yes. Jason walked me home that night, but he didn’t kiss me. It was strictly platonic. He was flirty, though. He walked me to my door, and before he turned to leave he dropped me a line I’ll never forget. He said, ‘Did they name the station after you?’ I said no and asked why, and he said, ‘Because you’re like wildfire, Malone. WFYR. Sexy as hell, and you consume all in your path.’”

  “Damn, that was clever. Even I didn’t think of that.” />
  “It gets worse. So, I’m thinking this is awkward, now I’ve got a crush on my new producer and he’s clearly flirting with me. That’s a professional line I’d rather not cross.”

  “You seem to be good at these types of relationships.”

  Ignoring him, I went on. “For the next few weeks we keep it mostly professional. He’s still flirty, but he’s hot as shit and all the women in the office are jealous of me because he doesn’t pay them any attention. I don’t shut down his flirtiness, because, as I said, he was hot.”

  “I got it, he’s a dreamboat. Where’s the story?”

  “Right, moving on. Where’s the story? Oddly enough, that’s precisely what he asked me, too. We’re at the Thanksgiving office party, and he and I end up in the corner lost in conversation. Our mutual flirtation comes to a head that night when he tells me his whole story. He was next in line to be the producer of some big show in California, when he got offered the head producer gig in Hartford. Naturally, I had to ask what his selling point was and he says, wait for it… Me.”

  “Well, I for one. Am. Shocked.” Roland rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Fucking classic asshole. Oldest trick in the book.”

  I shot him a dirty look. “I didn’t know that then, thank you very much. Jason drops me a line like when he first watched my show, he knew he’d fallen in love with me, blah blah blah. Mentions the whole Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes love story to really knock me off my socks.” I looked at Roland, who didn’t seem to register what I was talking about.

  “Guess I’ll have to google that later.”

  “Anyway, he had me. I fell for it. Overly romantic bullshit.”

  “Obviously it didn’t work out or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Man, you’re sharp.”

  “Easy there, Malone. I would love nothing more than to spank you right here, right now.”