Page 44 of Psycho

Charlie laughed through her wheezing breaths, her face beet-red and shiny from perspiration. “If you gave her your card and told her to go shopping, my guy… then she went shopping.”

I furrowed my brow. “What else could she possibly need that we didn’t supply her with? I’d bought her some feminine items, makeup, and even clothes. She had unlimited access to food and drink and roof over her head.”

“You make it sound like prison,” she teased, her arms pumping as she ran. “Women have needs that may seem like wants to you. Hair products, workout clothes they feel comfortable in. Vitamins. Even those of us who say we’re not high maintenance… we are.”

I guessed that made sense.

After a few reps, I pulled my phone and texted Trigger: How’s my girl

I backspaced.

Me: How’s Nera? Still shopping?

I lifted the weight and put it back onto the rack. Then I lay down on the mat and started the two hundred crunches I needed to keep from getting a beer belly.

My phone chimed three minutes later. Did I interrupt my crunches to check it? Fuck it.

I stood and looked at the phone.

Trigger: She’s shopping her ass off and I’m bored AF

Oh no, we don’t want her doing anything to lose that luscious ass, I thought. I smirked and kept that comment to myself.

Me: Copy.

At least she was okay. Just got caught up and lost track of time probably.

“She’s just shopping,” I told Charlie.

“Told you,” she replied smirking.

“I’m done, see you later,” I said as I walked toward the locker room. I frowned at the photo of Demon on the wall with his birth and death dates on it. He’d been the one to design this gym so we’d nicknamed it Demon’s Lair. John—Demon—he would have totally hated having his picture up in here, but I didn’t care. He needed to be remembered.

After a shower, I went to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. The kitchen itself was something between an industrial and residential one. We had three large fridges built into the wall, an island the size of Texas, and a huge pantry. Cutter had kind of taken over feeding us, and I was grateful. He’d not had the best upbringing—not that any of us did—and when he came to us, we thought he was human until it was revealed he was in fact a warlock. I reluctantly let him join the Wolves and I don’t have any regrets. One extra set of eyes and hands to keep the place running while we were wolfing out.

“Hungry, boss?” he asked.

“I can make myself a sandwich. What are you working on?” I gestured to the mess on the large metal island.

“I’ve been cutting up the latest heifer since yesterday. She was a big one!”

“Mm, steak. Nice.”

“I’m gonna ground some for hamburger meat and such. It’ll all be in the deep freeze.” He turned to me and set the meat cleaver down. “You know, you should let me make at least one massive meal a day for everyone. I would like that.”

“I would, too… I just need to know that you’re available for things, though. When we have an all-hands-on-deck type of situation. You’re a Bayou Wolf first, cook second,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he replied, heading to one of the fridges and pulling out leftover meatloaf, cheese, and veggies. “I don’t do well with downtime though—you know, when we don’t have any emergencies. I love cooking.”

I chuckled. “I see that.”

He set the sandwich stuff down and pulled a loaf of bread from a large bread box, and got busy making me a meatloaf sandwich. My mouth watered. He plated it up and handed it to me.

“I can warm it if you want, but in my opinion, meatloaf sandwiches are best served cold.”

“Just like revenge,” I quipped, lifting the sandwich in a salute then biting into it.

God. Damn!

---