Page 10 of Riding with the Rejected Wolf

Her eyes widen for a moment, then she forces a smile. "Well played, biker boy. Guess that means I owe you a secret."

The room feels heavier suddenly, the game’s lighthearted banter giving way to something much more serious. She takes a deep breath, her fingers nervously tapping the table.

"All right," she begins, her voice a bit shaky. "My name’s not Mary. It’s Mika. Mika Braddish."

I lean in, fully attentive now. "Go on," I encourage softly and she looks away, gathering her thoughts. This is clearly hard for her.

"I've been on the run," she continues. "For... God, it feels like forever. There’s a man—no, a monster—who won’t leave me alone. He’s... he’s obsessed. Made my life a living hell.”

She pauses, the weight of her words hanging in the air. I can see the struggle in her eyes, the vulnerability she's trying to keep under wraps. My fingers drum on the table unconsciously, matching her own nervous rhythm.

“Who is this guy? An ex or something?”

“No. I’ve never been in a relationship with him. But in his mind... he thinks I belong to him. He's built this whole twisted fantasy around us. I've tried everything—changing my name, moving across the country, hiding in plain sight. But he always finds me." Her voice cracks, and she looks down at her hands, clasped tightly together.

“So he’s a stalker?” I ask, feeling the pit in my stomach deepen. I knew something was off the day Henry asked me to find her, and her nod confirms it. I feel a fierce protectiveness surge within me. "Why haven't you gone to the cops?"

“You don’t think that was the first thing I tried?”

Mika's eyes flash with frustration. “Cops can’t do a damn thing when he’s always one step ahead. Restraining orders, reports, all useless. He’s got resources—money, connections. I don’t even know who he really is. He uses aliases as well as I do.”

I sit back in my chair, processing everything she's just unloaded. This is more than I bargained for, but I'm in it now. "So why come to me? What's the plan here?"

She straightens a bit, her resolve hardening. "Like I said earlier, in my experience, bikers are only bad if you do something to cross them. Your club's reputation precedes you. The Devil’s Pack is known for handling things off the books, things that the law won’t touch. I need someone who can play by his rules—someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. And if that person isn’t you. Then maybe you know someone. Someone who can finally put an end to this so I don’t have to spend the rest of my life running."

I lean in, elbows on the table, and meet her gaze squarely. "You're right about one thing—the Devil's Pack doesn't shy away from a fight. But tracking down some shadow guy with infinite resources? That's no small ask." As soon as the words leave my mouth, my wolf surges beneath my skin, indignant because he knows we have access to this guy, so finding him and tearing him limb from limb would be as simple as a phone call. He wants to protect this woman he believes to be his new mate at all costs, but I’m not about to let him take the reins just yet. We need a plan—not blind fury.

Her lips purse, and she leans back with a sigh, eyes scanning the room like she’s expecting her stalker to jump out from the shadows any second. “I get it. It’s a lot. But I’m at my breaking point. I don’t have anywhere else to turn, Silas. If you can’t help me, then I might as well—” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she’s going to crumble right in front of me.

Damn. My heart twists a little, despite the steel cage I've built around it. Mika's desperation is palpable, and I feel my resolve bending, my wolf growling low in my mind, urging me to step up, to protect what’s ours.

"All right," I say, voice firm but not unkind. "I'll help you. Tell me everything there is to know about this guy.”

A tremor of relief passes through Mika, and she nods, accepting the gravity of my words.

"Thank you," she whispers, tears immediately springing to her eyes as her shoulders sag. "I’ll tell you everything you need to know. But I think we're gonna need a drink to get through this. I know I need one."

She rises from her seat and heads into the kitchen, her movements suddenly more fluid, as if the weight of my agreement has given her a sliver of peace. I watch her go, noticing how even in her tension, there's a gracefulness about her. The kind that's been honed by necessity.

As she rummages through the cabinets, I glance down at the table. Her cards have slid, revealing the hand she was holding. It hits me, then—a flush of realization. She lost on purpose. Guess she really did hustle me. Well played, Mika. Well played.

MIKA

Whiskey and Secrets

Irummage through the cabinet under the kitchen sink, my hands trembling slightly as my fingers close around the dusty old bottle of whiskey I know is hiding there. God, it feels like I've been holding my breath for years. Silas's agreement is the first gasp of air I've had in ages. My fingers aren't cooperating, fumbling with the stubborn cap. I finally get it open and pour two hefty glasses. We’re definitely gonna need them. Actually, I think we might need this whole bottle.

With mismatched glasses in hand and a bottle under my arm, I stroll into the living room, setting it all on the chunk of wood that stands in for a coffee table while Silas moves back to the couch to join me.

I think about the story I'm about to tell. It's been so long since I've trusted anyone enough to share the full extent of my nightmare. But something about this man—something about his eyes—makes me believe that under that rough exterior, he’s a good man, and that he might even be able to help me end this.

Silas takes his glass from my outstretched hand, his fingers briefly brushing mine. It's a small gesture, but it feels like an unspoken promise. I swallow hard, then take a long sip of whiskey, letting the burn steady me. Here goes nothing.

"His name is Henry Richards," I begin, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "At least, that's the name he does business by. I met him a few years ago, back when I was living in New York. I was working as a receptionist at a small law firm. He was one of our clients, always coming in and acting like the most charming guy alive. Everyone trusted him because, well, why wouldn't they? But I saw through his charm the moment I looked into his eyes. Predator’s eyes."

Silas leans forward, his attention laser-focused. "What kind of business was he in?"

I take another gulp, the liquid courage mixing with my fear. "Real estate, mostly. Or at least that’s what he claimed. I didn’t really know the extent of it beyond the surface-level transactions. But there was always something off about him, something that didn’t sit right in my gut. You know that feeling when you just know someone is bad news?" I glance at Silas, who nods back, eyes darkening with understanding.

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