Page 1 of The Broken Wolf's Redemption

Chapter 1

Seren

Seren should have been out celebrating her birthday, but instead she was pulling up to an impressive auto repair shop in Casper’s industrial area.

Three years ago, when she’d told her parents over a not-so-great family dinner that she was quitting her job, getting a divorce, and starting her own tattoo shop, her mother flat out stated that she’d be sorry one day.

Sorry for the lack of a husband, sorry that she hadn’t tried harder to pop out enough children to populate the earth, sorry that she was throwing away a great career as the head of marketing for a prosperous business. One day, and one day soon, she’d bemoan the lack of stability in her life. She’d realize how greatly she’d fucked up everything on a whim. She’d open her eyes and find out that it was indeed a mid-life crisis, but it would be too late.

“Well, Mom, looks like that prediction is finally coming true,” Seren muttered as she pulled her bright pink micro sedan into one of the parking spaces outside the large metal building. Brand new yellow lines had been sprayed onto freshly laid black asphalt. The place wasn’t a new construction, but it had undergone one hell of a facelift.

Ironically, that was something else her mother promised her was in her near future unless she started taking better care of her skin, going for facials, buying expensive serums, blah-fucking-blah. Her parents liked her pink hair, pierced nose, ear gauges, and all her ink about as much as they liked the rest of her life decisions. Not. At. All.

Seren had more than enough guilt and shame going around at the moment. One stupid mistake. That’s all it took. One freaking ridiculous stupid mistake and the whole thing could come crashing down.

The shittiest part was that the mistake wasn’t even theirs. All someone had to do to ruin everything was to make an accusation and run with it.

She stared up at the clean white and red metal siding with no small amount of foreboding. It was after hours. The only other car in the parking lot belonged to a sleek black sedan. It had the distinctly expensive look of belonging to someone who cared about vehicles. The whole thing was de-badged, blacked out, and was rocking twenty-inch chrome rims. Very gangster, but the car didn’t belong to some drug lord. At least, as far as she knew, Rome Nightfall didn’t engage in that.

He was one of her first real clients. She’d gone about tattooing in a sort of unconventional way. The usual channels in life just weren’t for her, it seemed.

She’d drained her savings to buy a hole in the wall little building near Casper’s quaint downtown area. She’d renovated it and then she’d hired staff. Four were full-time chair rentals, but Becka got a good discount. It wasn’t just because they’d been friends since college, but because she’d agreed to apprentice her. They’d met taking art electives. Becks was insanely talented. She’d ended up dropping out of college after her first year and becoming a tattoo artist. By the time Seren got a divorce, Becka had been tattooing for over a decade and a half. She was the one who made Seren believe they could start their own place and make it work. When Seren was lost, Becka opened that avenue, offering to teach her how to explore the artistic, creative side of herself that she’d never fully got a chance to use chained to a desk.

Seren spent over a year carefully crafting her art, but most clients weren’t willing to get in the chair and dedicate much more than a few inches of their skin to someone just starting out. Rome wasn’t officially her first client, but he’d turned into her first steady, long term one. He hadn’t been afraid to walk in, check out her portfolio—which was admittedly mostly sketches and paintings—and ask for her because she had zero wait list while everyone else was at least six months to a year, and demand a sleeve.

That sleeve was his first tattoo.

Rome Nightfall was many things, and most of them she would never understand. Most of them she didn’t want to understand. She did know a few things about him. This auto repair shop was one of them. The fact that he was a bit of a cunt was another.

Still. She had no one else to ask.

It was hard to suck up her pride, but she got out of her car, hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and clicked the fob to lock it.

How was one supposed to dress for a meeting that might determine one’s whole future? However it was, she’d refused to fit into the predetermined box. She’d gone with the same ripped-up jeans and black velvet tank she’d worn to the shop all day. Same ripped-up, worn out canvas high tops.

The door was unlocked even though the sign in the door was flipped to closed. The token shop bell jingled when she stepped in. The sound grated on her nerves, and she pressed her fingers into her arm, letting her short nails bite into her skin.

“Seren Prescott.”

Her soul nearly left her body when Rome Nightfall stood up from behind the desk at the front. It had a high counter, and she hadn’t seen him sitting back there when she walked in. That was crazy because he was a hard man to miss.

Jet black hair and even blacker eyes. Impossible size. Rugged features chiseled to the point of breathtaking. He was beautiful, but cold. Unapproachable. Fearsome. She’d never seen him in a suit before and doubted he even owned one, but he carried himself with an unmistakable sense of power. He was well put together, packaged with a gorgeous exterior, but most people with good sense probably gave him a wide berth. It was likely obvious even to regular humans that he was bleeding out from wounds on the inside.

Over the year and a bit that she’d know him, Seren had gathered that Rome had a soul to match his hair and eyes. Black. He was ice, through and through. His impeccable veneer never once crumbled. He’d always looked perpetually bored, but she was a wolf like he was, and from one animal to another, she’d sensed the cruelty lurking beneath that carefully polished surface.

Her willpower crumbled when Rome’s lips curled into a chilling smile. On him, it looked exactly like what it was. The gesture of a predator scenting prey. Rome wasn’t chunky muscle, thick and bearlike. He was far more elegant. He was still well over six feet and built the way a Roman statue would have been, so his name was apt.

In more ways than one.

This man before her liked to conquer. He liked to fill up a room, a city, a state, the whole world with his presence. It was no surprise that the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They were hard and cold, blank, dead onyxes. Rome was the kind of man who, from the beginning of his existence, marched towards the end with frightening forcefulness. He wasn’t afraid of pain or death, and that made him a very dangerous kind of person.

Seren scooted quickly out of the way when he stalked towards her. She told herself she wasn’t afraid, but she knew that was bullshit. He could probably scent her fear as he twisted the big metal deadbolt on the door and flicked off the light.

“We’ll have the meeting in my office.” His voice might be sin wrapped up in rich velvet decadence, but there was always something about his tone that wasn’t quite right.

He turned and she followed. Rome was the devil she knew. Short of going to a fucking loan shark or worse, he was pretty much her only option.

She followed his black-clad form, work clothes in hardy fabrics.

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