Page 4 of The Broken Wolf's Redemption

“Wow. Gruesome. Duly noted. So, you want the best for her, which involves me teaching her because I’m the best you can do female wise, but you don’t care about my feelings. You don’t care about how your sordid request would violate and harm me?”

“You’re an adult. A complex, talented, brilliant woman. A shifter living amongst humans. You can be two things at once. I don’t care about your feelings on the matter. This is what I require. If you had any other option, you wouldn’t be here. It’s a stake in your shop and two days out of your week, or you walk out of here with nothing. You close your shop. You give up on your dreams. All your hard work and talent will be wasted, but worst, you’ll have failed everyone who put their trust in you. Those are wounds you’ll never manage to properly lick clean.”

“You have to be joking.” But she knew he wasn’t. She knew that already. Men like Rome didn’t have a proper sense of humor.

He extended his hand. Ink she’d put there swirled over the back and extended onto his knuckles. He grasped the wrench in the other. Shiny. Metallic. Cold.

He would never touch her. She’d never touch him. Perform could mean anything, though. He was right. What choice did she have?

You always have a choice.

She did, but he was right about the price too. Failure would be a wound that would never close. She could forgive herself for the things she’d do for the cash, but she couldn’t forgive herself for putting four other people out of a job. Out of a home. Three shifters and a vampire couldn’t just find work anywhere. The shop wasn’t just a shop. It was a haven of sorts.

“Thirty percent. I’ll spend the day with your daughter because she’s a little girl without a mother or any woman in her life and she needs that. She’s a child, and even though she’s yours, she’s probably sweet and innocent and this isn’t her fault. As a shifter, she needs guidance, and you’re right. You’re a male. You can’t properly prepare her. On Mondays…” Her voice wavered. Her breaths turned into ragged saws. “On Mondays, anything I might do, I do clothed, at least to some extent. Nothing less than a bathing suit would cover. I suppose you’ll want free tattoos for life.” She rolled her eyes, trying and failing for that dignity again. Her pride was smashed to shit long before she walked into this office.

Rome’s hair was long, and when he tucked his hand back at his side, a thick strand of raven black danced over his forehead and cheek. He didn’t brush it aside.

“Nothing is free. I’ll pay like any client. I expect no special favors.”

“We have a deal, then? I want something in writing so we’re both protected.”

“We have a deal.”

He turned and strode to his desk, pulling a fresh sheet of paper from one of the drawers and twisting that expensive-looking pen. Great. She was going to get it handwritten. It seemed somehow appropriate for the sort of soul contract she was about to enter into.

His voice boomed through the small space, echoing through her bones, wrapping around her like the iron bars she most feared. It was charged and powerful, ominous as fuck. “Bathing suit or not, I can’t wait to mold you, shape you, and break you.”

Chapter 2

Rome

Everyone always knew there was something wrong with him. That he wasn’t like everyone else. His family might have loved him for who he was before he was banished, and his younger brother, now alpha, was good to him. He’d provided for him when he was alone and broken. When he wanted nothing more than to die, Kieran made sure he had shelter and that he was safe. It had been two years since he’d last set foot on Nightfall land. He might never be able to return to pack lands, but that didn’t stop his brother from calling and texting him an annoying amount, or his brothers and sisters from visiting. He might be the literal black sheep, but he was no pariah.

In exchange for their kindness, he’d made himself useful. In being useful, he’d made himself a rich man. Becoming a rich man gave him access to fulfilling desires so base, they were best left to the darkness of his black soul. He was damned and he knew it. When his family thought he was getting better, he was only growing more depraved. The better was that he just became more adept at hiding it.

Rome turned away from the bank of security cameras in the back office of the garage. The room didn’t belong to any one person like the offices in the front. This one, any one of the guys could use. The computer was made for ordering, inventory, billing, and other accounting, and the garage’s security cameras were housed in there. The stockroom bracketed the space, and from there, the garage opened up and the real magic happened. Hoists, lifts, pits, tools, tires, shelves and chests, stools, welders, shop coats and coveralls—it was a sea of glorious industry. The only bay closed off was the one that belonged to Mixy.

Middle-aged, heavy set, rocking a skullet and a massive beard, Mixy got his name through his sheer talent. He could eyeball any paint color and mix up an exact match. One would think that was talent in itself, but Mixy could also paint anything. He was a master of his craft, and that included anything from a simple uniform color to advanced custom jobs. He did a ton of bikes, since more people requested custom paint jobs on them than on anything else, but he wasn’t above putting anything onto anything else. If it had wheels and it rolled, Mixy would take the job.

He’d set the time for Seren when he was sure the guys would be cleared out—no one stayed late on Mondays—but also not so late that he’d have to come back. Waverly had a sixteen-year-old babysitter, a daughter of a friend of a friend of one of the guys at the shop. Gloria started during summer break, but she’d agreed to pick up Waverly from school and be there until Rome got home, usually around six. He’d offered to pay her extra to stay later on Monday nights. For the next six months, it would be a recurring thing. Gloria was a good kid. He couldn’t just accept anyone and be able to trust them. Gloria and her parents were owls. Strange, but it was comforting, knowing that if Gloria ever lost control, she wouldn’t be able to shift and harm Waverly in any significant way. Not that Rome was worried about it, but he wouldn’t have trusted a small child with a bear no matter what, at least not when he wasn’t around. And another wolf from another pack? Just no.

Through courier, he’d sent a letter to Seren’s shop mid-week. He’d given her a pass on Sunday, since he hadn’t properly prepared Waverly for it on short notice, but he’d requested her presence on Monday.

He’d watched her pull into the parking lot in her ridiculous little car, hardly bigger than a golf cart. He was in full control, but his body did one of the irrational things he was so unaccustomed to. This time, the hair on his body stood up. Neck and arms. A foreign tingle traced its way through his chest, landing in his stomach like a slow-acting poison.

Seren might be just as shocked to learn that he didn’t want this, as much as she hated it.

He didn’t want to want someone else. He didn’t want to be fixed. All his life, he’d been some shade of fucked up, and not just morally gray. Worse. So much worse. Redemption arcs weren’t for him. He hadn’t given a shit about being like a regular person, but that was before Waverly.

He’d never be father of the year, but he had a duty, both to Lila and her child. This, he couldn’t afford to fail at. He didn’t want Waverly to turn out like him, she might not have his genetics, but he didn’t want her to be contaminated by his darkness. He wanted more for her. He tried for her, at least on the surface. He planned on making that surface so solid and so thick, that it would be ice she’d never fall through. She’d never, ever get a glimpse underneath. She’d never see what her adoptive father truly was.

Rome stalked through the garage with long strides. He didn’t shut off the shop lights overhead. They stayed on. Always. No one had to pick their way through a hazardous maze that way. The guys might not like staying late, but often, they were there early in the morning, long before opening time at eight.

He’d left the door unlocked again, though the sign was flipped to closed. The industrial area turned into a ghost town after six. No one drove that way unless they purposely had to. Foot traffic wasn’t a thing, and they’d been open long enough that their customers knew their hours. He’d stood there for the past forty-five minutes, staring at the cameras anyway.

He never once asked himself what the hell he was doing.

He made it to the front, appearing silently and ghostlike just as Seren pulled the door open. She had good senses as a shifter, but her mouth still opened in a tiny O of surprise and her hand leapt to her chest. The door slammed shut behind her since she hadn’t caught it when he’d given her the jump scare.

---