Page 54 of Deadly Wolf Bite

“That’s why.” She nods at the white concrete wall. It’s streaked red.

I sniff. Fresh blood. “What the hell happened?”

“He wants Franco’s head, dude,” Razor says. “Took his rage out on the wall with his fists.”

I look from him to the others, my heart aching for Ramsey’s loss. Losing his dad is one thing. Watching Anthony get executed like that while all those assholes sat by and let it happen—it’s gotta be killing him.

Of course he wants revenge.

So do I.

“We can’t let him do something stupid,” I say.

“We know,” Dutch says.

Mia reaches for one of the shots Razor poured, and there are bloodied gashes on her arm.

My hand whips out, snagging her wrist and turning it so I can get a better look. “What the fuck happened to you?” I ask quietly.

“Ramsey happened,” Dutch says.

I look from him to Mia, but she pulls her arm back, dismissing my worry. “Relax, Grey. I’m fine. Ramsey’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” I order.

“After the meeting ended, Rocco and my dad helped get Ramsey into my car,” Mia explains. “I didn’t want him going home alone so I brought him here. He was upset. Obviously. I tried to calm him down. He didn’t realize what he was doing. He half-shifted in the freaking car. Almost tore it apart.”

I set the box down. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“No need,” says a clipped male voice.

I look up and find Ramsey striding toward us. His hair’s still wet from the shower, and he’s wearing a pair of gym shorts. His knuckles are bruised but already healing, from what I can tell. The grief in his eyes, however, is fresh and raw.

“Hey.” I grab him in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Ramsey hugs me back hard before letting me go. “The only fucker who’s going to be sorry is Franco.”

17

LEXI

Ramsey doesn’t even look at me as he crowds around the table with the others, shot glasses raised in a toast to Anthony Greco. It’s impressive the way he can pretend, even in the midst of such grief, that he’s not backstabbing them all. I drink along with them, joining in their somber celebration of life for a man who, as far as I know, didn’t do shit worth celebrating. Still, he was Ramsey’s father. And I know what it’s like not to have one of those. So, I swallow the acid on my tongue and watch them help him grieve.

A few minutes—and shots—later, Mia sits down in the empty chair next to mine. We’re set back from the guys, which is a good thing because Razor’s re-enacting Ramsey punching the wall while Dutch and Crow attempt to punch each other instead.

Maybe this is part of grieving too?

“So, how are you really doing?” Mia asks me.

Instead of lecturing like a mother hen, she’s ignoring the guys’ roughhousing, which is evidence that she’s not herself today.

“I’m better,” I say. “I just needed to get out of there.”

She nods. “I get that.”

“How did you not lose it?” I ask.

Her eyes are sad. “I lost it a long time ago, honey.”

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