Page 13 of Wolf.e

“Don’t make that uppity face. If not him, then someone like him, someone different than the boring, bland old vanilla you’re used to,” she adds before turning to me. “Sorry to say, Brin, but what you’re doing hasn’t worked for you. You’ve always dated preppy goody boys. Maybe you need a man.”

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t have the first clue about what to do with a man like that.” I turn to the room. “You all didn’t care that he didn’t want to, like, date? Just having sex with him, that didn’t make it weird afterward?” I ask them all. I know how clueless I sound, but I genuinely want to know how this works for all of them.

They all laugh.

“I don’t think Wolfe understands the concept of dating or a relationship,” Maria says

“Or even has feelings,” Amber adds with a giggle. “You know what you’re getting into with him immediately.”

“That man will be single forever. He has everything on his shoulders, and I heard him say once he doesn’t believe in love,” Maria says. “Hell, half the time I don’t even think he believes in like. I went to school with him. Known him for twenty-two years, since we were ten years old. He’s never had a girlfriend but always had a girl, if you know what I mean.”

I register that he’s eight years older than me. I knew he was older.

She laughs. “And to answer you, no, it’s not weird. It is what it is. All the guys have their own demons, Wolfe, especially, but they’re all safe. Wolfe never even kisses women.”

“Why hasn’t he kissed a woman?” I ask in shock, which makes the other girls laugh at my innocence.

“I’m sure he has kissed plenty, but he just doesn’t kiss. I don’t even think he’s been with the same woman twice,” Maria says with a shrug, like that’s normal.

I picture that big, inked body hovering over me again this time on a bed, this time he’s leaning in to kiss me. I blink to push the image from my mind. Too much of this fruity alcohol.

“He’s not my type and I’m sure I’m not his…” I shake my head.

Layla locks arms with me as we prepare to leave and leans in.

“Maybe not your type is just what you need.”

Chantel slips on her spiky black heels. “Come on, new girl, let us introduce you to the fun side of the town.”

Well, shit. I have no idea if I’m ready for that.

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling down the half mile long driveway to the Hounds of Hell Clubhouse.

“Holy crap… so many people,” I whisper to Layla, taking in the long line of pick-up trucks, SUVs, and of course, Harleys. A lot of them. If I had to guess, I’d say there are at least seventy-five bikes parked along the grass of the drive leading up to the house.

“Almost the whole family is here this weekend.” She proceeds to tell me that members of HOH came all the way from outside Chicago, Boston, and New York to be here this weekend.

The property is huge. It seems to go on forever, with a wide creek running behind it. I can see a bonfire happening at the side of the property on a vast patio, the outdoor kitchen is fit for a king with what has to be a ten-foot peninsula with built in grills and a smoker. The smell of smoke and weed hangs heavy in the June night air and the lightning bugs are out in full force.

But the real party is in the massive pole barn style building in the center that houses the Hounds of Hell welded metal sign along with their insignia. I can hear the music from here—a Metallica song—and a lot of people are singing along.

Layla leads us around the tall building, and we enter through the side door.

The scene unfolding is not the scene I pictured for the clubhouse. Edison lights hang everywhere—so do paper lanterns—and they omit a soft glow over the entire space. It’s smoky and warm, long tables fill the space, and the entire ceiling is exposed beam with greenery woven through. Each table is adorned with centerpieces and candles, and the dessert table on the opposite side has me drooling already.

People are everywhere, laughing, drinking beer, there is a wall of dartboards where it appears a big tournament of sorts is happening. It’s happy—cozy— and feels like a family home. I can’t make sense of it. This looks nothing like the dark underworld I pictured when growing up. Many of the men that wander around wear the leather vest I just learned on the way here is called a cut. The mean looking wolf skull eyes me down from their backs. Above it sits a curved banner patch reading Hounds of Hell, and below it, some of the men have an extra banner that curves upwards. It reads Soldier of Bedlam and I wonder why some have it and some don’t.

Layla gasps and covers her mouth with her hands as she takes in her surroundings.

“I did good, baby? I’ve been working on it with the boy all week.” A tiny little woman approaches. Her voice is loud for her size, just like her stark white hair teased up and her cherry red lips. She wears a black and white cheetah print dress. I instantly feel comfortable with her.

“Shell…” Layla leans in to hug her tightly. “It’s so beautiful, I can’t even believe it, thank you for making sure he did a good job.”

The small woman looks right at me over Layla's shoulder and smiles.

“Who’s this beauty?” She lets go of Layla and holds out both her hands, taking mine into hers.

“This is my lifelong friend Brinley, my jelly.” She winks. “She just… came back to town, I told her she had to come and be a part of everything this weekend.” Layla smiles, not divulging my shit storm of a life right now.

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