Page 21 of Wolf.e

Things you notice when you’re drunk for a thousand, please.

I fix myself up as best I can before heading back out to the hall. Miraculously, my makeup is still fairly intact. When I get into the dark hallway, I look both ways trying to remember which direction I came from. I hear moaning in the distance and the heat continues to flush through me. What the hell is wrong with me? Why is this torrid place turning me on like this?

I decide to go right and pass the first doorway. It has a licence plate screwed to the door that reads, “For those who like to fuck”.

Apparently, the people inside like to, judging by the sounds.

A light catches my eye in the otherwise dark hall. It’s coming from underneath a door at the end.

I don’t listen to my conscience, instead I listen to the little dark voice in my head telling me to go as I push it open. The space is large and spotless. A massive American flag with an eagle in the center graces the wall. It’s pinned straight and taut over a comfortable looking, worn in leather sofa. The floors are dark wood and shiny clean. It smells like cedarwood. There is a kitchen area at the back, it’s almost like a studio apartment of sorts. The other side of the wide open space has a solid wood divider.

I venture behind like I have permission, telling myself it’s perfectly fine that I’m snooping in this stranger’s space. A bigger than normal king-size bed made impeccably with dark gray bedding and ten feet of bookshelves lined with books catches my eye. My mouth falls open as I move toward them and take in some of the titles, running my fingers along the spines as I go. As a girl who always liked to read the classics, this is impressive.

The Art of War

Fire in The Belly

A collection of very old looking Machiavelli’s.

The Great Gatsby

The Beautiful and Damned

1984

And the shelves continue, lined with classic works of literature. I stand there running a finger over them taking in the other items. Photos catch my eye. They’re of Wolfe and Sean and other men in beige fatigues head to toe. Even their helmets are beige. I flip them over to see if there is any info on the back.

Field Lights 2009, Roaring Lion 2010, Eagles Trace 2012

All of them say 2nd Battalion 9th.

Missions?

Some are in casual settings; some look like they’re on-duty photos. I trace a line down Wolfe’s face in one of them, white t-shirt covered in dust, he’s so tan his skin looks unrecognizable, and he holds a very scary looking gun on a table in front of him like he’s cleaning it. He has a lot less ink in these photos than now, but that same emotionless gaze haunts his eyes.

The gaze of a man who’s seen it all.

I move on and pull a copy of The Great Gatsby out and skim my fingers over the weathered spine, flipping it over. The eyes in the solid blue cover pierce mine. I haven’t seen this edition before and I instantly know it’s very old. I open it and read the handwritten note on the inside cover

“To my fierce protector, always keep your world view bigger than our backyard,” and a heart under it.

“Why are you here?” a deep voice booms. The deep voice that sends shivers up the back of my neck.

I spin around and fall backward against the shelf, making it rattle.

Wolfe stands just ten feet away from me. He’s freshly showered, his hair loose, touching his ears in wet strands, and he’s wearing a clean black t-shirt and black jeans. He holds his cut in his hand. I take in his corded inked forearms, rippled with veins as he swipes his hair back.

I open my mouth, but I have nothing to say. There’s no way around this, I’m totally busted snooping in his room.

But honestly, who am I kidding? I knew the moment I saw the photos this was either his space or Ax’s. I’m still holding his book, for God's sake.

“I asked what you’re doing here, I don’t ask twice,” he repeats, tossing his cut onto his bed in a slow intentional drop, his voice a deep velvet that both speeds my heart rate up and calms it all at the same time.

“I just… um, the light was on, I thought it was the way out,” I offer lamely as a flush creeps up my neck. “I mean, you’re the one who left the door wide open so it’s kind of your fault,” I add, trying to sound as confident as I can.

Wolfe moves toward me before I can say another word, closing the short distance between us in just two strides. I glance up at him towering over me. So close. Dangerously close.

He raises a hand, and I can’t help it, I flinch, afraid he might hurt me.

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