Page 53 of Wolf.e

She smiles and swipes my hair off my forehead.

“I know plenty, babe. But there’s a difference between wanting to know or asking what the club does, and just knowing. You can’t be the wife of an HOH member and be delusional. Of course I’ve seen and heard some things. I know you might not believe me now, but these guys are better than whatever you saw or heard.”

I scoff. “Is it normal that they keep someone who sees something?” I ask

“What?” she asks with a laugh like this is funny.

“He says he’s keeping me because of it,” I blurt out, dead serious.

“What? What do you mean by keeping you?”

I half laugh, half cry. “Stay with him or die.”

She pushes back from me and looks me in the eye. “Wolfe told you he’s keeping you?”

I nod, swiping a tear from my face.

All the humor leaves Layla’s eyes, and she looks down in concentration, like she’s running things through her mind.

“I don’t want to know what you saw,” she says, her eyes returning to mine. “I don’t want you to tell me what it was, I’d rather not know. But can you tell me on a scale of one to ten how bad it was?”

“Twenty-five,”

“Fuck,” Layla hisses. “Wolfe doesn’t keep people for… anything,” she whispers, probably trying to make sense of it all.

“Lucky me. I’m an experiment. I get to live at the clubhouse with my captor.”

“Listen to me, Brin,” Layla pleads. “Whatever you saw, I can’t imagine. But you have to do what he says. You have to go along with him for now. This is… very out of character for Wolfe… and if I had to wager a guess, he’s trying to keep from hurting you because you’re my friend. He does have a heart in there somewhere. That has to be it.”

“I don’t believe you,” I scoff.

The bathroom door swings open, Layla and I both straighten as two women come in. Layla knows them and they start to talk.

I take the time to fix myself up as they chatter. I wash my hands and smooth my hair.

“I might be his first of the weekend,” a pretty brunette says. I watch her over my shoulder. “I haven’t seen anyone in that lap. In fact, I’ve barely seen him at all.” Her voice is husky and she seems older than me by a few years.

“Good luck. He doesn’t believe in repeat offenders,” another brunette, shorter with wild curly hair says as she applies her lipstick.

“The weekend is almost over,” Layla says to them. “He is a man, you guys, he’s not just a dick, Jesus. And besides, the guys have had a lot of work this weekend,” she adds, looking at me.

I instantly know these women are talking about Gabriel and for some reason I don’t like it. I wonder why a man with such a reputation for sex with women, anywhere and anytime, hasn’t tried to have sex with me. He’s had plenty of chances.

I pull my own gloss out of my purse.

“There are utility closets around. I’m going to go see if I can get lost in one with him before we leave,” the older brunette says.

“You’re so bad!” Her friend laughs.

I don’t wait to hear the end of this conversation, I push past them and head back out to the dining hall, accidentally brushing into one of them on my way by—the taller one with the long straight hair.

“Excuse you, bitch,” she says to me.

I turn back over my shoulder. “Sorry,” I say as she laughs.

“Don’t do it again, little Sandra Dee,” she calls out.

I hold back tears as I move through the bathroom hallway and back into the dining room. I’m so out of my element with these people. Sandra Dee? From Grease? Is that how they all see me? Like a little goody-type girl with the bow in her hair?

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