Page 55 of Wolf.e

“Chelsea,” she corrects him,

“I didn’t mean Brinley would come with us, I meant…” He turns his face up to hers and she melts beneath his gaze. I roll my eyes. “Ask her how she feels about me taking you into the closest bathroom and fucking you until you scream,” Gabriel says, his eyes turning to firmly lock on mine.

“Have at it.” I shrug back, calling his bluff. I look up at Chelsea “I’m not his keeper,” I add.

Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see Gabriel smirk.

“Am I missing something here?” Chelsea asks. I take a big sip of my juice and look back up at her.

“Nope.” I pop my lips. “He’s all yours, honey. Just might want to wrap that shit up, never know where it’s been.”

“Who the fuck do you think—” she starts, but Gabriel reaches out and grabs her arm. Hard. She stops talking immediately.

“Yeah, I’m gonna… go. I just wanted to see if you were up for a good time. I don’t want to be in the middle of whatever this is,” Chelsea says, gesturing between us.

“Good idea, Cassidy,” Gabriel says without looking at her. “I wouldn’t have fucked you anyway.”

Chelsea takes off muttering something no one can understand about me, and Gabriel looks away from my eyes and goes back to eating as if nothing happened. I watch Chelsea go and try my best not to be happy that Gabriel turned her down. He doesn’t say a word, only continues eating in silence, but I saw it, a sort of pride in his eyes when I stood up for myself.

That wasn’t all Gabriel wanted. I know he was trying to make me admit my want, trying to make me submit to him like every other woman in here. Well, I won’t, he’s the one who wanted a wicked girl.

“What has gotten into you?” Layla asks, her eyes wide in surprise.

“I have no idea,” I whisper honestly.

My short answer? Gabriel Wolfe makes me crazy. He makes me lose control in every way possible.

I ignore him while I eat but Gabriel stands up to leave part way through breakfast with Ax, Flipp, and Robby. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going, or when I’ll see him again. He only gives me my marching orders with a squeeze to my shoulder. Ride home with Layla and the girls, and then start packing my things. I have no choice but to go with them in Chantel’s SUV.

The whole way home I wonder when he’ll come for me next. Layla complains that her honeymoon to California is being postponed because Sean ‘has to work.’ I don’t say much. I just want to get home, have a hot shower, lock all my doors, and bury myself in bed.

I shoot up in my seat when we round the corner of Spruce because my house is a flurry of activity. Two vans are parked in front, and I instantly worry that a pipe burst or something until we get closer. There are stacks of cedar wood laying on my front lawn, a dumpster in my driveway and there must be ten men in various places, pulling down my old rotting porch.

“I don’t think they’re taking it so well,” Jake says when we’re all seated in chapel later that day. I look to the clock on the wall behind him, then to the massive metal art piece underneath it that houses our club insignia. The deadly looking wolf skull that reminds me every day why I sit here.

“With the addiction services opening a month ago in the Chestnut area, they’re really starting to clean up the streets. I think their Blue game is suffering,” he adds, using the street name around Savannah for Fentanyl.

“Well, that’s good news at least,” I say.

We’ve just returned from meeting with our supplier out of Canada. Methadone is abundant up there and easy to get over the border if you have the right connections. We’ve just secured enough to supply two more clinics in the Savannah area for the foreseeable future. With the donations from the profits going back into the community under one of our dummy corps, we’re able to pay the salary of two more counselors. We may sell drugs illegally, but not in the way most people would expect. I’ve made it my life’s mission to make weaning drugs like methadone that help clean junkies up and services to help them recover more readily available. Some would say trafficking this sort of drug is illegal; I say it’s cutting the red tape. It’s also very profitable. So win, win.

Of course, Disciples of Sin—the suppliers of Blue and the H, whatever they’re bringing in from El Paso—don’t like it when we come in and open clinics, helping clean up the streets where they try to sell. It’s bad for business for these junkies to have other options and resources.

“Where are we with the delivery of our message?” I ask.

“DOS’s prospect checked into Peachwood Hospital in Savannah this morning, dropped off by a silver van. Max said no one went in, so I’d say the message is loud and clear,” Flipp says, mentioning one of our newest members we sent out to watch the arrivals at the hospital.

“It’ll be a while, if ever, that he says anything. Hard to talk with no tongue and write with no fingers.” Kai grins. “Guess he won’t be shooting a gun or blowing anything up anytime soon.”

I shake my head.

“He got caught, he should be dead. It doesn’t make sense,” I say scrubbing my hand over my jaw. “They’re keeping him alive for something.”

“Probably gonna try to figure out how to pull more info from him,” Kai retorts as he lights a smoke.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jake adds. “Speaking of should be dead…” His eyes turn to me. “We’re all trying to figure out what the hell is goin’ on with you.”

“The fuck do you mean?” I retort. I don’t like being questioned.

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