Page 66 of Wolf.e

“And now, how do you feel?” I ask, genuinely interested in her vision of me.

She rises and comes toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist, she reaches up on her tip toes and kisses the scruff of my jaw.

“Humbled. Mistaken.” she answers honestly, and a weird twisting feeling settles in my chest.

“Then you understand why I do what I do?” I ask, wondering why the fuck I care what she thinks.

Brinley nods. “I think so. You’re kind of like a scarier version of Robin Hood?” she asks with a little smirk.

I detach her arms from my waist and head to her bedroom. She follows silently on bare feet behind me.

“I have very selfish interests in this business. It pays really fuckin’ well, but if I can help people that need it, I will,” I say simply as I push her door open and turn on the lamp beside her bed.

“Does it ever bother you? Doing what you do illegally?” she asks.

“No. There’s no better way.” I grin. “And I may care about my country, but I fucking hate the government. I sleep just fine at night, little hummingbird, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Brinley yawns and crawls up into her bed. I stare down, watching her tuck herself in as she pulls off my shirt and looks at me, assuming I’ll follow her almost naked body into bed. The weight of both her beauty and her expectation of whatever this is, hits me and I’m not prepared for it. It settles like a rock in my chest.

I freeze at the side of her bed as the vision of the last woman I thought I could protect floods my mind. The way she looked while the life drained from her eyes.

I sober right the fuck up. I don’t care about people for a reason. My world isn’t the type that supports whatever is happening between us. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m not Ax, I’m not some lovesick fucking goon, and I’ve just told a woman I don’t really know way too much about my business. Just like I warn my men, I’m letting pussy cloud my judgement.

I pick my shirt up off her bed and toss it on over my head and see the look in her eye, the one that questions if I’m just going to leave her here. If I was a good man I wouldn’t, but I’m not.

“Remember to be smart, little bird. Remember whether I’m with you every second or not, I still own you,” is the only warning I offer her before turning to head down the stairs.

I pull the front door shut and step out into the night. I press the lock button on the keypad and don’t look back.

Right now, I need the clarity that only an intense session with my heavy bag and some target practice can offer me.

I don’t hear from Gabriel for the entire week and I’m extra sappy about it because I’ve got my period. So essentially, I’ve been fluctuating between polishing off pints of Ben & Jerry’s and talking to myself in an aggressive tone, practicing what I’m going to say when I do see him. The closest I come to hearing from him is getting a call from Mike telling me my truck will be another week or two while he waits for parts.

Life feels strangely back to normal. I should be glad. But now that he’s been inside me… both my body and my head… now that I’ve seen that little piece of him, I can admit to myself that I’m both equally fascinated and angry that Gabriel just left me in my underwear in the middle of my bed.

What I didn’t expect was to understand his business—to be proven wrong. My parents taught me that there was a line, a fork in the path of good and bad. You either walked down one or the other. Gabriel seems to be teaching me that there’s a way to walk that line and you can do it with grace—for reasons that actually make sense. I didn’t expect him to be doing illegal things for the right reasons, and it creates a very gray area of criminal activity I never thought I’d question. Now that I’ve had a few days to think, I realize I wanted to struggle with understanding it because it means that maybe what I’ve always believed isn’t necessarily better, it’s just different.

That being said, my boring life is probably for the best. If he really is done with me, I remind myself that not dealing with trucks blowing up and people getting murdered with no remorse is actually a good thing.

I talk to Layla every day and go to work, eat my dinner and do the same thing the next day. I sink myself into work. I’ve smiled and tried to pretend like I’m not changed by this man’s invasive entrance into my life.

By Friday as I’m leaving for work, the construction workers and club members I’ve been bringing treats to all week from the town bakery, tell me they should have my porch finished today. It’s so beautiful but I still have the matter of settling that bill. There’s not a chance I’m letting my one-night stand turned captor turned the man who vanished pay for it.

I’m heading in for an extra day at work, I was only supposed to go in on Monday and Wednesday but as Dell said during my orientation, my work would probably allow for more hours if I want them. I’m having lunch with Layla and then I plan to spend the weekend curled up in my pajamas with some take out. Maybe work on my garden. I stop at the coffee shop for my usual latte before heading in.

“Got you one already,” Dell says with a cheery smile when I enter the office. “I texted you.”

I pull my phone out. “So you did.” I smile

“Oh well, now I have two, I could use them today anyway.” It’s true, I haven’t been sleeping the best. I have dreams that I’m not alone in my room at night. I tell myself it’s just my spooky old house because whenever I fully wake up, there’s no one there, of course.

“I pulled the marble samples for your client’s backsplash, they’ll be here at ten. I think the ones you chose will go so well with the kitchen counter,” he says, and so goes the rest of our morning. We work well together even if I can’t get his unconventional side hobbies out of my head after Gabriel’s comment about him.

When I finish up and see my clients out at noon, I check my phone. Layla’s running late so I just watch for her silver SUV out the front window. We’re lunching at the bistro on the next block, and we planned to walk. I peek out the window for her ten minutes later. She’s still not here but I can’t help noticing a black Harley parked out front across the street. I’ve seen it every day around this time when I’ve been in this week. The custom red flames painted on the fender and the front panels make it stick out like a sore thumb. It looks expensive but it’s the rider who has no qualms about making his presence known. He’s tall and solid, and just like most of the guys I’ve seen in the HOH, he’s covered in tattoos, with a wide jaw, unkempt wavy hair, and a gruff beard. He wears riding gloves and a leather jacket covered in patches as he leans against his bike casually smoking. I’ve never seen him close up, but my first assumption is that he’s a warning. A friend of the club and Gabriel, letting me know he’s watching me, warning me not to go to the cops. By the second day, I decided I was right, having received their message loud and clear. It has to be them. It’s not usual for any outsiders to hang around like this.

Layla finally pulls up ten minutes later, and I make my way outside to meet her, noticing that my keeper is gone. We casually chat as we walk to the Two Spoons bistro and all through lunch.

“Still radio silence?” she asks as she shoves a bite of her club sandwich into her mouth.

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