Page 28 of Wolf's Mark

“You, the construction worker? Nah. Just wanted to pick your brain,” I told him as I closed the door behind me.

We all lived in different style houses, his something I’d usually see in a beach setting.

“Not the meeting again.”

“I haven’t said shit. However, I have been thinking and you’re an excellent sounding board.”

“And that couldn’t happen over the phone?” He led his way through the house to his inequity den, as he liked to call his specially designed man cave. I had no idea why he’d gone to all the trouble, including having a creative bar put in the room that could rival any bar in town.

Hell, the man had a pool table, arcade games, and tables set up for poker. Plus, he had a huge screen television and the softest media-room–style seating I’d ever experienced.

The laugh for me was the real popcorn machine that always seemed to churn, spitting out popcorn.

Including now.

A Bulls game was on as the season had recently started. I was a football man myself, basketball never doing it for me. I’d forgotten about the start of the season. Most people knew they had a death wish if they dared bother Riker during the season. All October through April.

But I wasn’t just anyone after all.

I was the CEO of Wolfen Industries, one of the most powerful corporations in the world, certainly a top five in the United States. We pulled weight and then some, politically as well as financially. Our sports cars were deemed the best for the money, every style winning award after award.

But accolades weren’t what we were going for.

Money.

The entire family loved money, especially since the Wolf beginnings were more like animals wallowing in blood and violence. That had been a long time before any of us were born. However, our mother refused to allow us to return to our carnal ways.

“Yeah, well, I’m certain you have questions about the meeting tomorrow as well as the fiasco we went through earlier. I have some thoughts. Instincts really, about what our mother is going to discuss.”

He eyed me and sighed, storming toward the remote and turning the volume of his beloved game down. “Do you want a drink? I have a feeling we’re both going to need one.”

“Now, why do you say that? Worried we might be having a crisis on our hands?”

“I’d put nothing past the council members, our mother included.”

Riker was a bear of a man, someone most people were afraid of when he walked into a room. His method of commanding an audience was simple. He preferred staring them in the eyes as his six-foot, six-inch frame towered over them. His hands werehuge, capable of snapping someone’s neck in two seconds flat. He used his dangerous prowess to our benefit.

But his family knew his secret.

He was a big teddy bear.

Unless you crossed him.

“The real answer is,” he continued, “because when your instincts kick into high gear, that means we have issues to deal with. Some not always pleasant.” He moved behind his bar, not bothering to ask me what I wanted to drink.

We were vodka men, which I’d heard was one of the few traits we shared with our father.

Other than the obvious ancestry.

He pulled our favorite Polish vodka from his tasting room, the frost following him before he could close the vacuum-sealed door. As he plunked the bottle on the granite counter, he lifted his gaze.

“You really had this built?” I asked as I peered into the room. It was a high dollar area, complete with ice on the walls, a designated table for tasting, and hundreds of bottles of expensive vodka.

His grin was almost as infectious as his personality.

Or so I’d been told.

“A guy needs his toys,” Riker chortled.

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