Page 63 of Her Wolf

Brave

“Is that it?” Finn asked warily, slowing the SUV as he indicated to turn.

“It’s got to be,” Cora said, rolling down her window so she could stick her head out and get a better look at the towering structure.

Ana had only been partly right — the abandoned Grand Redoak hotel was off the interstate, but they’d driven fifteen miles of poor road to get here.

No wonder they’d abandoned it; no one could have turned a profit with a hotel this isolated.

Dios mio, it was breathtaking.

The sun was already touching the horizon, but enough ambient light remained in the sky to cast the gothic architecture in stark relief. Gargoyles perched on the hotel’s four towers; one at each cardinal point. An ornate wrought-iron gate opened for their SUV when Finn hit the gravel drive. They coasted inside, a white-gloved man wearing an old-fashioned bellhop uniform directing them toward a parking lot.

There were already over twenty cars in the lot. Ana had come ahead of them to set up, insisting that Cora wasn’t to lift a finger preparing. She’d have loved to help, but she was also glad she wasn’t already worn out from setting up such a massive event.

She was about to meet a handful of some of the most influential drug dealers in the El Calacas Vivo cartel, after all.

In fact, she wasn’t even sure if they were part of the cartel. Somehow, the fact that she couldn’t just tell them to go to hell made her feel she might not be in a position to order them around.

At least she’d have her men with her.

Bailey sat in the passenger seat of their SUV. Both he and Finn were dressed in black Tom Ford slacks and pristine white, button up shirts. They were supposed to be wearing capes, but she doubted she’d be able to convince them to put them on.

But at least both had agreed to wear their tooled silver masks. All three her men had received the same mask—a growling beast in dazzling silver—and wore the same outfits.

Bailey came around the car to open her door for her, extending a hand so she could climb out of the SUV.

She hadn’t bothered with a purse—what the hell would she have put in it?—but her outfit came with a shawl glittering with tiny red and black stones. She draped it over her bare shoulders, and rested her hand on Bailey’s arm as he followed Finn toward the hotel.

“It’s huge,” Bailey said. “You sure Lars said they’d locked it down?”

Bailey was referring to the heated conversation Lars and Finn had had about three hours ago. Lars had come through with Ana—being the doorman, he had to be there for the early birds—and he’d been pissed off when he arrived. According to him, the ‘gigantic moldy mausoleum’ of a hotel was the most impractical, unsafe environment for La Sombra he could have dreamed up. He’d even said it would have been easier just handing her over to Jalisco or Sinaloa.

As if either cartel had even shown an interest in her.

Finn had talked him down, walking him through a security check. After which Lars had— grudgingly—agreed that perhaps Cora might just, just, make it out alive here by the end of the evening.

Cora came to a stop just in front of the short flight of stairs leading to the grand entrance.

The facade’s pale concrete, stained with rain and moss, had weathered over the years. About twenty rooms faced the front of the hotel, all with French paneled windows, most snag-toothed with the shards of glass that remained.

She felt that, if she stared up long enough, she’d see a ghostly shape move past one of those windows.

“I fucking love it,” she murmured, squeezing Bailey’s arm and glancing up at him.

He looked down at her, a fond smile on his mouth. “You’ve got more than a little dark in you,” he said.

The comment sounded so out of place, that Cora didn’t have an answer for him. He guided her up the stairs and the entry hall that lay beyond the thrown open double doors.

There was a metal detector and, behind that, a red rope barring entry to a gaping darkness curtained in faded red velvet drapes. Lars leaned against one wall, staring into the depths of the hotel.

He could have been posing for the Halloween edition of a men’s fashion magazine. His slacks hung perfectly, his shirt immaculately tailored to his tall, lithe form.

Lars tossed hair from his eyes, and in doing so must have spotted them. He straightened, throwing a dazzling smile at her as he came closer.

She didn’t deserve this.

Cora ground to a halt.

---