Page 67 of Her Wolf

He looked like a trend-setting billionaire, what with his shiny-as-fuck Oxfords and the luxurious shimmer of his midnight blue suit. Cuff links of pure ebony glittered in the light as he finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out.

Lars almost pounced him when that hand came out of his pocket. The urge was so strong, he swayed where he stood. But the man wasn’t holding a weapon — he was holding a small gift box that fit the palm of his hand.

“What the fuck’s that?” Lars asked. He knew, but his lizard-slow brain had run everything past middle-management first, and those pricks were high as fuck right now.

“A gift. This is a birthday party, right? That lady capo or something?” Dean took a step back. “Shit, did I get that wrong?”

“No, no.” Lars waved at him, and took the ribboned gift box. It looked way to complex for him to bind up again if he wanted to look inside.

He held it to his ear and gently shook it. “What is it?”

“Bracelet,” the man said, twisting his wrist and revealing a seventy-thousand dollar watch.

Well, it fucking looked like it had cost seventy kay.

“Christ, where’d you get that shit?” Dean asked, sticking his fingers under his mask as if he was touching his lips. “My mouth’s gone dry as fuck.”

Lars laughed. He couldn’t help it. His mouth was just as dry. The gift box weighed near nothing, and the dull clatter from inside was concurrent with a chain scratching against the inside as he shook it.

Paranoia. It happened to the best of men.

“Let me lock up, and I’ll take you straight to the bar.”

“Fuck, yes.” Dean grinned at him again. “Hey, I love your mask.”

“Thanks, man,” Lars said, his mouth sliding into a wide smile. “Say, your boss…who’s he in the cartel?”

“Ignatius?” Dean shrugged, looking away as he slid the gift box back in his pocket. “Middle management, I guess.”

Lars spun back to him, one hand on the back of the back of the hotel door. “Middle management,” he murmured, pushing the door closed and locking it.

He was forgetting something, wasn’t he?

Dean grinned at him. “Man, I could really use a drink.”

“Sure, sure,” Lars said, striding past the man to lead him deeper into the hotel.

He remembered about five seconds later that he’d forgotten to cross out Dean’s name, but his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Priorities — he could always come back later and scratch it out.

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