Page 69 of Her Wolf

As soon as they drew close, she could see Bailey’s silhouette. He had a foot up behind him on the wall, arms crossed as he stared at nothing.

“You get hold of Lars?” Bailey asked, as soon as they were within earshot.

“Not yet.” Finn took in both sides of the passage with an intense stare, and then gave Bailey a pat on the shoulder. “You try reaching him for another few minutes, then come inside.”

“Shouldn’t I—?”

“We’re needed inside,” Finn said, and Bailey glanced down at Cora before giving him a quick nod.

“Sure,” Bailey said, turning away from them as he unclipped his radio and held it to his mouth.

Finn twisted her to face him, and studied her face for a moment. Then he tucked a stray curl behind one ear, adjusted her veil so it hung behind her back, and gave her a grim smile.

“Don’t let them rattle you,” he murmured. “Remember, you are La Sombra, capo of the El Calacas Vivo cartel. You don’t take instruction from anyone.”

“Except you,” she said quietly, running her hand down his chest.

Despite how stiff he stood in his suit, it looked amazing on him. No longer rough-hewn rock, but polished granite. He’d shaved, had a haircut, and his cologne enveloped her in a comforting cloud of wood and leather.

“Time to go,” Finn said, and opened the door.

The den was as subtly lit as the rest of the hotel. Here, most of the leather furniture glistened — in remarkable shape, and recently cleaned. But the walls were in as bad a state of repair as the rest of the hotel.

It made for a strange backdrop—ruined book shelves, deteriorating wall hangings, and faded wallpaper—for the five men seated around the room.

Six, if you counted Neo, but he stood close to a ruined side table leaning precariously against the wall.

The men rose when she stepped into the room. She almost missed a step, but turned it into an awkward pause mid-step instead.

Two arm chairs faced the odd assortment of sofas and settees the men sat down in.

One for her, one for Neo.

She took the closest one, not trusting her legs to carry her another step.

Neo walked past her, trailing expensive and cloying aftershave in his wake. He wore a dark red cloak, and a black suit that shimmered red when the light caught it.

It reminded her of her wedding dress, and that gave her a small spike of courage.

“Evening, she said, as Neo was still busy sitting. “Would you care to introduce yourselves?”

The men hesitated. An African American furthest to the right spoke up first. “Jamie,” he said, and didn’t seem to want to offer anything more than that.

The man next to him—mixed race, but she was sure he had either Latino or Cuban blood in him—spoke up next. “Cesar.”

Beside him, a man who was clearly Mexican said, “Tomás.”

That left her with two Caucasian males. They bore a strong resemblance to each other; cousins perhaps, since the one had dark eyes and the other light.

“Victor,” the dark eyed man said. Then he pointed to the man beside him. “This is Owen.”

She nodded, hoping to hell she would remember their names. She opened her mouth to introduce herself—manners, right?—but Neo cut her off.

“I am Neo Martin, capo of ECV. This is Eleodora Rivera, my wife.”

Heat cascaded over Cora’s face. She tried to suppress a furious blush but failed.

“And capo of El Calacas Vivo,” she added, hating how unsteady her voice sounded. The urge to throw a scowl in Neo’s direction made her tighten her fingers on her chair’s armrests.

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