Page 18 of Wolf

I studied his face. Taking in the age lines in his forehead and the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. He had laugh lines on either side of his mouth, shadowed by an unshaven jaw. He looked older than his forty-five years, and I knew part of that probably had to do with me, but I knew part of it didn’t, too. Wolf had these whiskey-colored eyes that had seen the bottom of a bottle one too many times. They were eyes that had been worn long before he ever reached the shores of the UnitedStates.

I looked into those eyes and let a small smile pull on my lips. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, and for good reason, since I leaned forward and whispered, “You still haven’t saidthankyou.”

Wolf’s breath came out of him in a heavy, long sigh that told me he had all but given up hope for me as he grumbled under his breath. “You want me to thank you?” His head snapped back up with a speed that made me jump. His eyes traced down over me to where I sat on his bed, and I watched as they darkened. “I willthankyou.”

I quickly jumped and darted out of his reach as he stood to his feet. I bounced over the opposite side of the bed, my arms at the ready to defend myself, eyes searching for whatever I could use as a weapon. When I realized he hadn’t made a move toward me, I took my turn to narrow my eyesonhim.

I watched as a long, saccharine smile curved on his face before he turned and walked out the room withoutaword.

I had a bad feelingaboutthis...

* * *

“This isn’twhat I call a thank you,” I snapped, my hands going tomyhips.

Wolf didn’t even bother to look at me as he grumbled, “Quit bitching andgetin.”

I looked down at the long, silky, red sheets that I’d sat on an hour ago before I’d been notified of their sudden importance in my life. Wolf had the thin sheet pulled up over his shirtless waist as his club tattoo, spanning ever his wide shoulders and back, was presented to me in the dim light. I tried not to let my eyes run down the smoothness of his back and the firm muscles that rippled underneath his broadframe.

“No,” I hissed, seething at what this bastard didtome.

“Anna,” he growled in a low warning. He still wasn’t looking at me. I saw his back vibrate at the sound, and the acoustics of his body piqued my curiosity—not enough for me to get over being pissed at him,however.

“No. Why did you change the sleeping arrangements?” I snapped, looking down at my pitiful pile of bags in the corner of the room before looking back to the bed. “I don’t see why I should be in herewithyou.”

“Because nobody else wanted your demanding ass. Now getintobed.”

“Of course, they want my ass. It’s a great ass,” I argued then turned back to my bags. I picked one up, aware of Wolf finally turning over inthebed.

“You’re right,” Wolf said, and I turned to find his eyes glued to my ass, my thin cotton leggings and plain tee that I had changed into earlier doing little to hide my physique. “Now, park it in the bed before I come and put you in itmyself.”

I leveled my gaze at him. “You know what? I can see you’re going to be pissy about this whole thing, so I’ll just go share with someone else.” I reached down for my bags but didn’t get more than two on my arms before I felt Wolf appear behind me and grab me by thewaist.

I watched my bags land on the floor as I was hurled into the air. I could barely let out a small screech before I landed on the hard bed, thrusting all the air out of my lungs, and tried to catch my breath before Wolf’s long, hard body surrounded mine. His thick arms circled around my stomach from behind as his body dropped in beside me. My petite body fit into the curve of his so perfectly it became my custom-fit jail cell as I struggled to even move aninchaway.

“Wolf!” I snapped, scratching athisarms.

The fat bastard ignored me, choosing to release one hand to grab the thin sheet and pull it over us both. He hit the light switch on the wall before letting his arm wind around mystomach.

I continued to threaten his balls for the next ten minutes, but when he didn’t stir, I finally gave a huff of defeat, letting my frustration fade from my body as I relaxedagainsthim.

I turned my head enough to see his face resting with his nose pushed into the crook of my neck. Soft, warm breaths rolled over my skin. His eyes were closed and his body slack, but the arms around my stomach were like a vice locking me in, and I had to wonder whether he was really asleep. Then again, Wolf had taken a large swig of whiskey before climbing into bed the first time. He had found a new bottle, which he’d forced Jax to taste first in case I put bleach in there again, the risk acting as punishment for his moonshine antics at the beginning oftheweek.

In all fairness, Jax was the only one to survive without a hangover after a night of moonshine. Everyone else drank enough that they didn’t really get hangovers, but when Jax whipped the homemade liquor out after everyone was already smashed, there was a slim chance ofsurvival.

But even without his moonshine, Wolf could drink himself into a sleep that not even the apocalypse could wakehimfrom.

I looked at the wall to where I could see a faint slither of red in the darkness standing out against the black paint. His room had once been red, but after I did a slight remodel, he was forced to paint it black to cover up the baby pink and My Little Pony stickers I had managed to cover the wall in. He hadn’t woken a single time then,either.

My gaze trailed down to my stomach, or more specifically, to the hands tightened around it. The thin sheet had slipped down his broad shoulders and now rested against his hips again, which was fine since the bastard had a body temperature of a volcano, so I was hot even without it. It had been one of my many complaints that he hadignored.

Despite my better judgment, my small hands reached up and skimmed over his. My fingers mapped out each tattoo inked into his skin. Many people overlooked his tattoos because they just fit with his biker image to the point that nobody really questioned him. But I knew different. As my eyes looked over his worn hands, I could see the life he had left behind in Russia. From the forked cross on one finger to the skull, gun, and knife and the letter K on the back of his hand, naming him as a killer. There were a few others I recognized; jail time tattoos at tough prisons, Xs on each of his knuckles keeping score of the number of times in prison, totaling up to six, and the small bird on his thumbs resemblingfreedom.

Although I couldn’t see, I also knew he had the outline of a black pawprint etched into the back of his neck. The tattoo was unfinished, and I knew he grew the length of his hair to cover it. It came down to his shoulders at the back, but he always pushed it back away from his face so it often looked shorter than it was. Every so often, I heard him bitch about getting it cut, but even so, heneverdid.

I’d considered setting it on fire multiple times, even gluing it together, but unfortunately, I neither had glue nor a lighter within reachable distance, not to mention I was pinned to the bed. I tried to wriggle forward again, but he didn’t move, so I finally allowed myself to admit that I wasn’t goinganywhere.

I breathed in the deep smell of smoke and whiskey as his breath tickled my shoulder. I paid too much attention to it as it left soft tingles over my skin, and before I knew it, my breath had synced with his. With each breath in, my chest rose, and with each one out, my own chest sank. The monotonous attention to each one had my eyes growing heavy, and his smothering heat sent me into a drowsy spiral until soon enough, I was swept into a deepsleep.

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