Page 7 of Her Convict Wolf

But my brother…

He’s been rotting in jail all these years. This is my one chance to help him. I’ve already been in this place for six months, keeping my cover, despite the fact I’m so much bigger and stronger than these poor human fuckers. Just three more days and I can get him out…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I grab at the bars. Electricity pours through my body in agonizing vibrations. I tense my muscles. The bars start to bend. An alarm goes off—

3

Emory

Iturn all the locks and bolts on my apartment door. Then I walk into my kitchen, flick on the kettle, and collapse onto a chair.

Now I’m alone, it all washes over me.

My father’s old bodyguard is in jail. And he got shot.

Because of me.

It was so awful. When I looked in the rearview mirror, right before I screeched onto the highway, he was facedown in the dirt, a bunch of guards beating on him with batons.

Please let him be okay.

I still can’t get my head around what he did. He managed to break out of those heavy chains, and got himself shot because he needed to warn me…

His words bounce around my head.

You’re not safe here.

But how does he know?

And what’s he doing in a jail for dangerous prisoners?

I get up to make the tea, then I pace up and down, arms wrapped around my body.

He said he’s coming back for me. But how, when he’s locked up in a high security prison?

And what am I to him anyway?

Just his ex-employer’s little daughter.

Maxim was so kind to me when I was small.

I remember I used to clamber all over him, and he’d just sit there, like a tree, and let me do it. And when I was older, he built me a treehouse. He used to work on it when he was off shift. He made it real nice and cozy, with a little table and a set of chairs to entertain my friends. I didn’t have any real friends in those days—there were no other kids in the complex—but he always talked to my stuffed animals like they were my friends. I’d invite him to tea parties, and he’d sit on the little platform, cross-legged, his huge bulk taking up half the space, pretending to drink from a tiny teacup.

Then one day, he left. He told me he was going on a long vacation. For a while, I was hurt. I thought he’d abandoned me, and I cried myself to sleep at night. But when I got older, I realized my father had fired him.

The one person in my life who’d cared for me.

I actually used to have a little-kid crush on him. Suddenly, I’m smiling at the memory. He was kinda scary-looking—so huge, with a broad, hard face and fierce eyes—but I used to think he looked real handsome in the sharp suit he wore when he was on duty. And I think I may have asked him if he’d marry me.

Gosh,how embarrassing. Hopefully he’s forgotten that part.

He looks different now, of course. There was so much sweat and dirt on his face, it was hard to trace the path of the years. But there were a couple of big scars that hadn’t been there before—one through his cheek, the other cutting into the corner of his lower lip. That massive, muscular body trussed up in an orange jumpsuit and shackled with heavy chains.

And those eyes, burning with desperation.

He’s still Maxim, though. Still the guy I thought of as my hero. Whereas—

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