Page 28 of Wolf

With a grimace, she says as we accelerate onto the freeway, “Let’s just say that he gets what he wants, don’t matter what the law says.”

Wolf

Once I’m beyond the cars, I adjust my aching dick with a groan. Lilli’s sweet taste still lingers on my tongue and even though I knew it would be a mistake, I took it anyway.

Fuck me but my blood ran cold when I found her sitting on that log with a hang around, one of the fuckers who likes to party but doesn’t want to patch in.

They know the rules which should have made me feel better, but Lilli isn’t a fucking sweet butt, and that asshole thought she was. Don’t matter if he wasn’t supposed to touch her, just the thought burns.

Ain’t nothing wrong with the sweet butts but it still don’t sit right for someone to think she is. This is why she shouldn’t be here, Darcy either. I know what that girl wants but escaping into the club ain’t gonna change her home life.

At least I got Darcy to agree not to come back until she’s eighteen, but wouldn’t you know it, that happened all too quickly. Now, she’s barely legal and sniffing for dick.

I’m disappointed that the fucker who dared to speak to Lilli is long gone when I approach the crowd, I need to punch something, and he’d have done nicely.

Instead, I nod to Bran who follows me through the crowd and out the other side. I got business here tonight and it don’t involve sweet little, Lilli Abernathy. She’s too young and virgin or not, sweet for the likes of me…even if her daddy weren’t in the mix.

Between him and the sheriff though, it’s a goddamn tragedy waiting to happen. Ain’t she worried about what that man will do if he catches her out partying with MC?

She should be and I guess it’s my job to make sure she does, except when her wide dark eyes pass over my vision, I mentally groan.

Enough. Let it the fuck go.

Chapter 8

Lilli

“Hm, fifteen?” I say, placing another bar of soap on the display, next to the fifty others I’ve carefully lined up to attract the attention of potential buyers.

Mama specializes in herbal soaps and lotions, which we’re expected to help sell at the farmer’s market. Normally, it doesn't bother me because it's an opportunity to get out of the house, but today I’m restless.

Behind me, Mercy giggles, and says, “No, it’s sixteen.”

My family returned from the retreat yesterday and while it was nice to hear sound fill the empty rooms, I can’t say that I was happy to be back in the role forced upon me by my parents.

“Oh.” My mind is a million miles away. I woke up this morning to a delicious dream of Wolf and I haven’t been able to shake the warm feeling in my veins. It’s been a few days since I saw him, but it feels like a lifetime. I barely know him, but I want to get to know him.

He certainly has a misguided sense to keep me from his life and I know he’s worried about what Daddy would do if he found out. He’s protective. But what else? Does he sleep on his side? Eat his toast with peanut butter? Hate cheesy rom coms?

Who knows, but I’m wasting my time speculating because I’m quite sure he’s not wondering the same things about me.

Maddening, but what can I do? I’m an eighteen-year-old girl who’s been sheltered from the world. He’s well, not. For all I know, he’s a murderer, as Daddy has said in countless sermons.

Shoot.

“What about…” Mercy says but everything fades when I see the sheriff at a stall down the way.

What did Darcy mean about him getting what he wants, no matter the law? Although he comes to our church every Sunday, I’ve only ever traded pleasantries with the man.

He’s always been polite and distant I suppose but now I study him for any sign that what Darcy said is true. He’s tall, taller than Daddy with a barrel chest and burgeoning belly poking beyond his uniform pants. With a shock of white hair covered by his hat, he’s not unpleasant to look at, although I shiver when I eye the gun on his belt.

He’s speaking to Mr. Hopkins who sells custom leather goods, like wallets with chains and pretty, leather-bound journals. Is this a friendly visit?

While I look for clues that he’s not just an ordinary man doing his job, he must sense my stare because he looks up. When our eyes meet, his brows furrow and summoning a weak smile, I go back to arranging soaps.

Meanwhile, my mind whirls with the possibilities until a shadow forms over me and I look up. The sheriff meets my gaze once more and I suppress a shiver as he says, “Your mama around?”

“Um, no…um…she’ll be back soon, though,” I stutter and his eyes narrow. Desperate to salvage the awkward situation, I say, “She’s grabbing more receipt books.”

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