Page 17 of Depraved
“He’s more than an elite.”
That makes Pluto stand and slam the fork down on the countertop. He doesn’t even wince after he does it. The entire room fills with tension in a way that makes the hair on the back of my arms stand up. My armpits start to sweat. But my neck doesn’t automatically curl down to the countertop.
My wolf paces. He whines. He looks at me, then back at Pluto, then back at me again. Because Matthew just pointed out a big fucking problem.
Where do I fit in the Lobos now? Should I listen or shouldn’t I?
Wolves operate on hierarchy. I used to have a number. I used to know my place. But Elena bit me instead of Black. And he bit her. We’re this complicated tangle.
I get a flashback of Black kneeling between Elena’s thighs, making her moan. My stomach churns; all that cake I ate turns sour.
Uncertainty makes my wolf’s ears flatten against his head and his tail duck between his legs. He gets the urge to run. So do I.
I don’t know my place in this pack anymore. And I’m not sure I know my place when it comes to my mate either.
5
BLACK
The elites stareat me expectantly, like I’m supposed to pull out a whiteboard covered in photographs and pinned red string and come up with an easy route to find this fucked up killer. But this isn’t some cop show. Life is far messier. People aren’t driven by logic like they are inCSI. It’s not as easy to connect the dots.
I have a feeling that taking down the little prince of the south is going to be a messy battle instead of a clean sweep.
But they don’t need to know that yet.
My elites just need confidence. Direction. Sometimes, being a leader is about taking steps just so others have footsteps to follow—even if you have to change course later.
I’ve let the guys wear their tongues out debating the best course of action because I want them to feel validated and shit. But I already decided on our path hours ago, after I got reports back on Thomas Stone and his penchant for making local headlines. Somewhere along the line, he decided he wanted to live in infamy.
I’m not going to grant that wish. I’m going to crush it. Crumble little Stone’s ego to dust.
I plant my hands on the big dining table, shoving back my chair. I make eye contact with every single shifter at the table before I say, “LittleThomas wants a reaction. He wants to feel important. We’re not going to give him that. All articles about the pack house will say ‘unknown assailant.’ None of us will associate his name with this attack. This idiot likes to give himself a mystique of crazy and dangerous. We’re going to counter that by spreading information about how he had a hard childhood.”
I see Warcraft’s lips pull back at the idea of making the fucker who killed the woman he was seeing look sympathetic. I hold up a hand to stop his protest before it can launch from his lips. “I’ve got a few reporters in my pocket. They’re also going to spread rumors about howLittleThomas, his new public nickname”—a few of the guys chuckle—“has always been a little confused. How he was slow in school. How he gave off weird vibes. Maybe we’ll even find out he had a pet rabbit or something.”
None of them get theOf Mice and Menreference, which I’d thought was pretty clever when I came up with it at seven a.m. after a sleepless night, but I let that slide. It’s not important. “We want to spread information about him that decreases his fear factor. So, you find out he doesn’t wash his socks, you tell a reporter. You hear a rumor he peed his pants in the third grade, you share that shit. Got it?”
Every head nods.
I press my lips together before telling them the second part of the plan. “Part of ruining his hold is moving forward. We can’t let this attack paralyze us as a pack. Let’s bury the dead but then appear to go on as normal,” I announce.
Stunned faces stare back at me. It’s clearly not what they expected to hear. An alpha’s life isn’t a human’s. A shifter’s world is full of pain and retribution.
Warcraft stands, ready to protest. I hold up a hand and speak before he does. “I saidappear.” Then I let my canines elongate. “The pack will appear to go on undisturbed. We have enough infrastructure in place to make that happen. I’ll pull up the second ring of alphas to manage the shit you normally handle. But we …” I point at the circle. “We’re going hunting.”
* * *
Afternoon sunlight paintsstark lines on the floor where it seeps through gaps in the curtains. It’s only four o’clock, but it might as well be midnight to my bones. I haven’t slept and it’s been a hell of a long day. I’m fighting off a migraine as I sit in my office with my feet up on the desk and talk numbers with my business manager.
“Well, sell the company then,” I speak gruffly, my fingers tightening around my cell phone. My stomach pitches forward at an odd angle as I say those words, like I’m riding a roller coaster. I don’t want to sell my father’s business—it’s been the only connection I’ve had to him since he passed—but we need a new pack house. Now.
I need to erase that smoky stench Thomas left in the mountains. I need to restore hope and normalcy. Selling the biker bars my father had and using the construction company owned by one of my elites to rebuild is the fastest and surest way to build it. I’m not taking out a loan, not after the feelers that I put out last night indicated that Stone’s family is deeply entrenched in the banking business.
“Are you sure?” Mark, my human business manager, asks for confirmation. Stupid human politeness. Always double-checking. Wasting time.
“Don’t question me. Just do it.” I hit the red end button on the phone before I can change my mind.. Then I stare down at the black reflective screen like it’s a traitor. My chest vibrates—I’m not sure whether it’s with anger or with pain—but it takes a moment before I have it under control. Even so, when I glance over and look at the mirror at the far side of my office, my eyes are gold. My wolf paces just underneath the surface of my skin, ready to latch onto any excuse to spring forward and wreak havoc.
A knock on my door makes me growl and I can feel my teeth elongate.
