Page 18 of Tossed into the Mob
I picked up a muffled sob and couldn’t leave my mate alone to cry himself to sleep. Sitting on the bed, I took him in my arms.Immediately I wished I’d chosen a smaller pair of PJs because the pants had slid down my hips and my ass was exposed. Humans couldn’t see much in the dark, so Brock wouldn’t see my ass crack, though I’d bend over and show him my hole if he asked.
“Hey. Maybe the pack kept some of his possessions.” They could be at La Luna Noir headquarters.
“I’m especially sad because I have nothing from Dad, only the letter.” More sobs wracked his body. “When we got to the hospital, they wouldn’t let me go with him.” He explained he was so scared, he’d kissed his dad and then he was gone, surrounded by a bunch of people in scrubs. “Later a doctor told me he died, and I don’t know what happened to his body because I fled.”
He cried on my shoulder, his tears drenching my shirt. My mate was hurting and much of what he expected from Flint wasn’t forthcoming. But I could look into what happened to his dad’s remains. Once the killer had been apprehended, I would fly my mate home and pay for the burial or cremation.
“Let me find out.”
We went back and forth, with me asking questions about his dad and checking that news article regarding the shooting. When he gave me his address, it was less than ten miles from where I’d grown up, and I tucked that nugget away for the future.
I could have asked a favor of Ranger or Hunter to help me because they had police on the payroll who could contact their counterparts, but I wanted to do this for my mate. Besides, Ranger, in particular, had been an ass this evening.
After a number of calls to the police and the morgue, I was frustrated at being rebuffed. Brock suggested he speak to them, but I didn’t want anyone knowing his whereabouts, so I did the unthinkable and pretended to be Flint. We sounded nothing alike, but my wolf added gruffness to my voice.
Turned out my cousin’s name carried weight, even on the other side of the country.
“Mr. Durand, sir, your reputation precedes you.”
I had the phone on speaker. He didn’t know where the body was, but he agreed to find the relevant morgue and instruct them to keep Niles. When we were done, I added that I’d send him tickets to the football game of his choice. He thanked me over and over, so now I had to do it.
Brock flicked on a lamp. “Your cousin’s name opens doors.”
I confessed I’d never done that, and Flint would be pissed, but it was thrilling. My body was tingling, thanks to a combination of being with my mate and falsifying my identity. Maybe I was more of a Durand that I realized. Or was it because I did something for my mate rather than him being shoved in different directions by my family’s whims?
“Do you do that often?”
It sounded like an accusation, and I was conflicted because this was a first and I’d done it for him, but on the flip side, adrenaline surged through my veins. Pretending to be someone else was exciting.
“No.”
“I liked it.”
“Me too,” I gushed. “Gods, the guy was practically bowing at me.”
But I was overcome with some remorse because that wasn’t me. I helped people bring babies into the world. That was my strength, but I had caught a glimpse of how addicting mafia life could be.
“Your cousin must wield a lot of power.”
“He does.” But not all of it was from his human side. His wolf had taken down humans and shifters.
Did we admit that now that we’d tasted power, we wanted more? That we’d be willing to kill to gain more of it?
Not you, Treyton. I’m the killer.
That was true, and I hadn’t been tested as to whether I could kill anyone. If I was defending Brock or other family members, then the answer was yes.
“I’m hungry.” Brock jumped out of bed, and I trailed behind him, checking out his ass while holding up my PJ pants.
He was rummaging in the fridge when I peered over his shoulder. The pack, or maybe just the family, kept this place for visitors, so it wasn’t well stocked. But we had fruit, crackers, cheese, and ramen noodles.
Brock picked up one pack of noodles, and I grabbed the other. “I love ramen,” we said in unison. He laughed, and the high-pitched sound filled my heart with joy. He had a long road of grieving ahead, but every now and then I caught glimpses of who he was before the tragedy.
We sat at the table eating the spicy noodles with chopsticks and slurping, because all noodle aficionados had to slurp.
“I need to ask another favor.”
“Anything.” I hoped to be doing him favors until I took my last breath.
