Page 7 of Tossed into the Mob
He’s waking up. My wolf was making a cooing sound, but he said no, he was just excited.
"Where am I?”
“In a trailer.” I strolled the short distance toward the couch. “Remember me? Treyton.”
His face was blank for a few seconds, but I identified the moment he remembered. “I… ummm… yeah…” His head swiveled, and I pointed to his gun on the kitchen counter.
“I unloaded it.”
He peered out the window.
“Nope, no cavalry. But coffee’s coming.” I was brewing it on the tiny stove, and I popped bread in the toaster. “Peanut butter and jam?” He nodded, and I placed the coffee and toast in front of him. After he demolished one slice and I got him a second cup of coffee, I pulled up a stool.
“I understand you’re in pain.” This was a mistake because I was too close to him and his scent was taunting me. But I could hardly shove the stool back. And if I screwed up my face, he’d wonder what was wrong. I imagined his emotions were sofraught it was like being on a tightrope with no way forward or back.
“Let’s start with who shot you.”
He pulled the mug to his mouth, took a gulp, and held it with both hands. “A man I don’t know.”
Great. Some weirdo shoots my mate for no reason, except I was pretty sure most shootings weren’t random.
“Any idea why he put a bullet in you as opposed to anyone else?”
Brock stared into his cup, biting his bottom lip, and when he looked up, the uncertainty was gone and replaced by not just sadness, but devastation. Tears glinted in his eyes, and he wiped them with the back of his hand.
“I’d seen him before when he…” He grabbed a cushion and shoved it in front of his face. I wanted to hug him and whisper that it would be okay. I outstretched my hand and pulled it back while Brock sobbed into the cushion.
“He came to our house, but my dad told me to hide.”
My belly roiled because this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending, and I told him to take his time. We had all day and most of tomorrow before my family would be out looking for me.
“He killed my dad.”
Oh gods, no. My mate’s family was embroiled in big trouble. Maybe theyweremafia and this was a war. Much as I loved my extended family, I’d hoped to keep the distance I’d established.
But if my mate was part of that world, that might be my destiny too. I’d met many mafia members over the years. Admittedly most were shifters, but Brock didn’t fit the profile.
I had to push further, but I was reminded of how I dealt with my patients before performing a procedure that was necessary but was going to hurt.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how distressing that must be, but can you give me a hint as to why he was killed?”
“Probably because you and your family did something.” He sniffed and grabbed the napkins from last night’s burger feast.
My wolf wasn’t pleased about the accusation, but I reminded him this was our mate and to cool it. I asked Brock why he thought my family had been the culprits.
Brock gave me details of a car pulling up outside and his dad hiding him while giving instructions on where to find information he’d left.
“There were loud voices and a shot, and then I peered out under the house and watched the man leave.” He shivered. “I remember the tattoo on his arm.”
That didn’t explain how Brock made his way here.
He rambled on about there being a gun and letter in the lockbox from his dad, along with cash.
“He’d always said my alpha father was dead, but the letter said he was alive andhe was an important person in the organization La Luna Noir. I looked up the name and discovered… ummm, yeah.”
Oh shit. No. I wanted to cover my ears and block out what he’d said. He knew who and what we were, but what if we were related? My cousins hadn’t been celibate during the years before they mated. Technically they were my second cousins, so could Brock and I mate? My heart was going to be ripped out if I couldn’t be with him.
But wait. Flint, Ranger, and Hunter weren’t old enough to have a son in his maybe mid-twenties? But if they reached adolescence early, maybe Flint? I slumped onto the couch beside Brock. Or it might be worse. Maybe Grandpa got frisky in his later years?
