Page 8 of Tossed into the Mob
I put my head in my hands and then placed it between my legs, wanting to be sick.
“Are… are you okay?”
“No.” The nausea passed. I’d never suffered from it previously and wasn’t aware shifters ever did. “A little dizzy. I’m fine now.”
I breathed slowly and cleared my head. “Let's say that information is correct and your alpha father is connected to my family. Why me?” That was the second time I’d asked him that.
He shrugged. “Dad said in the letter that you’d help me.”
But how did his human father who lived across the country know my name? I tugged my ear, a habit I had when I was thinking. Maybe he’d seen that documentary last year. I was featured, and it was called “Twenty-Four Hours on Call in a Maternity and Paternity Ward.”
So this could be a con job and he was trying to swindle money from us. Ahhhh. What if Brock was a bad guy? Or my half-brother or third cousin removed?
I asked him for his alpha father’s name, but he didn’t have it. He pulled the letter from the pocket over his heart. It smelled moldy, so it had been written a while ago. It was well thumbed and it scented of my mate, and there was another scent, similar to his but distinctive. It had to be his dad’s. A name had been crossed out and mine written above it in a different pen. It’d probably been added much later than the original details, because the ink wasn’t as faded.
After getting some details and doing a quick check on the phone, I pulled up an article about his father, Niles Lucchesi, being killed. They found the killer’s DNA, and cameras a block away had captured the guy fleeing, but they couldn’t see his face and the plates were fake.
Brock was telling the truth.
“I have to find my father, but first, I need protection from the guy who killed my dad and who tried to kill me.”
Protection we could provide. My pack was good at that. But his father? Were we to do a line-up to see which La Luna Noirmember looked the most like my mate? Interrogate everyone? Insist on DNA tests? The pack respected the Alpha’s wishes, but Flint wouldn’t order anyone to submit their saliva.
“Who’s the head of your organization?”
“My cousin.”
He asked me to take him to Flint, but I couldn’t waltz into his office with this cockamamy story, especially with the added complication of him being my mate.
Maybe we could meet Flint privately. He could come here, but he’d be suspicious ‘cause I’d never made a similar request and he’d arrive with armed bodyguards and his brothers.
If I brought Brock to the family dinner, there’d be an uproar. His alpha father might be at the table, but it was the one place where only family was present. The bodyguards stayed outside. And with kids in the house, there’d be no bloodshed or cursing.
It was similar to ripping off a bandaid. I just had to do it. Even if we couldn’t mate, Brock would be safe and under the protection of our pack.
What do you mean you can’t mate?
It’s complicated.
“Tomorrow night, you’ll meet everyone.”
FOUR
BROCK
I must have dozed off—I’d been doing that a lot—and I woke to the sound of running water. The constant ache in my arm had dulled. I wished the memory of being shot had done the same.
My mouth tasted like cotton balls. Ewww, I’d have to brush my teeth, and my neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch. I struggled to sit and leaned over, checking the door was locked. I peered between the lace curtains, but other than a woman watering her potted plants, there was no one around. I nibbled a nail because the sun was going down and that guy with the gun could sneak up on us in the dark.
The shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Treyton emerged from the tiny bathroom with damp hair and wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The poor guy. I’d abducted him and he didn’t have a change of clothes.
He checked the windows on either side, making sure they were locked before doing the same with the door. He sniffed when he came close to me before drawing the small curtains near the sink, and put his ear near the door.He may have been a midwife, but he was security conscious. All I’d done was actlike a curtain twitcher, whereas he’d done a proper assessment, though I didn’t understand the sniffing.
“How’s your arm?”
“Better, thanks to you.” I cringed, thinking of how I’d treated Treyton. I was crap at kidnapping, which was probably a good thing or I might have shot him. I never wanted to handle a weapon again, unless it was to defend myself against Dad’s murderer.
He asked if he could check my wound. I agreed, but I discovered I was wearing a T-shirt that wasn’t mine. I tugged at it, expecting to finally get a whiff of him. But there was nothing.
