Page 75 of Pack of Crooks
His tone is so desperate that I believe him. I’m definitely not part of this conversation, though, so I keep my mouth shut.
“My forensic accountant says otherwise.”
Gary stammers. “No, Tristan, I—” He shakes his head. “I didn’t. Would never.”
Tristan grins, but it’s vicious, and his eyes are void of any kindness. Evil. Vicious. Warning bells go off inside my head. I’ve seen plenty of alphas go on a rampage. Tristan is so close to losing it. I stay as still as possible to avoid becoming collateral damage.
“I have all the proof I need to put you away for life. My lawyers will make sure of it.”
“You can’t?—”
“I can and I will, if you don’t do exactly as I tell you. Think about your daughters, Gary. Pretty omegas. Young. You want tosecure their future, don’t you? You wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”
Gary blanches.
Bile rises in my throat. Tristan’s not suggesting he’d make sure Gary’s daughters end up with terrible packs, right?
“They’ve done nothing wrong,” Gary says, voice cracking. “Please, leave my babies out of this.”
“The children pay for the sins of their fathers.” Tristan pauses, watching a tear roll down Gary’s cheek with a curled lip of disgust. “But there’s something you can do for me.”
“Anything,” Gary says quickly. “I’ll do anything.”
Tristan slides his gaze to mine. “Hazel, I have some dry cleaning that needs to be picked up. Take it to my house. Now.”
His brusque tone sets my teeth on edge, but my heart leaps for one reason. This is it. The moment the pack has been waiting for. There’s a safe in Tristan’s home office that I need to break into. The code flits through my mind, something I memorized as soon as they gave me the task. I hurry out of the conference room, rushing back to his office to grab my things, dying to know what it is Gary will have to do. Today was the first day I’ve witnessed an ugly side of Tristan. He wears a good mask, but that monster the pack told me about is in there.
I head to the elevator, clutching my purse and the address for his home with one unsettling thought racing through my mind. What other terrible things has this alpha done?
Walking into Tristan’s mansion is like walking into a museum of art. Statues. Fancy paintings in big gold frames. Marble floors. A sprawling staircase. More windows than one house should ever have. The butler clears his throat. I take a breath and smile athim despite how his scent is filled with vinegar. This guy does not like me.
“Sorry, first time in a mansion.”
He lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. His starched black and white suit makes my skin itch and I’m not even the one wearing it. This guy is classicI live to serve the rich and think I’m better than you for it.
I hold up the dry cleaning. “I just need to drop this off and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’ll take it.” The butler reaches for the clothes but I pull them out of his reach.
“Tristan toldmeto put them up. Do you want me to tell him that you didn’t listen?”
The butler’s eyes narrow, and I swear to god his bowtie twitches in annoyance. “Fine. Don’t touch anything else.”
I bat my eyelashes. “I would never.”
He harumphs and stalks away. Grinning at his back, I wait for him to round the corner—off to whatever Hell he crawled out of—before heading up the stairs, taking in the castle-like architecture. This house is obnoxiously huge for an alpha with no pack or children.
Yeah, yeah, I’m Tristan’s child, but you know what I mean.
A red velvet carpet lines a deep wood floor, wall to wall paneling—the nice kind, not the cheap kind—is meant to feel warm, but with Tristan’s scent tainting the space, it’s just unsettling. Like that creepy movie about the hotel and the guy who went crazy. My hackles rise. I glance behind me, half expecting the ghost of two twins to be there, leading me to my doom.
The hallway is empty though.
Relax, Hazel.Taking a breath, I find Tristan’s room, hang up his dry cleaning, then quietly make my way into the hall and slip into the office. Someone is grossly obsessed with wood paneling.It’s everywhere. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I walk toward the desk, listening for the butler or maids, but I’m alone in this wing.
Just like the task details said, the safe’s hidden behind a painting— a famous portrait of someone I couldn’t care less about. I tug on the edge of the painting, exhaling in relief when it easily pops open, swinging wide on a hidden hinge.
This is too easy.
