Page 13 of Claimed By Werewolf
Need.
The urge to grab her, to taste her defiance, and to claim it before it got either of us killed.
I jerked back and put space between us before I did something stupid.
“Get out,” I said, the words rough and ragged.
Her brow furrowed.“What—”
“Out!”My voice cracked like a whip and echoed through the garage.The brothers at the back stiffened, then quickly looked busy again.
She flinched but didn’t move.
Of course she didn’t.
“Not until you tell me you’ll help,” she said, quieter now but with the same steel in her voice.
My fists clenched at my sides.“You don’t get it, Demi.Help means betraying my brothers.And betraying them means a bullet in the back of my skull.”
For once, she hesitated.Her lip trembled, but she bit it hard and forced her chin higher.“My brother’s dead.And if you know something, if you could stop this from happening again, then keeping your mouth shut makes you just as guilty as the one who killed him.”
That landed like a punch to the gut.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
I’d been carrying the weight of Tyler Cross’s death for months, shoved it into the dark corners of my mind, telling myself it wasn’t my fault.That it was the club’s business.That some things were better left buried.
But Demi’s words dug under my skin like barbed wire.
I swore under my breath and grabbed her arm.I dragged her toward the back of the garage.She stumbled once but kept up while glaring at me the whole way.
When we reached the office tucked behind the tool cages, I shoved her inside and shut the door.
Her back hit the desk, and she straightened instantly with fire blazing in her eyes.
“You don’t get to manhandle me like—”
“Shut up,” I snapped and paced the room like a caged animal.My heart pounded against my ribs, fury and confusion tangled until I couldn’t tell one from the other.
Finally, I stopped and faced her.
“You want my help?Fine.But you do exactly what I say, when I say it.You don’t go sniffing around on your own, you don’t talk to anyone about this, and if you so much as breathe the wrong word to the wrong person, I will personally put you on a bus out of this city and make damn sure you never come back.”
Her lips parted, surprise flickering before she masked it with defiance.“So youaregoing to help.”
“Don’t twist it.”I jabbed a finger at her.“This isn’t for you.It’s to keep your stubborn ass alive long enough for me to figure out who I have to bury to make this go away.”
“Semantics,” she muttered.
I growled and shoved a hand through my hair.Christ, she was infuriating.
And I was in too deep already.
We went over the papers spread across the desk.She leaned close and pointed out the calls while her hair brushed my arm.Every nerve in me tightened.
“This number,” she said and tapped the burner number.“He called it twice the week before he died.Then nothing.And the night he was killed, he called another number linked to your… club.”She said it carefully, like the word tasted wrong.
I followed her finger, and my eyes caught on a detail I hadn’t noticed before.Times.Dates.Calls that lined up with shipments I didn’t want her knowing about.
