His eyes shone with a mixture of adoration and amusement. With his free hand, he brushed some hair from her face. “After all this, you’re still a romantic,” he said in a low voice. Everything about Ben could be gentle if he chose to be—his voice, his touch, his meaning.
Gia suspected she’d never not be a hopeless romantic. She was before she’d been turned into a werewolf against her will, and she’d continue to be one up until the day she took her last breath. Many would argue that the abuse she was subjected to would surely break that folly, but what Mitchell did—use sex as a weapon—wasn’t love. It was a sick desire to dominate and break.
Love was not wholly tied up in the physical act, although it was a large part of it still. Love was more about whispered words spoken in the dark when two lovers faced each other and shared what happened after a long day. Love was getting a tub of ice cream with two spoons while watching TV together. Love was understanding that sometimes you fought with one another, but what was important was coming back together at the end of it.
“Oh, I love this movie,” Ben commented, drawing her thoughts back to the room. It was that iconic bed-sharing scene where John Candy spooned Steve Martin. Her brother had always laughed the hardest at this bit, and that memory had made her smile.
“Me, too,” she replied in a whisper.
Chapter Three
It was dark when Dylan pulled into the driveway of a motel in Sherman, about fifteen minutes south-south-east of Patten. He’d done a bit of research on the area where the pack called home. Patten only had a population of one hundred. It was a town he suspected was mostly made up of werewolves given its size. To the east, there was a wooded area and lake that would provide the pack a place to run safely. Although if Mitchell allowed the imprisonment and torture of females, somehow Dylan didn’t think safety for the unlucky humans who also lived in the town was a top priority for the alpha.
Parking the car, he got out, getting blasted by an icy wind that was blowing between the mountains to the west. He went into the small office of the motel, ringing the bell on the counter when no one appeared immediately.
“Can I help ya?” an older man asked, stomping his feet on the doormat and stepping through a doorway to Dylan’s left.
“I need a room for two nights.”
“How many guests?” the guy asked, shuffling around the counter and making things official.
Dylan inhaled and saw that the guy was human, but he was sick. Cancer if he had to guess. His wiry white hair was sticking out from under his peaked cap, his flannelette shirt worn but still clean and in good repair. More wiry white hairs from his chest peeked out from the V in his shirt.
“Two.” At least that’s what Dylan was banking on. “My wife and I are visiting family, and we don’t like to stay with them… too crowded.”
“I don’t care what you’re here to do,” the human grumbled as he scribbled something down into a book. It looked as if technology hadn’t touched this place in a long time. “I only accept cash, and I only accept payment upfront. Is that going to be a problem?”
Dylan was starting to like this guy more and more. “Cash up front is fine with me.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and laid out five hundred dollars. The old guy’s eyes bulged when he looked at the bills, then he reached out to snatch them away. Before he could, Dylan slapped his hand over the money and said, “This is to ensure we’re left alone. There might be some visitors coming tomorrow, so don’t be alarmed by their presence.”
The guy nodded, and Dylan let go of his bribe money. This was why he chose a small backwater town. People didn’t really care what happened here as long as they didn’t get hurt, and they got paid.
“Room fourteen.” The guy handed him a brass key on a long stick. “At the end of the row for privacy,” he tacked on with a wink.
“I appreciate it,” Dylan replied. What he didn’t appreciate was the long-ass anti-theft deterrent that he couldn’t comfortably pocket when he went out. As soon as he got back in the car, he snapped off the foot-long piece of wood and threw it over his shoulder into the back seat. Left just with the brass key, he dropped it into the center console as he drove his truck around to room fourteen.
Backing it in carefully, he scooped up the key and slid out to take a good look around, scenting the air as he did. Safety was always his top concern. It was also his only personal concern. Satisfied no werewolves had been around here lately, he opened the door to his room and let his senses wander once more. His wolf surged ahead in his mind, doing all the checks necessary.
The room smelled strongly of bleach and faintly of cigarette smoke, but other than that, it was clean, and it would do. There was only one queen bed set against the back wall with twin nightstands on either side. Adjacent to the door was the tiny but serviceable bathroom, the square brown floor, and wall tiles reminiscent of the 1970s. There was also a small TV mounted to the wall, but when he turned it on, he discovered there were only four channels that picked up any signal—the rest was just a snowstorm.
Stepping back out to his truck, he retrieved his bags and brought them inside. Under Layla’s advisement, he’d filled one with things like beef jerky and protein bars. His other bag was filled with a fifty-fifty split of clothes and weapons.
Placing both bags onto the rickety desk under the mounted TV, he pulled out a gun and a couple of blades, strapping them to his body with an efficiency he’d learned from years of being an enforcer. His father and previous alpha may not have been driven by conflict to maintain his pack, but he’d made sure all the pack’s enforcers knew the difference between their ass and their elbow when it came to weaponry.
He was going to do some recon of the pack house tonight before bringing Gia back with him tomorrow morning. He’d been driving for twelve hours straight, and although sleep was pulling at him, he needed to understand what his enemy’s lands looked like. He was a good Boy Scout like that.
Locking the room’s door with the key, he got back into his truck and navigated his way up ME-14. His truck’s headlights bounced off farmhouses, barns, fields, and trees, really driving home the fact that this was rural country. He drove through town and out the other side, taking a small dirt road that would lead to the pack house.
He went straight past it, looking for another access point should things go south tomorrow. There was a fire trail not too far from the north-west perimeter, and Dylan decided that it would be fine if push came to shove. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know what to expect. He would be playing the part of a foreign wolf, but he had no idea how Mitchell would receive an interloper coming in to take his prize.
The other thing that terrified him was not knowing whether or not the alpha would retaliate against his presence by using Gia and hurting her even further. He was up to his eyeballs in unknowns, and he never liked to operate like that. He prided himself in always being in control, in knowing who had the aces, and when they were likely to use them. He was a strategist, and there were so many things about this mission that couldn’t be strategized given all the variables of his unknown target.
There was one thing he knew for sure—he was not leaving Patten without Gia.
Chapter Four
Dylan slept like shit. The hotel’s bed was wearing through with springs and lumps assaulting his back the whole damn night. He figured it didn’t matter, though, because today was the day he was getting that female out of there.
Pulling a box of hair dye from one of the bags, he went into the bathroom to erase his dark red hair and assume his new identity. He needed the coloring to pull off the Mexican drug lord persona. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to alter his appearance for pack work, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
After following the instructions on the box, he applied the dye then let it sit for twenty-five minutes while he ran through the plan once more. Confident in his recon and the plan as a whole, he padded into the bathroom, started up the shower, and scrubbed e
very inch of himself, including rinsing out his hair. He’d incinerated Lucas’s body early yesterday morning, and walking into the lion’s den smelling of their wolf would not be a good start. Nor would it solidify his story that he was a foreign wolf.
The plan was to impersonate a Mexican drug lord. He had been blessed with an odd mix of his mother’s Italian skin and his father’s Irish blood. With the new color in his hair, he had the complexion to pull off the Hispanic look. Being fluent in Spanish helped too. The only sticking point would be he was alone, and he doubted many high-powered men who had targets on their backs would travel without bodyguards. It would have to do, though. Gia was his only concern.
After toweling off, he dressed in a black button-down and black slacks. Even though he loathed to put them on, he also slid his feet into a pair of dress shoes. As far as fighting went, dress shoes were about as useful as tits on a bull, but he couldn’t go in there in his steel-toed boots. It would tip them all off.
Sliding into an underarm gun holster, he secured his primary weapon, then slid knives into various other sheaths stealthily hidden around his body. He was going to be as armed as he could be, keeping up the pretense of his persona. He even styled his hair differently, slicking it back away from his face, making his cheekbones stark and sinister.
“It’s only for an hour,” he reminded himself. With one final check of his clothing and weapons, he jumped into his truck and drove to a local rental car company in Sherman. He managed to hire a Lexus town car that had been left there from New York. It was actually kind of perfect.
Leaving his truck in the lot, he drove the black Lexus up to Patten, confident he’d be able to sell his story of being a Mexican drug lord now. He pulled into the driveway of the house, bringing the car to a stop behind a truck not dissimilar to his own. As soon as he cut the engine, about a dozen males were stationed at the front door. Each had a hand tucked under their arm, their palms no doubt on the grips of their guns.
He stared, exerting his dominance over them. One by one, they all looked away, cowed by the more dominant wolf. Dylan was curious to see just how dominant Mitchell was if he was able to overpower his lackeys so easily. He hadn’t even had to get out of the car to do it.
Grabbing the duffel bag full of cash first, he opened the car door and stepped out, his persona as a no-fucks-given drug lord sliding into place effortlessly like a second skin.
“Who are you?” one of the guards asked as Dylan walked closer to the front door.
Ensuring he had his accent in place, he said, “Diego Antonio Pineda Villa.” He smiled sardonically. “I have come to speak to your alpha.”
“He’s not accepting visitors this morning,” one of the lackey’s said, making the other males laugh.
What, like he’s the fucking Queen of England?
“Well, he will want to speak to me,” Dylan replied, gesturing to the duffel in his hand. Each and every one of them eyed it warily. At least they weren’t complete morons.
“What’s your business with our alpha?”
“I have a proposition for him.” He wasn’t going to share much more than that. He did hope, however, his bluffing had earned him an audience with Mitchell.
One of the males—the one who had been the last to drop his eyes when Dylan had stared them down—jerked his chin in the direction of the house. “Come with us.”
Dylan gave them a slight nod and strode toward the door. As he got closer, he sensed every set of eyes on him, but he simply shrugged them off. They were only doing their jobs, even if their boss was a tyrannical asshole who kept a female imprisoned.
Lackey Number One led him into an old, worn-out reception room where there was a ripped and stained couch, and a small side table that looked as if it was about to fall over.
“I’ll tell Mitchell you’re here, but don’t expect him to be happy about it.”
Dylan said nothing, just placed the duffel bag onto the couch and stood behind it. There was no way in hell he was sitting down right now.
The enforcers disappeared—all except one, who lingered in the doorway. The male eyed Dylan with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. As soon as Dylan held his gaze, though, the male dropped his own to the floor.
“What’s your name?” Dylan asked smoothly, casually brushing some lint from his sleeve like he didn’t give a fuck one way or another if the guy answered.
He kind of didn’t. The only two males he needed to identify were Mitchell and Ben. Mitchell had an expiration date hanging over his head, and Ben was a lucky motherfucker considering Dylan was more than happy to let the Helheim wolves destroy this whole damn pack.
“Lionel,” the other male replied.
Dylan nodded but said nothing more. A moment later, Lackey Number One reappeared, his expression pinched. “Mitchell will see you.”
Dylan scooped up the cash and followed him out of the room and down a long hallway. The rest of the house was in as much disrepair as the reception room he’d waited in, and he wondered what Mitchell was doing with the cash he siphoned off his pack member’s wages. According to Layla, he took seventy percent of their earnings to maintain the pack house and the security of the pack.
Lackey Number One stopped in front of a closed door, knocking gently before shoving the thing open. Dylan smiled at the guy as he passed, a flash of teeth and a glare that made his red-eyed wolf simmer to the surface. Lackey’s own wolf responded in a flash of yellow that was hidden behind his lowered lids as he dropped his gaze.
Happy with the reaction, Dylan turned his attention to the larger threat, the one that was sitting behind a desk with scratches on the surface and huge chunks taken out of the wood. Mitchell looked to be no older than twenty, his unremarkable brown hair longer in the front than in the back. It hung in his dull brown eyes. His mouth was pulled into a sneer, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he took Dylan’s scent into his nose.
Eventually, Mitchell gestured to the seat in front of the desk, and Dylan parked his ass on it, lowering the duffel to the ground at his feet. The alpha watched every movement, assessing him. Well, this proved the guy wasn’t a fucking moron.
“Leroy said you wanted to see me.”
Leroy must’ve been Lackey Number One. Dylan inclined his head. “I have traveled a long way to meet with you.”
“Unannounced, I might add,” Mitchell said on a growl.
Playing the repentant drug lord, Dylan held his hand over his heart and bowed ever so slightly. Everything about that action rankled him because he could feel the push and pull of his wolf with Mitchell’s. “My apologies for not petitioning you to accept my visit, but I heard something rather… exciting… and I knew I had to come and see you in person as soon as I could.”
Mitchell leaned back in his chair casually, narrowing his eyes at Dylan. Dylan stared right back but dropped his gaze after a moment. He needed Mitchell to still believe he was submissive to him, no matter how much that pissed him off.
“What did you hear?”
Dylan raised his eyes a little. “You have a female that you keep for your own… entertainment.”
The alpha’s brown eyes lit up with smug excitement. So that bastard was just like all psychopaths, then. Get them talking about themselves and their exploits, and they’re a fucking open book.
“My little Gia has made news all the way down in Mexico, huh?”
“Si,” Dylan replied with a smile. “She has, and I’ve come all this way to purchase her from you.”
That statement got him a frown, and Dylan cursed himself internally for going in so quick.
“She’s not for sale.”
Dylan grunted and reached for the duffel of cash. “I thought you might say that.” Opening the bag, he placed it on the desk so Mitchell could see the hundred grand he would get. “Perhaps this money will be sufficient to purchase her then.”
Mitchell’s expression didn’t change, but Dylan had smelled the spike of anticipation in the air. His greed was going to win out, put
ting the ball in Dylan’s court just where he wanted it.
Leaning forward in his chair, the alpha stared at the cash for a long minute before resting back once more. His gaze darted back to Dylan’s face.
“What do you think that money is supposed to do, huh?” he asked. “Sway me to say yes to you?” He practically threw the words in his face.
Dylan chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to stay cool. “One hundred thousand dollars is a lot for one male to use in whatever way he chooses.”
The alpha shrugged like it was no big deal. Dylan doubted the guy saw this much cash in one place all the time, though.
“I’d rather keep my Gia. She’s a fucking fighter in the sack.” He laughed. “Although, that’s why you want her, isn’t it?” He leaned forward again, pinning Dylan with a hard glare. “She’s mine, and nobody can take her from me.”
Dammit. It was time to try plan B.
“What if you keep the cash, and I borrow her from you for a week. Would that be a more… palatable deal?”
“Borrow, huh?” Mitchell replied, staring at the money. When his eyes returned to Dylan’s face, it was his golden-eyed wolf staring out. Dylan felt the power of the other male wash over him, but it wasn’t the kind of compulsion that made him cower like it had been with his father. Even Hunter didn’t have the power to compel Dylan, much to his dismay. Dylan toed the line because he liked his job. He could do it without feeling, without fear of getting hurt.
“You can have her for forty-eight hours,” Mitchell finally announced.
Well, it was more than enough time to get her out of there. He was about to agree when Mitchell added, “You have to stay here at the pack house so we can supervise the visit.”
“Supervise?” he asked, the disdain not false in his voice. “I will not have an audience when I take her and use her how I see fit.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Then, no deal. I won’t let her out of my sight… unless you have monetary compensation for me?”
The Helheim Wolf Pack Novellas: The Complete Collection Page 16
