by Rose, Renee
“Aren’t you listening? You can’t run fights here anymore. You’re attracting attention.”
“Then you’re not paying attention, sweetheart.” Trey crowds me, and heat fills my body. I stare up at him. Every nerve’s clanging like a fire alarm. Evacuate now! “There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you shut me down.”
He leans forward, eyes on mine. Angling his head, he takes a good long sniff. “Vanilla and orange,” he purrs in his deep voice, and arousal pools between my legs. “Very nice.”
“It’s the flavor of our new line of seasonal brews,” I parrot my company’s marketing spiel. “Wheat beers. Very popular.” My brain is on autopilot, all available neurons diverted to keeping me from grabbing Trey’s bulging biceps with both hands, and rubbing against him like a cat.
“Whatever it is, I like it. You smell good enough to eat.” His eyes are glinting silver, his wolf peering out at me. Not good.
I slam my heel down on his foot. Hard enough to send my pointy heel through the thick boot leather.
“Ow,” he shouts, jumping back. “What the hell?”
“Darn it,” I hiss, lifting my leg. My heel is broken. I point to his boots. “Are those steel toes?”
“Factory regulation.” His lip curls again. God, is he ever going to look at me with anything but contempt? “You know us Robsons. No sense wasting a college education on us. We work the floor.”
“Stop it,” I snap, no longer upset about my shoe. I hate it when he implies he’s not smart enough. “You have a brain, Trey. I told you that years ago. You just choose not to use it.” I hike up my skirt and prop my foot on the desk, baring my leg right in front of him.
“What are you doing?” Trey chokes out.
A tendril of satisfaction snakes up my throat. I may have lost a heel, but I’m regaining my footing. “Taking off my shoes.” I slide my fingers up my thigh to unsnap my garters. “But first, I have to take off my stockings. Don’t want them to get dirty.”
Trey’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He licks his lips, staring at my legs. “You can’t go out there in bare feet.”
“I’m a tough she-wolf,” I shoot back, skimming the stocking down my calf. I may take a second or two longer than absolutely necessary, but the stunned look on Trey’s face is worth it. “Watch me.”
* * *
Trey
For a second, I do. I watch the show, and fates help me, I love it. Sheridan’s slim fingers peel down the stocking, revealing a perfect leg. She removes one, then the other, balls them up and stuffs them into the toe of the broken shoe, straightening to shoot me a triumphant glance. “If you’re not willing to discuss things like a reasonable person, this conversation is over.” Barefoot, she pivots to leave. No fucking way is she walking barefoot across the club—my club—the floor covered in broken glass and dirt and fuck knows what.
Hips swaying, she takes one step out the door.
“Not so fast.” I grab her around the waist and hoist her easily over my shoulder. She struggles, shouting, legs kicking helplessly as I secure her in a fireman’s hold.
“What the heck,” she squawks, but I’m already moving, striding through club, past startled shifters. A few turn and point, hands slapping over their mouths at the sight of me carrying a struggling skirt from my office. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grizz. The huge bear shifter shakes his head.
“Trey! Put me down right now or so help me—”
“Keep screaming, sweetheart.” I laugh, freeing my right hand to give her sweet ass a smack. “Make sure no one in the place misses the show.”
“I’m going to kill you!” Sheridan bellows, her fists beating my back. She’s strong, but I’m stronger.
“You can try. We’ll call it an audition. We’re thinking of getting some more women fighters in. Maybe have ‘em mud wrestle, naked. I’d pay to see that.”
“You, you—” her voice disintegrates into a growl as she digs her nails in to my ass. The sting shoots straight to my dick. Goddamn Sheridan, causing me pain, my dick just loves her more. She could cut me off at the knees, and I’d still fucking cum.
“That’s it, baby, take a chunk outta a me. I like it rough,” I mutter as I hit the door and step into the night. Sheridan growls, but she stops struggling so hard. I enjoy the last few strides across the parking lot. I head past a gang of curious bikers straight to Sheridan’s car. The white Mercedes convertible that her dad got her as a graduation present. A perfect gift for his perfect little angel.
I drop her right into the front seat, as gently as I can, before backing away quickly. Don’t want to get my dick punched. “Where are you staying?” I have to ask—nothing will stop the need in me to take care of her—make sure she’s safe.
She looks up at me, hair tousled and cheeks flushed and eyes glowing with rage and...something more. “I rented an Airbnb on Meyer Street. Over by the convention center.”
I can’t focus on her words because the scent of her arousal hits me and I trip backwards. Oh fates. She’s turned on.
“Well, check out of it, sweetheart,” I tell her. “Don’t come back.”
She drives out in a spray of gravel. I stand, unflinching, as the stones shower my jeans. The sting is nothing I don’t deserve.
“Trey.” A tall dark shape emerges from the murky shadows around the bikes. My best friend, Jared, prowls forward, his forehead wrinkled in disbelief. He hooks a thumb in the direction of the retreating Mercedes. “Was that…”
“Yup,” I answer and turn on my heel to stalk back into the club. I don’t want to talk about it.
Sheridan Green. Fuck.
Chapter Three
Twelve Years Ago
Sheridan
“I heard you’ve been hanging out with the Robson boy.” My mom brings this up casually over dinner, knowing full well it’s going to get my dad’s attention.
He stops chewing his steak and puts his fork down. “Pardon me?”
I roll my eyes and shove a forkful of steak in my mouth. “I hang out with a lot of kids.” Not a lie, but it is a pretty cowardly response. Trey means more to me than other wolves. And we’re not just hanging out—he’s my boyfriend.
My friends don’t get it. Trey isn’t alpha material. His mom is basically omega of this pack, and she’s lucky our alpha even let her stay in Wolf Ridge after her drunk of a husband caused all kinds of trouble with the human police.
But I know the truth. Trey may look like a rebel with his pierced lip and multitude of tattoos. He may seem like a thug because he’s quick to jump into fights with his buddy Jared, but he’s not a punk. He’s quiet. And, I’ve learned, thoughtful. And super smart. Still waters run deep.
Definitely underappreciated.
Maybe I have a penchant for fixing broken things. Maybe I’m just fascinated by the pull of his soulful blue eyes, the ones always watching me. The ones that turn silver under the moonlight.
Or maybe there’s just no explaining the attraction—our wolves like each other and we’re just following along for the ride.
Either way, I know Trey’s the one.
The guy I’m going to give my V-card to.
“I don’t want you spending time with him or kids like him,” my father pronounces, reaching for the bowl of steaming baked potatoes and serving himself two more.
“Why’s that?” My voice comes out colder than I mean it to, which is a mistake.
My dad looks up sharply, reading into it, knowing what it infers. “Because they’re trouble, and you know it. Those kids aren’t going to college. They aren’t going anywhere. And they’re way beneath you.”
“You think every wolf’s beneath me, Dad.”
“Because most are. And you should be focused on college right now. Keeping your grades up and your nose clean.”
I make a show out of looking around the dining room in bewilderment. My little sister, Ruby, snickers. “Have my grades slipped? Am I ever in trouble?”
My dad presses his lips together.
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“No,” I answer for him. “My GPA is 4.2, I’m still in the honor society, Varsity math team, editor of the yearbook and—”
“I know,” my dad cuts in. “I just don’t want you to lose your focus. Not when you’re so close.” My parents have a lot riding on my success. My brother used to take the brunt of their ambition. Now it’s all heaped on me.
I glance at my mom for help, but she shakes her head. She doesn’t like the idea of me hanging with Trey either. Both my parents would prefer to see me with the prince of a neighboring pack instead. A royal match.
“It’s my senior year of high school. I’ve already aced the SATs. My college apps are turned in. I think I’m allowed a little fun. You can’t tell me you two didn’t at least try to enjoy your youth before it was over?” They’ve told me enough stories about their high school romance for me to know they had plenty of fun.
My mom glances at my dad from under her lashes and blushes, and I get that sappy sweet warmth in my chest I always do when I see how much they love each other.
“Well, I still don’t want you dating the Robson boy,” my dad grumbles.
This time I can’t betray Trey by denying our relationship. “I think it’s time you trusted me and my own judgment. I’m practically an adult.”
My dad sighs, but I can see I’ve won—for the moment. “I’m counting on you being responsible.”
I flash a saucy grin. “When am I not?”
* * *
Present
Sheridan
I’m still breathing hard when I pull into the driveway of the casita I found through Airbnb for this fun little Tucson sojourn. By fun I mean anything but. I must’ve been crazy to have volunteered for this job.
Tis better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all…
“Yeah right,” I mutter. Whoever compiles the stupid quote calendar should just try it then: loving hard and getting your heart ripped out. Bypass surgery without anesthesia.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned... That’s more like it.
My cell rings just as I’m barreling up the front walk, barefoot, broken heels in hand.
“Hello?” I answer, my mind still whirling from the night’s events. Trey Freaking Robson. Still hot. Still handsome. And annoying as heck. How dare he throw me over his shoulder like...like...like a ‘little woman’! Who the heck does he think he is?
“Sheridan?” My dad’s voice breaks through the angry haze. “Are you there?”
“Hi, Dad. yes, I’m here.”
“How’s Tucson?”
Words cannot express. “It’s fine.” I juggle the phone as I dig out my keys. “I went to Fight Club today. Garrett wasn’t there but I talked to one of his guys.” Shouted at him is more like it.
“Good, good.” My dad sounds a bit distracted. “Emmett is making some calls on his end, but I went ahead and booked two months of the casita. Just in case.”
The first key I shove into the lock fails. I grapple to find another, and drop one of my shoes. “Thanks, Dad. You didn’t have to do that. I do have my own money. I was a VP, you know.”
“Still are a VP,” my dad says firmly. “I told the board you just needed a break. That the pack needed someone to handle this Tucson mess, and you were the one they trusted.”
“Yeah.” I try another key and it jams. For Fate’s sake. At this rate I’ll be sleeping on the doorstep.
“You’ll get everything there straightened out, and be back before you know it. The department isn’t the same without you. Just don’t take too long.” His voice takes on the hokey singsong that tells me he’s about to make a joke. “I need you back here so I can retire.”
“Ha ha.” I pretend laugh. In forty years as CFO, my father hasn’t deviated from his daily schedule. The same desk, the same meetings, the same daily wisdom quote calendar. The day he retires is the day wolves fly.
I fit another key into the lock. It slides in easily, but the knob won’t turn. With a sigh I set down my purse. Before I turn back to the door, a prickle of warning runs up my spine. I turn to the road.
A sleek black vehicle with tinted windows turns into the cul-de-sac, rolling slowly past. I can’t see who’s driving. At the end of the drive, it seems to pause, and my hackles go up.
“One more thing and I’ll let you go.” My father’s tone turns businesslike. “We don’t know what exactly’s going on with Garrett’s pack, but there are rumors vampires have moved into Tucson. Not one of the friendlies, but an older one who wants to set up a new base of power. If he claims pack territory, it could lead to war. Watch your back.”
“I will,” I whisper. Without a sound, the mystery car starts moving again, and creeps on down the road.
Finally, finally the knob turns when I twist the key to the right. I wrench the door open and enter the stale-smelling rental, stooping to pick up my broken shoe and my purse, nearly dropping the phone.
“Take care. We’re counting on you.” We exchange goodbyes and I lurch into the house, letting everything I’m holding clatter to the floor. I shut the door and flick the deadbolt, my mind scurrying like a mouse. Who was in that black car?
I pick up my phone from the floor, scrolling through my contacts instinctively. Who should I call? Alpha Green has bigger things to deal with. Besides, he expects me to complete this task on my own. That’s why he chose me.
Call Trey. I delete the thought as soon as it comes. I haven’t called Trey since we were in high school. I probably don’t even have his number.
But when I type in his last name, I do. Robson, Trey. I remember his twitch whenever I called him by his last name tonight. He hated it. I loved that I can still affect him. If he doesn’t love me, I’ll take his hate.
My finger hovers over the familiar number. Now that I see it, I remember—I knew it by heart. There was a day when he was the first person I spoke to in the morning, the last voice in my ear at night. But I haven’t leaned on Trey in a long, long time.
Get out of here, sweetheart. Don’t come back.
I hold the phone in my hand and clench it hard enough to hear the plastic crack.
Never, never, never give up.
I’m not eighteen, innocent and vulnerable and ready prey for a guy like Trey. It’s not like he can break my heart. Not again.
This time, he won’t get rid of me so easily.
Chapter Four
Twelve Years Ago
Trey
Alpha Green, himself, picks us up from the police station after letting us spend the night in jail. Not juvey, either. All of us are eighteen, so we went to County.
Emmett Green is huge, imposing, like Garrett. The guy never fucking smiles, but right now he looks ready to commit murder.
“Possession of marijuana.” His voice drips with condemnation. It’s pack law to stay out of trouble with human authorities, so his own son getting picked up must rub him raw.
“Someone has it in for us—” Garrett starts to say, but his dad barks, “Not a word.”
Garrett’s right. Someone tipped the cops off. They specifically showed up at school to search the three of us. It had to be someone close to us, someone who knew where each of us kept our stashes—me under the seat of my motorcycle, Jared in his jacket pocket; Garrett in his car.
Someone wanted to get us in trouble.
Alpha Green honors his own request for quiet, giving us the coldest fucking silent treatment the entire ride home.
No—not home. He drives straight to the pack clubhouse. Garrett, Jared and I exchange glances as an icy realization slithers down my spine.
They called a meeting.
About us.
This isn’t fucking good.
We go in, and it’s just as I feared. Every adult in the pack sits waiting for us. A stony silence falls when we walk in.
A grinding sound starts up in my ears. I recognize it—it’s the one that used to play when my dad beat on my mom. When the cops came and took him away. When the pack kids whispered behind their
hands about me and the adults met to discuss whether they should let my mom and me stay.
My face feels hot, fingers and tongue go numb.
We’re called up, one by one, and questioned. I don’t even know what’s said. I answer truthfully, mechanically. There’s no strategy, no thinking. I’ve already gone into life-is-over mode.
We sit while the pack deliberates.
It’s not until Lance Green, Sheridan’s dad, gets up to rail against us, saying we must be made an example of, and we’re a danger to the younger wolves that it all falls in place.
You’ll regret this.
Sheridan.
Would she be angry enough to do something like this? Call the cops on us and have us arrested?
From the satisfied look Mr. Green sends me, I’m fairly certain she did.
Our alpha doesn’t seem happy about it, but he throws in his vote against us, and just like that—we’re banned from the pack.
Not permanently—a four-year ban after which we can request re-evaluation of our status.
Garrett’s hands close into fists and he stands and stalks out.
Jared and I follow, accompanied by the sound of my mother’s broken sobs.
* * *
Present
Sheridan
Wednesday night, I pull into Fight Club’s ratty gravel lot, park, and jump out like I’ve hit an eject button. My door slams so hard, I check it for dents. A crowd of bikers turn and stare. I ignore them as I stride across the broken concrete, focusing on the club door. It’s either that or flip them the bird.
I’m horn-gry. Horny and angry, and tired from tossing and turning all night with my nethers throbbing. I refused to rub one out, on principle. I am not going to lie in bed and touch myself while imagining Trey Robson and all the things we say. I am not.
