Page 4 of To Hunt A Wolf
“You here to party, Big Mac? Because, I don’t care if you’re a Romantic, I’ll party with you.”
“Mac and Cheese!”
Before I can answer, another male swoops in, looping his arm around Guy’s shoulders. Their movements are loose, fluid, like they’ve already had plenty to drink. Wolves tend to burn alcohol quickly, so these two must be really knocking them back for the effects to show like this.
“Lenny,” I say, tensing at the sight of him and Guy together.
One of them alone I can handle. But both of them together have a knack for getting under my skin in a way that always leaves me miserable afterward. Maybe it’s the fact that they were there—ground zero, front row seat—the day my life went to shit.
“You out here looking for a new mate?” Lenny asks, eyes gleaming with what is sure to be a joke at my expense.
“Nah, bro, she’s a Romantic, remember?” Guy nudges him.
“I don’t know, she looks like a Reject to me.”
I ball my fists as the usual taunts are tossed at me. Their banter clearly amuses them, and I silently run through every curse word I know, willing them to get bored and give up.
Finally, they do.
“Rejects are what I do, Mac, don’t forget that.” Guy winks at me as he follows Lenny back to the dance floor.
I watch them go, breathing hard against the hollow pit in my stomach.
Fuck Levi Wild.
Fuck what he did to me.
And fuck those assholes for making me relive it every time I see them.
If it weren’t for Kari, I would have left this town in my rear view long ago.
I refocus on the crowd, my eyes drawn upward mostly so I don’t track Guy and Lenny as they retreat. The rope and duct tape I stashed out back earlier is meant for my mark but it can just as easily be used on them instead.
Let it go. They’re not worth it.
From the balcony, catcalls are tossed out along with—is that? Yep, it is—a push-up bra. Red lace from the glimpse I get. It falls, disappearing among the dance floor crowd, and someone hoots like they’ve won a prize.
Gross.
But it’s a successful distraction from the raging anger boiling my blood. My temper cools, and I shove all thoughts of Lenny and Guy aside.
My wolf hearing is on overdrive, thanks to the noise, but I force my senses to remain heightened and alert. Somewhere in this thirst trap is my mark, Dirk Fletcher. Wanted for crimes against the alpha. Whatever that means.
The charge itself is a broad bucket Crigger gets to fill with anyone who talks shit about him.
Honestly, the guy could have just called Crigger an asshole to the wrong bar buddy. These days, our alpha doesn’t need much of an excuse to come after anyone. Kari wasn’t wrong. He’s on a hair-trigger, and we all know why.
Jadick Clemons is missing.
The heir to the alpha’s throne. Crigger’s firstborn. His pride and joy.
Right.
Jadick is a lot of things, but “pride and joy” aren’t on the list.
I don’t care if he never comes back except that, until he’s found, Crigger is going to make all our lives miserable as hell, mine included.
Maybe bringing Dirk in will win me some brownie points.
