Page 22 of Dark Wolf Soul
“Good. Listen, I know you’re in the middle of something for your father right now, but when you’re done, you need to come for dinner. I haven’t gotten enough time with you since you’ve been back.”
“That’s because I was here all of twenty-four hours before the old man sent me out on this mission.”
“And before that, you were gone for five years. You owe your mother a meal.”
Her tone takes on a stern lecture quality that has me giving in to the guilt tugging at me for leaving her in the first place. She’s not the one I wanted to get away from, but she undoubtedly suffered for it.
“Tell you what, when I’m done with all this, I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll drive out to that bed and breakfast you like. We’ll stay a few days, maybe go to a winery.”
“Hmm.” She hesitates. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Trying to get me away from here.”
Not here. Him.
“I don’t care if you know,” I say honestly.
She sighs. “All right, sweetie. We’ll go there. You and me.”
“You and me,” I echo.
A noise from Lexi’s bedroom interrupts.
“Mom, I have to go,” I tell her.
“Okay, love you, sweetie.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up, and my gaze lands on the selection of suits hanging in a row in my closet, all of them undoubtedly delivered here at my father’s request, but I step past them and snag another pair of pants and shirt like the ones I wore earlier instead. They’re more casual and comfortable, but they’re also better for tucking weapons inside them than a damned suit is. Something my father never understood or cared about and something I’m done trying to explain. He got me back here for one last job, but he’s not going to get anything else.
After this, I’m done.
11
LEXI
Grey doesn’t lock the door behind him, but the sentiment is clear. Alone, I prowl the bedroom for several minutes, my thoughts crashing into one another as I process everything he just told me.
A wolf pack mafia.
It’s a lot to take in, but despite the impossibility of men becoming actual wolves, it’s that last word I keep coming back to.
Two days ago, I would have laughed at the very suggestion that I might somehow be involved in the mafia. Maybe because, whenever I think of the mafia, I picture guys with Jersey accents and gold chains busting kneecaps with baseball bats. I’m not that.
But then, neither is Grey.
And while he’s shown me no proof that his story about me is real, something tells me he’s not lying about the dark world he’s grown up inside. It’s in his eyes. Every time I look into them, I see glimpses of shadows and secrets best left buried.
Grey’s the kind of guy who backs up his talk with action.
Even as I think the words, a thrill shoots down my spine.
Not that kind of action, I tell myself.
Ugh.
I force myself to refocus on the problem of, you know, being kidnapped. Even if my kidnapper is dripping sex appeal, I still have to figure out a way to get free before I become a pawn in his criminal game.
There’s only one problem.
