Page 57 of Dark Wolf Soul
“I see.” I blow out a breath, realizing there’s more to the hierarchy of these people than I thought. And Grey hasn’t bothered to share any of it.
I blow out a breath, realizing now more than ever that I need a strategy for how the hell I’m going to survive this clusterfuck I’m in. Step one: Learn all I can about how the politics work.
“So, Franco has his own generals, too.”
He nods. “And believe me, they’re just as bad as he is.”
“Yeah,” I agree, thinking of Dom. He knew the moment I walked in there that Franco didn’t want me. Like they talked about it ahead of time. Planned it, even. And rather than explain it to me up front, he sat back and watched the show. “I guess I feel less guilty for knocking his ass out then.”
“Whoa, hold up. What did I miss?”
“Dom and Grey were fighting, and I wanted to help, so I grabbed the first thing I could find, which happened to be a cast iron pan—” he hoots with laughter “—and whacked Dom so hard he passed out.”
“No shit? Not just a princess, eh?”
“I was never a princess.”
“No, I can see that.”
We share a friendlier silence, and I can’t help but feel like Dutch has accepted me into his circle somehow. Then my thoughts return to what Dutch said about his father. “Are all of Vincenzo’s generals like your father?”
He shrugs as Grey finally returns with two cans of beer and a Red Solo cup.
“Pretty much,” Dutch says.
“Pretty much what?” Grey asks, handing over a beer.
Dutch pops the top. “Your dad’s generals are pretty much all the same toxic pieces of shit.”
Grey grunts an agreement and walks over, offering me the Solo cup.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Double shot of whiskey, clean.”
My gaze flicks from the cup to him, and my brows lift. “It’s barely noon.”
“It’s that kind of day.”
He’s right. It is.
I take the cup.
Grey retreats and takes a seat on the low wall bordering the far side of the patio. He cracks his beer and drinks deeply, and I catch myself staring at the way his throat moves as he gulps his drink. The hard edge of his jawline is mesmerizing. I imagine what it would feel like to run my finger across it and feel his stubbled skin against my own. My distraction is ruined by the sound of tires crunching over gravel out front, and panic grips me like a hand around my throat.
The morning’s events come crashing back. Dom dragging me off. Bullets flying at our bumper. If they’ve found us out here, there’s nowhere else to go except for the river, and I can’t swim.
Shoving to my feet, I nearly drop the whiskey as I look back and forth between the two guys, noting how calm they look. “Someone’s here.”
“Relax,” Grey says. “It’s just Razor and Crow.”
“Actually….” Dutch trails off, wincing at the glare Grey shoots him.
“You didn’t,” Grey says, his tone full of warning.
But Dutch is unfazed. “This meeting was going to happen eventually.”
“What meeting?” I ask, still on edge at the idea of strangers even if they are friendly ones, but Grey’s already headed around front, muttering curses.
