Page 66 of Dark Wolf Soul
“Ohhh,” Razor says, laughing, as Ramsey stalks over and attempts to shove the paper towel into Dutch’s mouth.
Their scuffle becomes a wrestling match that nearly takes out the kitchen island. I step back, leaning on the counter and tucking myself into the corner to keep from getting caught in the fallout. Mia shrieks and shoves them out the back door, fussing at them to stop destroying property with their immaturity. They act like a group who’ve been friends forever, and I can’t help but feel outside of it all.
Grey stands back too, and I catch him watching me more than once. It makes my heart thud stupidly every time, which pisses me off as much as it lights me up.
I finish my plate of food and turn around to face the sink behind me, mostly to escape his stare. The sink is full of dishes and pans, and I don’t think about it; I just turn on the faucet and start washing.
A minute later, Crow comes up beside me and says simply, “I’ll dry.”
I glance back to see Grey’s gone and Crow and I are the only ones left.
“Okay,” I tell him.
He takes the clean plate out of my hands and goes to work on it with a dish towel. We work in companionable silence, and I almost forget that the quiet guy in the hoodie beside me is an explosives expert.
“Thanks for the food,” I tell him. “It was really good.”
He shrugs. “I like to cook.”
“I like to eat.”
He shoots me a small smile before falling silent again.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Grey says, coming in just as we’re finishing up.
He carries his own empty plate, and I glance from it to him.
“I know that,” I say, “But I clean up my own messes.”
“Touché. I’ll clean my own mess, then, too.”
He heads straight for the sink, and that means he and I will have to stand way too close for comfort, so I slip past him and wander into the next room. Before me, are large windows covered in gauzy curtains and wooden blinds that are open to reveal blooming rose bushes lining the front walkway. Roses in bright crimson reds and soft yellows crowd in amongst greenery and shrubs.
Planters with similar greenery are dotted around the living room, each one strategically placed for access to the best light. The furniture is cozy, the couch made with thick cushions that are more worn than I’d expect for a house made of so much money.
I have the impression someone in Grey’s family spends a lot of time here, and it’s not Vincenzo. There’s too much softness here. Too much peace and quiet.
I’m admiring the tranquil feel of it all when two black SUVs race up the driveway hard enough to kick up gravel in their wake. They grind to a halt and park on either side of Dutch’s car, dust clouding up around them.
“Grey,” I call, panic rising as I remember how Franco’s men drove these exact vehicles.
Grey stalks into the room and looks at the SUVs skidding to a stop outside.
“Crow, get the others,” Grey barks.
From the kitchen, the back door opens and closes quickly. My eyes are glued to the cars, though, as the doors open and men in dressy clothes get out. Two wear suits, but the rest are in button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and dark dress pants.
“Who are they?” I ask, throat threatening to close around the words.
“The suits are two of Father’s generals,” Grey says grimly. He points them out and says, “Ramey’s dad and Mia’s.”
“And the others?”
“Security.”
“Oh.” I relax as I realize it’s not Franco and his men, but Grey senses my relief and turns to me with a dark look.
“They’re not here to protect us,” he warns.
