Page 98 of Dark Wolf Soul
“Do we have a deal?” he snaps.
I hesitate, my heart pounding so hard I wonder how it doesn’t bruise my ribs. “What do you want me to find out?”
30
GREY
The maître d’ shoots me another glance, eliciting a growl from me. With one hand, I grip the half-full Old Fashioned I’ve already drained twice. With the other, I hold my phone, doing my best not to crush it in my hands as I stare at the unanswered texts I’ve sent to Lexi.
She’s late.
Ramsey texted me an hour ago and said Lexi was upset after shopping and he’d wait to make sure she got out of the apartment okay. He’s checked in with me since, buying more time, but she refuses to answer me.
Part of me wants to call Mia and demand to know what she said to make Lexi so upset. But then I remember none of this is Mia’s fault. It’s mine.
I’ve been an asshole.
I kidnapped her, for fuck’s sake. Dragged her to a foreign city and straight into a feud that could very well get her killed. And now, I want her to choose me like some lovesick fucking fool. One day of shopping and the illusion of freedom will not change what I am to her.
The maître d’ looks over again and I squeeze the glass, imagining it’s his head. His judgment is written clearly over his sympathetic features. He already believes I’ve been stood up, and he feels sorry.
Pity is one thing I will not allow.
Lexi has to come. She just has to—
My phone rings, cutting off my spiraling thoughts. Hope leaps into my throat, but instead of Lexi’s burner phone number on my Caller ID, it’s my father.
Fuck.
He’s the last person I want to speak to now.
But since I know he has eyes and ears even here in this restaurant, I answer it.
“Hello, Father.”
“What are you doing?” he demands, and I set the glass down because, this time, I already know I’ll squeeze it hard enough to shatter it.
“Having dinner.”
“Where the hell is the girl?”
I frown, purposely keeping my eyes averted even though all I want to do is scan the faces of the other diners. Someone here is informing to him about me, and I want to know who.
“She’s coming.”
“Coming? What the fuck? You were supposed to keep her leashed,” he says, voice rising, probably right along with his blood pressure. “To never take your eyes off her. Where the hell is she?”
“She’s secure,” I say, my voice tightening as his volume rises.
“Unless she’s under the table sucking you off, I beg to differ.”
Rage boils inside me, and I grip the tablecloth if only to have something grounding me to this Earth—and to the reasons why I shouldn’t rip his tongue out.
“Don’t talk about her that way.” The words rip from my mouth, and the moment I say them, I wish I could take them back.
“You care about her.”
It’s not a question, but I can’t let it go. “No,” I lie. “You’re just being a dick.”
