Page 18 of Claimed By Werewolf
“Up early, or not to bed at all?”
The voice came from my left.Tremor leaned against the doorway, with his arms crossed and his sharp eyes locked on me.He was lean, wiry, built for speed on a bike and for trouble off it.And trouble was exactly what I saw in the way he was looking at me.
“Didn’t sleep,” I muttered.
“Figured.Word is you’ve been spending a lot of time chasing down ghosts lately.”
My grip tightened around the glass.“Word travels fast.”
He shrugged.“Faster when it’s about you.Prez wants to make sure you’re still focused.We can’t afford distractions.”
I set the glass down hard enough to crack it.“I’m not distracted.”
His gaze lingered, sharp and unblinking.“Ain’t like you to carry around dead weight, Wolf.If there’s something you need to say, say it.Otherwise, lock it down.”
He pushed off the doorway and walked away.
I swore under my breath, poured another drink, and told myself I didn’t care what Tremor thought.
Except I did.
Because if he suspected I was keeping things from the club, it wouldn’t just be Demi on the chopping block.It’d be me.
I headed to my room to crash, but sleep didn’t come easy.Every time I shut my eyes, Tyler’s face appeared.Not the way Demi remembered him, smiling, young, alive.No.The way I’d last seen him.Pale.Broken.
A liability.
I hadn’t pulled the trigger that night, but I might as well have.I’d carried out enough orders to know that the difference between guilt and innocence didn’t matter.What mattered was loyalty.The Sons gave me purpose when I had nothing.Gave me a patch, a brotherhood, and a reason to keep breathing.
But loyalty had a price.And Tyler Cross had paid it.
Now his sister was banging on the door of the same grave.
And I was the one holding it open.
By afternoon, the garage was alive again with engines growling as bikes were tuned and brothers shouted over the clatter of tools.I kept my head down, worked on my Harley, and tried to drown the noise in grease and steel.
It didn’t work.
Every wrench twist echoed with her voice.Every spark of metal on metal reminded me of her eyes.
Demi Cross was in my blood now, and no amount of whiskey or oil was going to wash her out.
I knew what I had to do.
Keep her close enough to watch, and far enough to protect.Feed her scraps until she thought she had answers, then send her packing before she got herself killed.
That was the plan.
A shit plan, maybe, but the only one I had.
Chapter Ten
Demi
The diner was nothing special.It had fluorescent lights that hummed too loudly, vinyl booths patched with duct tape, and the smell of burnt coffee baked into the walls.
But it was neutral ground.
