Page 9 of Claimed By Werewolf
My stomach sank, but I kept my expression neutral.“Where’d you hear that?”
“Bar owner downtown.Said she’s been asking about her brother again.Using your name.”
Fuck.
“She’s persistent,” I said carefully.
“She’s a liability,” Tremor cut in, voice sharp.“If she keeps sniffing, we’re all screwed.You know what we gotta do, Wolf.”
The weight of their eyes pressed down on me.They were waiting for me to agree, to nod, to go put a bullet in Demi Cross and call it a night.
“Or I just keep an eye on her.If she goes missing like her brother, we’re going to have the rest of her family breathing down our necks.I’ll keep her close, and she won’t cause us any trouble.”
Tremor glared at me.“You looking out for the club or wanting to get your dick wet?”he asked.
Coup chuckled.“I’ve seen her.I can’t really blame you for wanting a piece of that.”
“You think your dick is that magical that she’ll just forget about her dead brother?”Prez asked.
I shrugged.“Haven’t had any complaints.”
“I say you just kill her, and we keep moving forward,” Tremor growled.
Prez held up his hand.“He has a point.If we keep killing people, we’re going to have the cops breathing down our necks.”He turned his eyes to me.“If you can keep her quiet without killing her, do it.”He pinned me with his glare.“But if this goes even a little sideways, you’ll both get bullets in your heads.”
Tremor sneered.“And I’m going to be the one holding the gun.”
Mac chuckled.
“Hypnotize the chick with your dick, and keep her out of the club business,” Prez ordered.
I nodded and stood.“Got it.”
This was not the way I had planned to handle Demi, but it sat better with me than just killing her.
She was safe for now.
Chapter Six
Demi
Grief was a strange thing.
Some nights it sat on my chest, trying to suffocate while whispering in my ear to just give up.To stop digging.To let Tyler rest.
Other nights, it was gasoline poured on a fire I couldn’t put out.My head spun with unanswered questions, and my body ached from the need todo something.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The glow of my laptop lit up my living room.The blue light stained the walls while I scrolled through the same folder of documents I’d opened a hundred times.Tyler’s phone records.Bank statements.Police reports.The coroner’s cold language that described my brother like he was just another case file.Just another body on a slab.
I hated those words.“Stab wound.”“Blunt force trauma.”“Time of death.”
They didn’t say he loved strawberry milkshakes.He laughed like it was contagious.That he used to sneak into my room when I had nightmares and tell me the monsters couldn’t get me because he’d already fought them all off.
The cops reduced my brother to just words.
But I couldn’t.
