Gentry (Wolves of Winter's Edge Book 1)(4)

"Cut it out, Striker," he growled.

In a parking space facing the Four Horsemen's Tavern, he let the truck  idle and rested his elbow on the edge of the window as he bit the corner  of his thumbnail, a habit he'd picked up as a kid and had never curbed.  There was no way he was going in there hard. He didn't even know any  other wolves who had been attracted to a human. Blaire was a danger, and  in danger in this town, and he'd just invited her to stay for a week?  He was going to fillet the rental management company that fucked this  up. The last thing he needed was to babysit a temporary renter when all  he wanted to do was escape this place. It was a big mistake to give him a  week-long renter instead of the year contract he'd requested, and he  couldn't handle anything extra right now. He needed to tie up loose  ends, spread Dad's ashes to the wind, and leave Rangeley forever, just  like he'd planned.

Rangeley was quicksand to a roamer like him. He couldn't get stuck.  Wouldn't get stuck. Already he could feel the cold, dead claws of his  destiny clamping onto his ankle, and he needed to buck them off as fast  as he could.

Blaire, Blaire, with the wild red hair. She was funny, too. Didn't have a  filter. Said what came to her mind. He liked that. No games. And when  he'd caught her sniffing the air like she was a wolf, like she was a  creature of the night like him, he'd found her so damn amusing. And so  beautiful-eyes closed, shimmery make-up glistening in the soft light,  dark eyelashes resting on cheeks that had turned rosy from the cold or a  blush. He hoped it was a blush. If she blushed easily, he could tell  when he shocked her. He could play games and see how far he could push  her before she pushed back. Wolf games, but with a human. Cat and mouse.  Dog and cat. Big bad wolf and little red. He forced himself to stop  smiling. That was a fucked-up thought. He wouldn't be the one trying to  gobble her up. He needed to get her out of Rangeley and out of his head  as soon as possible. She could stay the night, but tomorrow he had to  figure out a way to make her leave.                       
       
           



       

Boner tamed, Gentry shoved his door open and grabbed his jacket on the  passenger's seat. This was the act. He shrugged into the thick winter  coat like he needed it, and like he didn't run hot as a furnace, so the  humans in this town didn't pay him any extra attention.

After he slammed the door closed, Gentry jogged across the parking lot,  his hands shoved into his pockets. The second he yanked open the door,  though, he regretted choosing the Four Horsemen for Blaire's dinner. The  stink of werewolf hit him like a wrecking ball.

A soft snarl clawed its way up the back of his throat as he scanned the  room. Clearly, Rhett had chased the humans from the bar since it was all  supes. Fuck. Everyone was gathered around the bar, having a pack  meeting probably, but had all stopped talking and were now twisted  around, staring back at him. Most of them he recognized. Some of them he  was happy to see again, some of them not. It was an odd sensation  seeing his old pack, yet everything was different. Everyone was older,  harder. There were no smiles like there used to be. Only snarled-up lips  and threatening growls.

He was other now.

"Gentry Striker," Rhett called out from behind the bar where he was  leaning on locked arms. "You come here for the same fate I gave your  dad?"

Gentry wanted to kill him. He wanted to do it slowly. He wanted to watch  him gasp for air and whimper in pain and bleed out on the floor in  front of everyone. He wanted Rhett to die looking at his face. He wanted  to avenge Dad, but that wasn't how shit worked for werewolves. He was  supposed to get over it instead, move on, find his place in a pack or as  a rogue, let Rhett keep his alpha victory.

But all Gentry could think of was Dad lying on the floor with Rhett's  ugly wolf shredding him, and he wanted revenge so bad his mouth watered  and tasted like blood.

But it was him versus the Bone-Ripper Pack, and he was a more careful  hunter than that, so he exposed his neck like a good little werewolf and  made his way slowly toward the to-go stand near the kitchen.

Mila was there, pretty as ever. Timid as ever. He was kind of surprised  she was still living in this town after Dad died. He'd protected her.  Now she would be a piñata for a bully like Rhett. He didn't do well with  submissives. He never had.

"It's good to see you again," Mila whispered, her chin dropped to her  chest, hands shaking as she opened up a computer screen behind the  counter. He'd almost cared for the dainty dark-haired beauty once, back  when he'd believed in that destiny shit. His life could've been laid out  like a straight-line road map. Stay here, choose Mila as a mate, have a  half dozen pups, take the pack when Dad was ready to give it up,  petrify like an old gnarled tree.

Mila had never called to his wolf enough to keep in him this place, though.

No one had.

He forced a smile, the pack in his peripheral, always at the edge of his  vision because survivors didn't turn their back on danger like that.  "It's good to see you, too." He almost meant it. He'd never planned on  seeing any of these people again.

Gentry put in his order and sat on the last barstool. None of the wolves  were talking, just watching. Every hair on his body had electrified,  but tucking tail and running would only send them after him faster.  Posturing was everything in a pack.

Slowly, Gentry took off his jacket, reached over the bar, pulled out a  bottle of Jim Beam and a shot glass, poured one, and slammed it. He  looked Rhett directly in his stupid fucking eyes and growled, "What?"

"You lost? Pack meeting, and you weren't invited because you're not  pack. In fact," Rhett barked out, "you're the bloodline of the defeated  last alpha, so I have a right to snuff you out of existence right here  and now."

Gentry arched his eyebrow. "I'd dare you to challenge me, but I don't  want the pack. I'm here to take care of my dad's shit, and I'll be gone  as soon as I possibly can. Wasn't really my choice coming back, Rhett."

"You could've let me know you were in town. That's the respectful thing to do-"

"That would imply," Gentry said loudly, "that I have respect for you.  You aren't my alpha. I don't have to do shit for you." Gentry held his  gaze as he replaced the bottle of Jim Beam behind the counter.

"Frank's rushing your order," Mila said breathlessly from the other side of the bar.

"Mila!" Rhett barked out, like she'd done something wrong.

A long, high-pitched whine sounded from her. A no-no if she'd done it in  public around humans. She was standing behind the to-go stand, wringing  her hands, looking down at the floor.                       
       
           



       

"Get over here," Rhett said in a voice too gravelly and dangerous for Gentry's liking.

Gentry didn't have feelings for the woman, but he sure as shit didn't  like seeing her treated like dirt. He'd watched Rhett treat women like  crap from the time the asshole had shown up to right before Gentry had  left town.

Mila approached the muscled-up alpha slowly.

"Now!"

She jumped and pushed her legs faster, then came to stand under his outstretched arm.

Rhett smiled a predatory look at Gentry.

"Don't," Gentry warned him.

Eyes locked on him, Rhett leaned down and kissed Mila, trapping her with  the crook of his arm. Mila struggled for a second, then remembered  herself and stood stock still, lips pursed and stiff.

Gentry lost his mind. Just … lost it. He threw the shot glass before he  even realized he'd done it. Right before it slammed into Rhett's face, a  hand blurred out and plucked it from the air, turned it right side up  in one smooth motion and slammed it onto the countertop.

Rhett shoved Mila away from him, fury roiling in his eyes, and opened  his mouth. Before he could get a word out, Dad's best friend, Tim, the  one who'd saved the alpha's face from the glass, was on Gentry. For a  split second, in the moment Tim's fist connected with Gentry's jaw, he  felt a potent sting of betrayal. Tim had watched him grow up, and now he  was protecting that asshole. But his punch was too soft. Make this  believable, Tim's eyes pleaded as they went to the floor.

Fuck, he was going to have to do this. He was going to have to fight Tim  because he was right. If Gentry wasn't put in his place by Tim, Rhett  would have the entire pack wailing on him. So he did make it believable.  Gentry went to blows with the old man until they were breathless and  bleeding. Until Gentry couldn't see out of his right eye, and crimson  streamed down Tim's face. Until two of the tables in the bar were broken  and four chairs toppled. Until Tim kicked him in the ribs, and he heard  the distinct snap of one breaking.