Raw and Dirty(10)

“Who?” I ask, knowing perfectly well who he's talking about.

“Lyric Rentz. Mayor's Daughter. You said she was plain. She looked anything but last night.” The wistful note in Smoky's voice draws my eyes over to him. Without even realizing it, I narrow them on my friend and find myself gritting my teeth.

“Plain or pretty, she's still off-limits,” I snap and Smoky raises his brows at me. But he knows better than to say anything; I don't take shit from anyone. Anyone.

We move through the rest of the clubhouse in silence, straight through the dining room and bar area, past the kitchen and outside. Technically, the chapel—the club's meeting house—is in a separate building from the clubhouse, but the long pergola that connects them makes it seem like one. Above us, red and purple flowers twine around the wood, filling the air with a sweet scent that seems so out of place here. The Alpha Wolves Compound is anything but sweet. If we were talking realistically here, it'd smell like blood and smoke and ashes.

A sigh escapes my lips as we approach the front doors—a matching set to the ones on the front of the clubhouse. I pause for a moment outside of them, my mind snagging on a hundred memories of walking through these very doors with Landon by my side.

“You did what you had to do,” Smoky says, and I know he's not just trying to placate me. My sergeant-at-arms would sooner kick me in the balls; he's just being honest. I did do what needed to be done, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

“Let's just get this over with.” I put my palm against the solid wood of the door and push. It swings inward with a hushed whisper, like even the lifeless wolves staring back at me are aware of how sacred, how important, this room is.

There's a small foyer with windows on either side, potted plants lining the edges and in full bloom. I don't know shit about flowers, but Janae is Dober's wife and a gardening fanatic. Technically, she's not allowed inside of the clubhouse, but she peeks in the windows and barks orders at Dober when they're home alone.

I almost smile.

But then I open the wooden doors to the next room and see the empty seat near the head of the table.

Landon's seat.

I squeeze my hands into fists my by sides, knuckles so tight that I feel like the bones could burst straight through my skin in a spray of blood. Wouldn't that be a sight to see?

“Boys,” I say with a slight nod of my head. I get a few nods in return, but everyone's either hungover or still hurting from Landon's betrayal. “I hear we have business to take care of this morning.”

I force a wild grin to my face. Confidence. It's won me more than a few battles in my lifetime—and one of the few reasons I'm standing up here when men in their forties, fifties, and sixties are staring back at me from the long black table that fills the room. It's a beast this fucking table, took ten guys to get it in here without screwing up the walls.

“The hell is wrong with all of you?” I ask, lighting up and leaning over the back of my chair at the head of the table. A few of the guys sit up a little straighter in their chairs, adjust their cuts, square their shoulders. That's better. I stand up and tap my cig on the edge of a nearby ashtray. “You ready to take a vote or what?”



“I hope you're ready to deal with all of the crap that Landon left behind,” I tell Dober as we walk across the compound, past paying customers who smile and wave, who look at us and superimpose Charlie Hunnam over our faces. Good for them. Fall in love with a dream, and I'll deal with the nightmares.

“What I want to know is why we're still climbing into bed with the mayor's office at all. If we've already got the feds sniffing around, then what's the point? We're all behind you, Royal, but nobody gets it. If you don't start explaining yourself a little better, then some of the old timers are going to get antsy.”

I nod; Dober's not telling me anything I don't already know. Our previous pres, he'd have been as likely to shag the mayor as enter into any kind of agreement with him. But Trinidad's growing and the rich idiots flooding our forests aren't going to like knowing that a good portion of the city's economy is controlled by the Wolves. Unless, of course, we can convince them that we're an open book, that everything's out on the table and allying with us is in their best interest.

“Let me worry about the mayor,” I say as I pause at the passenger side door of my truck and reach up to pat my dog, Lake, on the side of her muzzle. A second later, Alloy's at her side, licking my fingers, the gray of his face a stark contrast to Lake's darkness.

I open the door and they leap out onto the concrete, their movements making it very apparent that the word dog is somewhat of a joke. I mean, technically they've got some shepherd blood in them, but if we're not counting pennies then my dogs … they're wolves.