Risky and Wild(154)

“It's going to be a fucking nightmare,” Glacier says, his chin in his hand and his blond hair bright under the silver light of the moon. “I mean, the FBI guy is actually easier for me to deal with. Whatever happens to him, it'll be blamed on Mile Wide. If the feds already know he's dirty, then that shouldn't be an issue.”

I stare down at the ocean, my arms crossed over my chest, my mouth turned down in a frown. It's not the FBI douche or the mayor's idiot son that I'm worried about; we can deal with them. But I smell another rat—and I have a pretty good idea of who that might be.

“But making the mayor's son disappear? Right before a re-election? When the city knows we're in negotiations with them?” Glacier sighs and shakes his head, rubbing a tattooed hand down his arm. He glances over at me. “I don't know how all that wheeling and dealing is going with the mayor's daughter, but I suggest you sign those papers and fast. Pose for the camera, shake the man's hand. If you don't, this shit is all coming down on top of us.”

I nod my head once, my stomach in knots, a heavy weight on my soul.

I made a mistake with Rebecca, a huge mistake. And I should've known better, too. I've known the woman since high school. She and Landon … they weren't just lovers or spouses or friends, they were partners. In everything. Everything.

“I'm heading out for the night. Figure out a plan and run it by me before you put anything into action.”

Glacier nods at me, glancing sidelong at my face. If he's trying to read my expression, then good luck. Even I have no idea what it is that I'm feeling right now.

I killed my best friend after he betrayed us all, after he tried to kill me.

And now … what the hell am I supposed to do with his rat of a wife?

My eyes slide shut and I let the cool breeze tease my face for a while. This is one of those times where I really wish I had an old lady, someone I could talk to about everything, someone that I knew I could trust, that I could hold, kiss, fuck. Someone that was all mine.

My mind flickers with images of Lyric's face as I open my eyes and stare up at the stars.

She can never be mine. But that doesn't stop me from wanting her.

“Call me,” I say, pointing a finger at him and making a snap decision, “and if a woman answers, just tell her to give me the bloody phone.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lyric



I wrap my wet hair in a towel and slip into my fluffiest bathrobe, stepping over the pile of leather clothes in my bedroom and refusing to give them a second glance. I'm still not exactly sure what happened between Royal and me, but I know it was … weird. And irresponsible. And hot as hell. That's why I'm on my second shower of the day—one before grocery shopping and one after. But it hasn't helped. I can still feel Royal's hands on my hips, his body slamming into mine.

A shiver crawls down my spine and I shake my hands out, trying to draw in a deep breath. Doesn't matter. It's over now. Tomorrow, when he comes here, I won't let things spiral out of control again. I'm going to get him to sign those fucking papers if it kills me.

I ignore the buzzing of my phone. I already called into the office and told Kailey that I wasn't feeling well. Right now, there's nobody that could be calling that I'd even remotely want to talk to. Not even Royal? I purse my lips at the thought and stubbornly refuse to look at the phone. What I need right now is a book, a glass of wine, and a night alone on the couch. Heaven.

I head back into the living room/kitchen area and pause, staring at the sea of grocery bags on my center island. I should probably put everything away, but right now, all I care about is the bottle of Chardonnay and the frozen pizza hidden in there somewhere.

I pad across the room and start digging through them when the doorbell sounds, making me jump. Is it him? The fact that that's my first thought disturbs me. Why should I care if Royal McBride is standing on my doorstep? I mean, even if he is, he could just be here to get his truck, right?

I sigh and make sure my robe's secured tightly around me, walking to the door and checking out the peephole.

It's Brent.

Shit. Doesn't anybody call anymore?!

And then I remember that I haven't checked my phone since I left the Alpha Wolves Compound.

I square my shoulders and reach up to run my hands through my hair when I realize I'm still wearing the towel. Tugging it off, I toss it onto the couch and tousle the damp strands, trying to make myself look at least somewhat presentable before I open the door.

“Brent,” I say, feigning false cheer as I open it and find him standing there in a black suit and tan tie, clean cut and gleaming like a new penny. It's as I stand there looking at him on my porch that I realize something.

I think I hate him.

When Brent smiles and looks me up and down, I feel my stomach churn, remembering the day he dumped me and showed up that same night at a party with my roommate on his arm. Why did I call him anyway? Because he's just a means to an end, because I need this deal with the Wolves. Because I'm an idiot.