Royal tosses his head back and laughs, this sexy, throaty laugh that draws the Times-Standard photographer's attention swinging over to us. I think I even see her biting her lip.
“Oh, hell, Pint-Size. And I was worried about how you'd handle the other women. Piece of cake for you, right?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“I try not to make a habit of fighting with other women—it only reinforces the heavy hand of the patriarchy—but … the bitch had it coming.” I refuse to let myself think about the engagement as Royal's eyes search my face and he grins again. The expression stays even when the door behind me opens and I hear the heavy sound of my father's footsteps; there's no mistaking them. The man walks like he owns the world.
“Mr. McBride,” Philip says as I turn and find Kailey peering at me with wide green eyes, an iPad clutched to her chest as she scurries after my father. When our gazes meet, she mouths are you insane and then snaps her lips shut when my dad glances over his shoulder at her. When he turns back to us, I step aside and watch as he shakes Royal's hand with a firm grip. In the distance, I can hear the sound of motorcycles. “Thank you for coming today.”
“Not a problem at all,” Royal purrs, enjoying the way my father's eyes track the movement of his thick arms, the muscles liquid with tattoos. I feel like my knees are going to give out just looking at them. “I'm more than happy to get into bed with the mayor's …” There's a long, intentional pause that makes me clench my jaw tight. My dad's eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Office,” Royal adds finally, right at about the point where I feel like my hands are going to wrap around his neck of their own accord. “This should be good for both of us.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Philip asks, his voice cool and calm, dark hair slicked back and features stoic. Before Royal can even answer, he snaps his fingers in that way I've always hated. “Kailey, why don't you go inside and make a fresh pot.”
Kailey opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it, turning away and disappearing behind the first set of glass doors.
“Clearly there are some things we need to discuss,” Philip continues, still refusing to look at me. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “If you'd like to come up to my office after—”
“Not necessary,” Royal interrupts, casting that dark brown gaze over to me. “As far as a liaison between your office and the club, I think we can both agree that Lyric's perfect for the job. If there's something you need to talk about—say, your son's cooperation with the FBI—then you can discuss it with her.” There's a long pause as my dad sputters and tries to find the right words to weasel his way out of this one. Royal leans in close, his grin turning decidedly darker. “But I highly suggest you cooperate with her suggestions. Things could get ugly if you don't.”
“Are you threatening me?” Philip snarls, taking a step closer to Royal. He looks ridiculous in his black suit and brown loafers next to Royal's skull studded belt and boots. It's pretty clear here who could kick who's ass if something were to go down.
“No, I'm telling you that unless you want a Mexican drug cartel to move in and start selling their product to the good people of Trinidad, that you'll welcome the Wolves with open arms. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. I think we can both agree on that.”
Royal smirks as Fauna's husband, Jack, and the prospect boy, Sketch, appear at his side.
“Mr. Rentz?” It's the photographer, her eyes flicking over to Royal and his boys with an interesting mixture of fear and awe. “We're ready for you.”
I watch as Royal and Philip exchange one, long lingering look before my dad relents and glances away first. In the language of wolves, looking away from a direct stare is akin to admitting defeat.
I think it's safe to say that the mayor lost this one.
When I pull up to my place, I find Lyric waiting for me on the front porch with the dogs. It's a welcome fucking sight compared to the crap I've been dealing with all day. It's been hours since I last saw Lyric in her father's parking lot, but it feels like days. Weeks. Possibly months.
“I'm bloody knackered,” I groan as I slide down to the bench opposite her. Lake's taking up the space between us, her lithe dark body speckled with hints of gray, the fur thick and full. As soon as spring hits though, it'll start to shed in thick clumps. Damn stuff gets everywhere. “What a fucking nightmare.”
I wave at Sketch as he revs his engine and disappears down the street. Dober thinks I should have an extra guy around in case shit goes down, but I can handle myself—Saldaña Cartel included. Besides, at this point, it looks like they're using Mile Wide and paid local thugs for all the dirty work.