Rebecca’s Wolves(76)
“Wish I could.” She shook her head and braced for the storm.
“Fuck,” Miles repeated. “What exactly did it say?”
She cringed and then mumbled, “‘Fire the whore or suffer the consequences.’”
Miles jumped up from his seat, so forcefully it fell over backward. “Rebecca… Love…” He paced behind her, and she didn’t turn around for the longest time.
He was mad. At her, yes. And at the situation. She couldn’t really blame him. If either of them had received threats and didn’t tell her, she’d pitch a shit fit.
Suddenly she jerked her head up and grabbed Griffen’s arm. “Have either of you been receiving similar threats?”
“No, baby.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You would tell me.”
“No. Not a chance in hell,” Miles said from behind her, “but the answer is still no.”
She wanted to scream at him for how irrational he was being. She released her grasp on Griffen and jumped from her seat. “So this truth thing,” she waved a hand back and forth between the three of them, “it only goes one way?”
Her blood boiled.
“Exactly.” Miles set his hands on his hips, his damn sexy hips that held up his fucking hot jeans, barely.
She stepped back. “That’s fucked, Miles.”
“It’s reality, love.”
She couldn’t believe he could be so blatantly nonchalant about lying to her.
“Miles, calm down,” Griffen said in a low steady voice. “This isn’t helping.”
“Somebody has been threatening our mate, she chose not to tell us, and you want me to fucking calm down?”
“Yes.” Griffen stood also.
Rebecca stared at Miles. His chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. His face was red with anger, directed halfway at her, and he was currently behaving like a world-class asshole.
She held on tight to the sheet and stomped from the room, mumbling as she went. “And this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca crawled back into the bed she’d slept in an hour ago with her men—mates. She wrapped the comforter around her and buried her face in the pillow, trying to calm down.
She didn’t have any other option. It wasn’t like she could leave—just walk out the door. She would need to look for clothes first to do that, which would mean facing Griffen and Miles and possibly interacting with them.
She couldn’t walk out the door wearing a toga because that hadn’t panned out well for her the last time she’d done it.
She didn’t have a car. Hell, she hadn’t had a car since she met them.
And on top of everything else, she didn’t trust there wasn’t someone or something out there waiting for her to wander away so it or he or she could cut her up into small pieces and feed her to the fucking—wolves. Surely there were plenty of wild wolves roaming the mountains that were not shifters.
Right?
She shivered and burrowed deeper.
She could hear them arguing. The front door slammed.
She held her breath, waiting for the truck to start. It did not.
Of course.
They might be mad, but they wouldn’t leave her.
No fucking way.
Never.
More arguing. Muted. This time outside. She could hear Miles’ voice louder. Most likely Griffen was the calmer one, trying to talk sense into her other mate. She needed to remember that in the future. Miles could be hot under the collar.
She wasn’t particularly shocked by their reactions. She knew they would be mad. Mad enough to let her wallow alone in the bedroom? Not really. But she’d been mentally prepared for just about anything.
Nevertheless, it made her heart ache they couldn’t just listen to her and be reasonable. She was their equal, not some little girl who needed to be coddled and treated with kid gloves. Right?
God, she hoped they saw it that way. If they didn’t…
Well, if they didn’t see her as equal, this would never work.
Half an hour went by while she waited, tears forming and then falling. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it.
Damn them.
They needed to get over themselves. And fast.
Eventually, thinking she was really in trouble, she pulled from the bed and dragged herself to the shower. She turned on the hot water, and as soon as it heated to a temperature she could endure, she stepped under the spray and let it wash down her face.
Her hair hung long and loose, adhering to her back and butt like glue.
And she cried. For everything. For herself. For this fucked-up situation. For the race she wouldn’t be competing in. For the job that was now precarious at best. A job she loved.
For the men behaving like assholes she was stuck with for eternity.