Page 11 of House of Wolves
I shrug. “It’ll do.”
“You sure? I could bite a finger off for good measure.”
“Tempting, but I just want to go home at this point.” I love the display of justice before me, but I need a bubble bath. I’m filthy, cold, and annoyed.
Kilo pops to his feet. “Let's go.” He intertwines his arm with mine and leads me out of the dirty hallway. “You okay?” he asks, examining me.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
We walk in silence down the cobblestone street, and I breathe in the fresh air, my mind replaying everything that just happened. Thankfully, my knee only slightly hurts. Fuck, that was scary. New rule: no more drinking with men I don’t trust with my life. It should have already been a rule, but it never worried me until now. I guess you don’t know what to worry about until it happens.
“Want to talk about it?” Kilo asks once several minutes of silence have passed.
I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face. “Not really.”
“Got it.” He stares straight ahead, still holding my arm and walking at a comfortable speed. I pull him as we reach a corner toward my house. He’s silent, heading my request and not pressing more. I kind of hate it. “I just want to say I haven’t slept with that guy in months, okay?”
He gives me a disapproving look. “Don’t defend yourself. I don’t hold a word that pig says to any sort of value.”
“I know, I know. I just wanted to make that clear. I feel like you’ve known me for all of two seconds, and the only information you’ve heard about me is about my ability to sleep around. I’m a fantastic lay, but I’m much more than that, okay?”
He chuckles, the sound foreign after the events of the night. “You’re right. I have known you for a very short time, and I can already tell you are so much more than I think you’re even aware of.”
My cheeks burn, and I can’t help but smile. The compliment is nice, cheesy, but so wonderful after being pushed face-down in a dirty alleyway and nearly being taken advantage of. I can’t even find the words to express my gratitude to him, so instead, I kiss him on the cheek.
He flips his gaze to me, eyes wide, and a smile slowly creeps up his face. It’s a nice smile—bright, white, and genuine. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
I laugh. “For what? You just saved me, and now being way too nice, and I barely even know you.”
“We’re both Weres. We have to stick together. And maybe your irresistible charm and uncanny good looks have something to do with it, too.”
I bark a laugh. “Oh, so if I had a boil, you’d have left me for dead.”
“No! But I probably wouldn’t let you snuggle up to me on your walk home and tell you how beautiful you are.” My damn cheeks heat again. I pull back a bit, realizing I am, in fact, cuddling up to him. It’s fucking cold, and he also smells nice and feels nice. Besides, I’m still a little drunk, which reminds me, “By the way! I’m usually pretty fucking powerful! I could have taken that dick with my eyes closed if my brain wasn’t inebriated.”
He laughs. “I know. You don’t have to tell me you're drunk. I can tell.”
“You can not tell! I’m so good at acting sober.” I walk in front of him, doing a twirl before nearly tripping and falling to my ass. He rushes to my side, pulling me up at the last second. I laugh at myself for making this guy save me yet again. “Okay, maybe I should just shut up and stop.”
“You’re fine. You should be allowed to drink. Men should be here to care for you, not hurt you.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” It’s a stupid thing to say because, obviously not.
“I know you can, most of the time, but everyone needs someone sometimes.”
“True. Like those girls need me.” The reality of the horrifying events settles around me. I’m going to need another drink to forget their lifeless eyes. There are still three girls that need my help.
“I know it’s a bad time to ask, but did you discover anything?”
I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t think he knows anything. I mean, I’m drunk, so I’m probably not the sharpest with picking up intuitions, but I accused him of killing the girls when he was about to assault me. He seemed genuinely confused. You’d think he wouldn’t need to hide it when he was about to do something horrible anyway.”
Kilo hums in agreement. We pass a busy, well, busy for Dayton, intersection. Shop lights twinkle from all sides of us. I’m almost home, just one more block, thank God. But God must not be too happy with me because even drunk, beat up, and distracted, I can’t miss him.
Brick is pressed against a building parallel to us, hidden by the shadows but more than visible to me. He’s in a deep conversation with someone. We pass him, and thankfully, he misses me. I turn around to see who he was talking to. It’s Richard Wilson; his handlebar mustache makes him impossible to mistake. He was the second in command when Jack Lumberton was in power as the Hunters' leader. Now that Jack is dead, thanks to Red and Cameron, it only makes sense that Richard would take his place.
Kilo must sense my body stiffen. “What is it?” he asks, out of earshot of the two men.
