Before I can stop him, he’s tucked the scrap of fabric away and is striding to the door. I follow, because what the fuck else am I meant to do? “Where are you going?”
“To find Rowan Vale and my mate.”
What the fuck?
“Your mate?”
He pauses at the door and gives me another shit-eating grin. “Just wait until you smell the real thing, and then tell me how you’re gonna bond her sloppy seconds.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There's only one fucking way my mate ended up in Rowan Vale’s hands. Lily Luscious abducted her, probably snatching her from the hospital when her beta lapdog –Dexter Roberts- was looking the other way. The question is whether Vale is working with his boss, or if he's using Diana as leverage. Given the bitch’s reputation, my guess is the latter, but I need to be prepared for anything.
Including getting that jumpsuit back. If it has my blood on it, like Moore said, then it has to be the one Diana was wearing when I last saw her.
Did she take it off willingly? Or did someone strip her down, maybe taking a little taste for themselves in the process?
The thought brings a feral growl rumbling out of my chest, and Moore shoots me a warning look. We’re seated in the back of his car, and it’s disturbing how quickly I got comfortable being back in his fancy world. It must be the whiskey going to my head, because not that long ago I swore to never ride in a cage again, let alone step back into his life.
It’s been nearly a year since I took off once and for all, either riding with Fox and his boys, or going nomad when their company pissed me off. I never patched into the Jackals, but Fox found me useful to keep around, sharing what was his in exchange for my particular skillset. It was a rough and dirty life, but it was better than staying put and kicking Moore’s ass – and probably strangling his bitch in the process.
We don’t talk much until we pull into the Richardson Hotel parking lot, and then I only open my mouth to tell him to stay put. He rubs the new creases in his forehead like he’s getting a migraine. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m just gonna sniff things out.”
He knows me well enough to recognize the shorthand. A little recon, a little bribery, and maybe the odd punch to the face here and there. “Fine. Just… don’t get arrested.”
I lift a lip at him. “I’m a private citizen checking out the hotel for a romantic staycation.” I gesture down at myself, encompassing my grimy jeans, black leather coat, and shitkicker boots. “Who the fuck’s going to get in my way?”
He’s still rubbing his head as I close the door, and I do two circuits of the garage before moving to the elevators. They take me up to the lobby, and I ignore the twitchy looks I get from reception, following my nose down a corridor to the kitchens.
Jackpot.
It’s the first whiff of my mate I’ve had in days that didn’t come from the scrap in my pocket, and I steady myself against the wall. The trace is faint – barely noticeable over the fancy sauces bubbling on the stovetops – but it’s fucking supreme. There’s an extra kick to it, a spicy undertone that makes my mouth water. I suck it down, my heart rate instantly smoothing out and my cock plumping happily in my jeans.
When a big guy with a cleaver and a fancy hat steps in my path, I’m feeling almost mellow.
“You can’t be here,” he says in a tone to match his hat. “Guests are not permitted.”
“What about cute little pornstars?” Because, yeah. I’ve seen my share of Rowan Vale skin flicks, and I bet he caused quite a flutter when he came through here. “Just show me the route he used to get up to the governor’s suite, and I’ll be on my way.”
The chef looks me over and clearly decides not to stir this particular pot. “Franz, show our guest the way to the service elevator.”
Moore told me on the drive over how Vale and his security crashed his breakfast, and I scowl as the terrified kitchenhand points out the elevator, scuttling away before I can ask any questions. Not that I need to. It’s a short ride to the suite, and there’s not much to see, the evidence of Moore’s stay already cleared away in preparation for the next guest.
I’m not really surprised to find a pair of security guards waiting for me when I return to the parking garage. They’re both alphas, but one whiff tells me they’re barely a step up from rent-a-cops. “Sir, can I have your name and room number?”
I can see Moore’s car idling a few rows back, but of course the fucker doesn’t get out to help. “No, and I wouldn’t stay in this shithole if you paid me.” They shuffle their feet, and I give them my least wholesome grin. “But you can give meyournames for my report.”
“Report, sir?”
It’s the smaller of the two, his brains clearly in his head and not wedged in his roided-out neck like his partner. “I’m Governor Moore’s security. He was ambushed at breakfast this morning, and I want to know who to include when we sue the ass off this hotel.”
They exchange a panicked look, and I flick a thumb over my shoulder at Moore’s car. He’s conveniently rolled his window down, nodding at the guards when they look his way.
“Sorry, sir.” It’s the smaller one again, while the bigger guard starts to slink away like I can’t see his six-foot ass. “We’ll need to call our supervisor before we can give you any information.”
I take a threatening step towards him. “While you’re at it, ask him to pull up the security footage of the kitchens, suite, and all entrances and exits. Send it straight to the governor’s office in the next twenty, and maybe I’ll convince him to keep your names out of the lawsuit.”
