“Are we playing up a degradation kink or do the cuffs come off since we’re all a happy pack now?” I bat my eyes at Mr. DEA and jingle the metal on our wrists. He’s worried I’ll run, and I don’t blame him, but we look fucking ridiculous.
He knows it, too. Unless we’re going to act like our pack enjoys flagrant public bondage foreplay, the handcuffs need to come off.
My grin is entirely too smug as he pulls the keys from the pocket of his jeans and unlocks the cuff from my wrist. “If you run,” he explains while freeing his own wrist, “I’ll shoot you.”
“Darling, we can talk back shots later.” I can’t tell if he doesn’t get the innuendo or is just too annoyed to bless me with a response.
Tightass, sourpuss Declan. He probably won’t let us have any fun on this trip at all. The man hates me. Which is too bad, because his ass really is tight. I chuckle to myself and sneak apeek as we stand in line to check in. Yeah, it sure is nice to look at.
I kinda want to slap it and see what he does, but I restrain myself. The middle aged couple behind us probably wouldn’t be amused by me publicly spanking mypack mate.
Instead, I reach down to pet Gunner, scratching behind his ears. Poochie isn’t wearing his work vest, but I’m sure he’d follow if I bolted. I just hope I’ve snuck him enough beef jerky that he wouldn’t bite anything important trying to take me down. The Drug Enforcement Administration really should research the number of treats required to turn their dogs from ferocious four-legged attackers into adorable drooling messes. It’s a lot less than they’d expect. I scratch a little harder, and Gunner’s tail starts thumping against the floor in puppy pleasure.
“Name?” The lanky beta at the desk asks, barely looking up from his computer.
“Pack McLaren,” Declan answers, giving the man the same deficit of friendliness or respect.
The man’s typing intensifies as his brows wrinkle. “McLaren?”
“Aw, look at you, all eager to claim us,” I tease in a whisper.
Declan glares at me. He really has this aggressive smolder thing down pat.
Lucas steps up to the counter. “Try Santos.” He gives Declan a look like he can’t believe the man didn’t realize the room wouldn’t be under his name. “We are a new pack.Eu reservei—” He pauses with a slight furrow to his brow as he thinks. “Como você diz…booked?Reservei…I have reserved it under my name.Me desculpe.”
“Oh, here it is.” The man looks up for the first time, eyebrows lifting in surprise as he takes in the five of us. “This says you're in the Luxury Pack Suite.” His tone has a note of condescension.Guess we don’t exactly look like a luxury pack suite kind of group. Ava’s the only one of us who looks the part. She’s wearing heels, a dress, dark sunglasses, and enough red lipstick to serve as a mask. I wonder how it would look smeared across my dick. Okay, I should try to keep those thoughts holstered. She looks like she would stab me in the chest with her stiletto if she knew what was playing out in my mind.
“We didn’t steal the room, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I say, used to the subtle snubs and accusations that come along with not appearing like the upper half. “This guy's a DEA agent. He even has a badge he can show you if you want.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The beta looks back at his computer.
“I booked the luxury suite as a bonding gift,” Lucas says, like he thinks the guy still needs more reason to believe we’re the right pack. There’s something truthful in the bashful way he looks down at his shoes as he says it. Interesting.
“Ah, of course. I’ll just get you all checked in, Pack Santos.”
“Can you change the name on the room to Pack McLaren?” Declan says, evidently making the executive decision that he’s the pack alpha of our motley crew. When the man frowns, Declan adds, “So we’re not called by the wrong name the whole trip.”
“Of course.” He gives us a forced smile before typing a few more things on the computer, then handing over a stack of keycards. “Here are your room keys. You’ll be on the Lido deck, three levels down. All guests are required to attend a mandatory safety training session. There will be one at three o’clock and another at five.”
Turning his attention back to the man behind the desk, Declan gives him a curt, “Thank you,” then tugs me by the arm and leads us out of the way of the next travelers. “Here.” Hehands keys to Emily, Ava, and Lucas, then pockets the remaining two.
“Hey, don’t I get a key?” I ask.
“No.” He turns away and walks toward the elevator, but Gunner lingers beside me, his ears perked like he’s not quite ready to leave. I ignore the looks from the rest of the group and jog after him, his dog bounding at my side as I come around in front to block Declan’s path.
“What the fuck? How am I supposed to get in and out of the room without a key?”
“You’re not.” Declan pushes the button for the elevator. A couple, making goo-goo-eyes at each other like they’re on their honeymoon, stop their intimate moment, disrupted by our raised voices. I give them a little finger wave and a broad smile.
Declan leans in close enough that no one else can hear. “You’re still in custody. Don’t forget it.”
“I thought we made a deal.” I grit my teeth. Declan’s pine forest scent is too soothing for the frustration coursing through me.
He grabs my arm hard enough to bruise and pulls me to the stairwell. Gunner starts to follow, but Declan says, “Stay.”
Emily catches my eye, silently asking whether they should come with us or not. I shrug. They keep by the elevator while Declan shoves me through the door to the stairs. Guess we’ll catch up with them later.
“Ourdealis dependent on you helping me catch your piece of shit mafia boss,” he says once we’re alone. “You haven’t done that yet. So stop fucking complaining, wipe that fucking smile off your face, and figure out how you’re going to trap Glenn.”
