Chapter 29: Wolf.e: Chapter 28

“I don’t think they’re taking it so well,” Jake says when we’re all seated in chapel later that day. I look to the clock on the wall behind him, then to the massive metal art piece underneath it that houses our club insignia. The deadly looking wolf skull that reminds me every day why I sit here.

“With the addiction services opening a month ago in the Chestnut area, they’re really starting to clean up the streets. I think their Blue game is suffering,” he adds, using the street name around Savannah for Fentanyl.

“Well, that’s good news at least,” I say.

We’ve just returned from meeting with our supplier out of Canada. Methadone is abundant up there and easy to get over the border if you have the right connections. We’ve just secured enough to supply two more clinics in the Savannah area for the foreseeable future. With the donations from the profits going back into the community under one of our dummy corps, we’re able to pay the salary of two more counselors. We may sell drugs illegally, but not in the way most people would expect. I’ve made it my life’s mission to make weaning drugs like methadone that help clean junkies up and services to help them recover more readily available. Some would say trafficking this sort of drug is illegal; I say it’s cutting the red tape. It’s also very profitable. So win, win.

Of course, Disciples of Sin—the suppliers of Blue and the H, whatever they’re bringing in from El Paso—don’t like it when we come in and open clinics, helping clean up the streets where they try to sell. It’s bad for business for these junkies to have other options and resources.

“Where are we with the delivery of our message?” I ask.

“DOS’s prospect checked into Peachwood Hospital in Savannah this morning, dropped off by a silver van. Max said no one went in, so I’d say the message is loud and clear,” Flipp says, mentioning one of our newest members we sent out to watch the arrivals at the hospital.

“It’ll be a while, if ever, that he says anything. Hard to talk with no tongue and write with no fingers.” Kai grins. “Guess he won’t be shooting a gun or blowing anything up anytime soon.”

I shake my head.

“He got caught, he should be dead. It doesn’t make sense,” I say scrubbing my hand over my jaw. “They’re keeping him alive for something.”

“Probably gonna try to figure out how to pull more info from him,” Kai retorts as he lights a smoke.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jake adds. “Speaking of should be dead…” His eyes turn to me. “We’re all trying to figure out what the hell is goin’ on with you.”

“The fuck do you mean?” I retort. I don’t like being questioned.

“You know exactly what I mean. The girl. She knows too much… i.e. she should be dead. I didn’t push you last night, but this club belongs to all of us. We want to know how you’re gonna make sure she doesn’t fuck us.”

I clench my fist under the table to keep myself calm.

“The girl is my problem,” I say.

Around the table, each one of them looks at me like they don’t know what to think.

“I know this is unorthodox.” I’m not going to show them an ounce of weakness. The way I want this woman is unexplainable and none of their goddamn business. “She’s going to prove useful,” I say just to shut them all up. “You have to trust me. Don’t ask me again.”

Jake sets his jaw.

I turn to Ax. “When you moved Layla into your house after two weeks, no one questioned you.”

“Layla’s my wife now,” Ax answers.

“Wife. What even is that? A piece of paper? She wasn’t then. You’re all only questioning it because it’s me,” I say.

“Yeah,” and “exactly,” every single one of them says in some form.

“It’s unlike you, boss, you know it is. We just want to make sure you’re thinking rationally. With this face, I won’t survive in Henderson,” Kai says, mentioning the local penitentiary.

“The girl is my problem,” I reiterate. “Do any of you doubt my decisions? My leadership?” My fist hits the table.

“Not at all, boss,” Kai speaks first, everyone else either shakes their head no or speaks up with him.

“We all trust you… just… wanna make sure she isn’t a distraction,” Jake says.

“She’s not,” I tell them.

“Why her?” Kai asks, genuinely curious.

I look at all of them.

“When I fucking figure that out I’ll let you know. Until then, she’s my problem and I’m not distracted.”

With that, I snap the gavel down, which tells them all to shut the fuck up.

I make it to the corner of Netherwood and Spruce just as the sun starts to set. The crew is hard at work just like they were told to be.

The wide old porch on her massive century home is almost completely torn down already and it’s only been a day. New cedar sits on pallets in the driveway and Chantel’s SUV is long gone but the bike in the driveway and my prospect sitting in a lawn chair under a tree tells me Brinley is here. I told her I had business and that she should ride home with Layla and the other girls, and pack her belongings, anything she wants to bring with her.

I see the drape inside her kitchen snap as I shut my bike off. I find myself wondering how I’ll find her. What will she be wearing when I go in? Did she listen and get packed up and ready to leave or will she give me that feisty look and put up a fight? Will she be grateful I got a crew here to fix her porch or will she be pissed I took over?

“Thanks, bro,” I say to Austin, our newest prospect, over the sounds of demo saws and construction chatter. I pat him on the shoulder. “You guys can finish up and head out, keep the neighbors happy, it’s getting late.”

“Cool, you just said as fast as possible, so we didn’t want to stop until you said we could.”

I nod. Good man.

“The boys or Shell got some barbeque going tonight?” he asks.

“Maybe, feel free to head over and find out,” I tell him as he fastens his helmet.

I turn around and nod to the porch crew: two other club prospects, and an older member who barely rides anymore and his grandson who is a licensed carpenter.

“Good work, boys,” I tell them as I move to head in.

“We’ll have the rest of the old porch down by tomorrow and be starting on the new one.”

“Take the scrap wood to Millers Farm, tell them to bill me,” I say and nod for them to take off.

I push through the screen and make my way into the dim house as the sound of tools hitting a job box and trucks and bikes firing up fills the air.

I look up at the two-storey foyer. This house is large, much too big for one person. It’s neat though, and it smells like a blend of stale air and lemon or citrus, but all the furniture is clean and uncovered and the walls are all pale gray.

“You’re wasting your time here. I hope you realize there’s not a chance in hell I’m going with you to live at the clubhouse.”

I turn to face the defiant voice echoing from behind me. Brinley stands in her bare feet, little linen shorts with a black cropped tank top and her hair wild around her shoulders. Her nipples are hard underneath her tank and her arms are folded under her tits, forming a little shelf for them. Her face sits in a pretty, defiant little scowl, letting me know she’ll be putting up a fight.

Fuck me, she’s stunning when she’s angry.

My eyes take hold of hers from across the room.

She’s right about one thing. I am wasting my time, but not in the way she thinks.

I’m never going to be able to overcome my want for her.

There’s no saving her.

Her breath shallows and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. Outside, she’s all strength and heat simmers in her pale blue eyes. When they meet mine, I see the tiniest hint of fear.

That split second is all my body needs for that basic, primal instinct to take over. My instinct to hunt her, my instinct to completely own her.

The last thread of my control snaps like a twig under the weight of my boot, and I know there’s no going back.