Pack Poisoned, page 17
part #2 of Thrown to the Wolves Series
“If we’re not condoning teasing today, then you need to finish what you started.” Watching every inch that disappears into my mouth, he goes slow, as if expecting me to claim that he crossed some line.
Gripping his thigh for support, I take him deeper and hollow out my cheeks in silent permission. With a curse, he snaps, taking control and pushing in deeper.
“So fucking perfect,” he praises, voice like gravel. “Never going to let you go.”
Forcing his cock deep enough that I nearly gag, he tightens his grip on my hair and tenses before coming down my throat. I swallow down every drop, and with a few more shallow thrusts, he pulls out, muscles trembling. Taking a couple of panting breaths, he drops to his knees and kisses me hard, not giving a shit that he just came in my mouth.
“Fucking hell, angel.” Resting his forehead against mine, he gives a breathless laugh. “You might have to get over your aversion to gifts, because everything in me is screaming that I need to shower you with presents so that you’ll want to stick around.”
Grinning, I kiss him once more before rising up on shaky legs. “Good to know I have a default career if I tank this project.”
Slade narrows his eyes as he appears with a fresh set of clothes for me and sets them on the edge of the bed. “You’re not going to be an escort in any reality, so get that idea out of your head right now.”
Reaching for my bra and wrestling it on, I attempt to keep a straight face. “Good news, it wasn’t until you put the thought there, because I was thinking housewife, but I’m flattered you think people would pay high-roller dollars for my mouth.”
I glance from the corner of my eye to see Slade frozen in terror that he put his foot in his mouth and take pity on him, laughing. “Kidding, kidding. Should’ve seen your face, though.”
As I reach for my underwear, I get a hard smack on the ass, resulting in an undignified, startled yelp. Damian intervenes, tugging on his clothes. “Now, now, we don’t have time for round two, so angel, cover up that handprint before Slade’s tempted to add another.”
Slade hums his agreement. “Very true. People to torture, empires to ruin. Not to mention hitting your deadline.”
Damian nods solemnly in agreement. “This was a brief reprieve to help you start your day off right. It was either this or coffee, and I don’t have a clue how to work that monstrosity they call a coffee maker in the kitchen.”
Crossing to the attached bathroom to hastily clean up, I snort. “You aren’t going to hear me complaining.”
After relieving myself and grabbing a washcloth since we went well past the ten minutes that we anticipated on, I slip on the white button up shirt and navy, knee length skirt that Slade brought me. It leaves a good chunk of the scars on my leg on display, but I adamantly refuse to look at them as a painful reminder of that night. Sure, I walked away from it with a permanent reminder, but that’s the part I choose to remember; I walked away from it, not him.
Quickly brushing my teeth, I return to the bedroom while running my fingers through my hair, searching around for a hair tie. Slade reaches into his pocket and whips out a scrunchie with a smug smile, like he was anxiously waiting for the opportunity to appear for days simply to show off how prepared he was.
Rising up on my toes, I kiss his cheek with a genuine smile. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He brushes it off. “It’s nothing, I’m sure the others have some stashed around here, too, since you love the things.”
Damian finishes buttoning his jeans, rolling with the jab. “Of course we do, but you can’t have them back. You leave them lying around everywhere, and we like to smell them like perverts while jacking off, so you’re shit out of luck.”
Laughing until my cheeks hurt, I lead the way out of the room while shaking my head. “No need to bicker. Seriously, you’d think after some naked bonding time, you’d be best friends now.”
They both sputter indignantly at the insinuation, more so when we find Bo leaning against the wall around the corner, smirking. “Morning, pretty girl. Sleep well?” Eyes darkening, he kicks off from the wall and takes a predatory step forward.
“More like evening. Guess we’re opting for that nocturnal lifestyle for a while, after all.”
An animalistic rumble vibrates his chest as he stalks forward with lethal grace. “It might kill me, but damn, what a way to go.”
Reality suddenly slams into me, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Skin burning with embarrassment, I turn away from Bo to slap the back of my hand against Damian’s chest.
“Benevolent wake up call, my ass. How is Adrian supposed to take anything I say seriously if I smell like a brothel?”
A shameless grin splits his face as he captures my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Not a brothel; thoroughly satisfied. Means we’re taking really good care of you, and bonus, mine and Slade’s scents are all over you. Leaves no doubt in Adrian’s mind that you’re ours, but also mine, which is important gossip for the little weasel reporting back to the Slaughters and gods only know who else.”
Slade palms my heated cheek, using his thumb to tilt my head to face him. Amusement written all over his features, he teases, “Besides, if I do recall, you happen to like public displays of affection.”
Grumbling, I pull away, not actually upset, more embarrassed about being called out than anything. The thrill of getting caught or watched definitely gets me off, but that’s in the heat of the moment. When reality comes crashing down and I’m expected to talk to the poor bystanders and act like nothing happened? Super fucking awkward. I always chalked these things up to how little interaction I actually had with people growing up, being socially awkward in the best of circumstances. Now, though, I wonder if my hot to cold switch had something to do with my wolf poking her head out between bouts of healing herself all of these years.
By the time we’ve descended the stairs and entered the dining room where the others are waiting with Adrian, I’ve wrangled my game face back on. Sure, he knows exactly what we were up to that kept him waiting even though we were the ones to summon him here, but instead of considering it rude, I tell myself it’s all a part of the game, that this was our first move. He gave the go ahead to Stonewood’s beta to orchestrate the demise of my men so that I could be shipped home to my not-dads like a wayward teenager. I don’t need to schmooze my way into his good graces, because Adrian Ronen is the sort of two-faced asshole that would sell a person’s organs on the black market while acting like the one that found them in the back-alley ice bath.
So let him fucking wait. Consideration isn’t a part of his vocabulary, so it shouldn’t have a place in mine.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” he drawls, resting his chin on his fist.
I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, but I glance up at Hunter, currently leaning against the wall behind our guest. He holds my stare until a malicious smile shatters his trademark scowl, reading my thoughts without me having to say a single word. A split second later, there’s a knife pinning Adrian’s free hand to the dining room table.
Driving it a little deeper to ensure that it won’t budge, Hunter’s voice is flippant, beginning the game of throwing Adrian off balance so that he won’t know what to expect from tonight. “Was my company not delightful enough while you waited? Shame, I thought we were having a lovely conversation in the interim.”
With the assault, Adrian draws in a sharp, pained gasp, and with it comes the scents coating my skin; namely, Damian’s. His impaled hand is temporarily forgotten as his brow furrows, gaze darting to Damian’s neck. Finding nothing, the crease between his eyebrows deepens along with his confusion, and I have to fight off a satisfactory smile at one-upping him.
“My apologies,” he eventually grits out. A brief flash of disdain is tossed my way before it’s completely concealed, keeping his eyes downcast in a faux-submissive manner when he faces Hunter. “I was out of line.”
Snorting, he yanks the blade out, sending a spray of blood droplets across the table. “Cut the bullshit, Adrian. You might fool the Slaughters, but it’s only because their egos keep them from seeing anyone else as a threat.”
Slade sits beside me on the right, relaxed in his chair as if Adrian isn’t even a blip on his radar to be concerned over. “The fact that you’d speak to Sabrina in such a manner is reprehensible by anyone’s standards. Yet I’m sure that her fathers especially wouldn’t be pleased if they were to hear that you speak to their daughter with such blatant disrespect.”
Adrian’s jaw ticks before he schools his features into a practiced mask. “I’m sure they’d forgive me when they realized that she was only masquerading as their daughter.”
There it is.
I don’t even have to fake my confusion, cocking my head slightly. “What are you talking about? You’re the one that went tattling to them that I exist; I didn’t have a damn clue. And I’m obviously not trying to use them for some ulterior motive. I’ve never met them, or even spoken to them before. This is all you that made the declaration and tried to ship me off to their doorstep, you hypocrite.”
His nostrils flare as he pulls his wounded hand off the table, cradling it in his lap and pressing his shirt against it to staunch the bleeding until his healing kicks in. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Sabrina Laroque,” he sneers. “The first time I saw you and each time until now, you smelled human. Your leg was ravaged days after you were attacked to the point that you couldn’t even stand on your own. You. Couldn’t. Heal. Now you suddenly smell like one of us, yet you’ve never shifted?”
His eyes bore into mine, attempting to laser my face off with his seething hatred. When I don’t react, his eyes narrow for a moment before they widen ever so slightly. The tell is there and gone in a flash, so quickly I’d have missed it if we weren’t caught in the staring match. A prickling sensation travels down my arms, and my heartburn returns with a vengeance, the tell-tale sign of my wolf rising in time with my unease.
I bet his skin would shred like paper beneath my claws. No resistance, like his blood’s as desperate to be freed from its prison as I am to see it pouring out onto the table, watch it drip down to the floor in a steady, rhythmic beat.
He shakes his head and scoffs in disgust, snapping me out of the daydream that snuck up on me. “You’re a watered-down version of us; enough traits that you can mark someone and con your way through our world if you play your cards right, but not nearly impressive enough to be fought over. Why else do you think everyone’s trying to get you out of the way?”
Ouch. My poor, fragile, girly feelings. What ever shall I do now that a random guy told me that he doesn’t want me besides fall apart and beg him for validation?
Bo’s hand tightens on the back of my chair, but Cin and Kaige start laughing; full on, stomach-clutching laughter. Damian rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, staring at our guest with amusement dancing in his eyes like they’re all in on some joke that makes Adrian appear incredibly stupid for this declaration. Slade and Reid are impassive, assessing everything stoically, and Hunter’s back at his post on the wall, a silent vigil. It leaves Adrian completely surrounded by the eight of us, and he’s acting boldly enough that he clearly has some contingency plan in place that gives him the confidence to do so. Hell, Kaige could siphon from him without even making contact, and there’s no way Adrian doesn’t know that, since he’s so well informed.
“Ah, so you were one of the people hovering around my apartment that week, keeping me out of the way,” I toss out in an attempt of confirmation, but his wording seems too creepily accurate for him not to have been watching more closely than we realized. “It’s been driving me crazy, so I have to ask. How were you planning on getting me out if I had eaten the drugged food with these guys watching the building?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A second later, a slow, smug smile twists the corner of his lips. “But deflecting only confirms that I’m right, that there’s something seriously defective with your wolf. No wonder Annika was hiding you; imagine what men would do to a female that wasn’t mate material, but available. If you can’t be auctioned off, your value’s no better than what a human girl could offer our kind.”
Don’t punch him in the balls, expression on lock down. Think of the end game.
Cinjin snorts, but I can feel the feral energy radiating off of him from here. “Hardly. Deflecting means that we think it’s hilarious you think a single person in this room answers to you or owes you a fucking explanation. You’ve gotten pretty big for your britches if you think anything to do with her includes you in any way. It’s between us, these jackasses, I suppose, and the Slaughters, who I’m sure already plan to run a DNA test on her when we get out there.”
Kaige folds his arms behind his head and rocks back in his chair. “You’re not even part of the Slaughters’ pack. You’re a middleman running around behind the back of your own alpha to try and, what? Get a bigger cut of the deals you help broker on the sly? You tipped them off about Sabrina looking like their mate; you seriously think that means they’re going to show you any favoritism after they have her and her mother back? I, for one, can’t wait to watch all of this blow up in your face.”
A broad grin spreads across Cin’s face. “Maybe if you’re lucky, instead of killing you for double crossing them, they’ll buy you a Rolex as a token of appreciation and send you off on your merry way.”
“More like a gold star sticker sheet and a pat on the head if you’re lucky,” Damian snorts. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath on ever claiming a finder’s fee, much less a place in their inner circle.”
Mottled red patches appear on his neck, but he bites his tongue, mind racing a mile a minute to look at the situation from every angle he can think of. I watch as he subtly scans the room, everyone’s faces, filing it all away. And all the while, I watch him unabashedly, reveling in the way he’s starting to squirm as it becomes clear that he’s missing a pertinent piece of information and can’t seem to figure it out.
“So why did you call me here to meet you, then?” he seethes, unable to conceal his anger and choosing to lean into it instead.
Reid holds a single finger up, interjecting, “How would you know that she’s never shifted?”
Adrian’s anger stops cold in his tracks, the color rapidly fading from his complexion.
That’d be it then. If he’s been watching us, that means he likely saw the guys shift, has footage that he thinks he can hold over our heads to ensure he walks out of here in one piece. Blackmail is a solid fallback plan, honestly, and I’m slightly impressed that he was able to pull it off.
Hunter whistles low. “Hope your will’s in order, you suicidal bastard.” Catching his eye, I attempt to convey my confusion, to which he raises an eyebrow. But despite his light tone, there isn’t an ounce of genuine amusement in those dark green eyes now, only the promise of murder. “If he’s that confident you’ve never shifted, he’s not just watching the yard. Means he has eyes inside the house, too.”
I hear the words, but it takes a few tense seconds as I process them before they sink in, let alone accept them. Because if Hunter’s right, that means Adrian not only has recorded evidence of the guys shifting, he has sex tapes. I’ll admit, that’s some solid fucking leverage if Reid and I weren’t capable of doing something about it now that we know.
“Yeah, I can see how my fathers are going to appreciate knowing you were rubbing one out to their daughter getting railed when you claimed to be helping them. They’ll probably take back your gold sticker and everything now, so sucks to be you.”
Internally, I’m screaming, and I’m sure all of the guys are picturing every way they’re going to eviscerate him the second he’s no longer useful to us. Outwardly, I act unaffected; completely and utterly unperturbed. Not like I want him to leak footage of me getting tag-teamed, but I have full confidence in Slade’s lawyer handling things if it comes to that, and the rest of the guys to make Adrian wish he was never born. So I embrace my inner wolf and smile, making it seem like we’re already three steps ahead of him.
If I don’t show an ounce of fear in the face of his contingency plan, it doesn’t make it a fail safe anymore, it makes it a failure.
No need to pass my other half the reins or fight to retain them; we have the same goal, and that entails playing the long game to ensure total destruction, and maximum impact. Cinjin was right. The mercy of death isn’t nearly as appealing as the thought of all of the ways we can watch him suffer.
Adrian shifts in his seat, and Bo chuckles, the sound more dark than humorous. “Yeah, I’d stop recording too if I was incriminating myself.”
Reid glares daggers at Adrian before shoving his chair back. Holding his hand out expectantly, he waits until Adrian passes over his phone and inputs the password that gives him remote access to our security system’s feed before storming out of the room. I’m not sure what Adrian’s capable of anymore after pulling this off, so I’m going to run on the assumption he already knows it means Reid will be using the connection to gain access to his server and scrubbing everything off of it, likely leaving some nasty presents on his home software. I doubt he’ll risk touching anything from that system anymore to be safe, but if nothing else, it’ll make Reid feel a little better, at least.
Everyone else in the room has their phones recording the conversation anyway, and I’d be shocked if Adrian didn’t assume as much, honestly. That’s the downside of working with paranoid people; they’re just paranoid enough to know there’s a reason that they’re always on edge, but never confident in the source of their paranoia, so everything is the enemy. The bright side? That means if you direct their attention onto a source that makes them assume that they were right all along, leaving them satisfied in their own superiority, they’re less likely to notice the real source until it’s too late. A smokescreen to conceal their actual downfall.
