Page 70 of Pistols & Peonies

“The city?” he asks, surprise clear in his voice. “There something going on I should know about?”

“Mate’s in the city,” I say. “Turns out, my wolf likes to keep me up all night if I’m not sleeping next to her.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, hissing an inhale. “Am I a bad brother if I admit I forgot you had a mate?”

“The worst,” I deadpan. “But you’ve got enough going on. I’ll let it slide.”

“What happened to the Pairing being just for show?” he presses, amusement creeping into his tone “Couldn’t keep your hands off her, huh?”

“Something like that,” I grumble.

He whistles. “You dirty old man. Isn’t she, like, half your age?”

“Fuck off,” I scoff. “She’s…” I pause, doing the math despite myself, and immediately regret it when I realize how close that jab lands. “She’s twenty-three.”

“Exactly,” Whit replies, smug as hell. “Hey, I don’t blame you. I saw her picture in the press release.”

“Choose your next words very carefully,” I warn.

He snorts a laugh. “Easy, Tony Soprano. You know your mate’s a knockout. Anyway, you should bring her to the lake–”

“No,” I cut in, tone flat.

“Alright, alright,” Whit chuckles. “Just let me know when you’re free to meet up, and we’ll talk then.”

“Soon,” I agree.

We exchange goodbyes, and I end the call, tossing my phone onto the desk.

I do miss the lake house.

Out there, everything is simple. Water, wind, trees. Space enough to breathe, to disappear if I want to. I used to think I’d retire there someday– cut myself off from the world, never have to answer to anyone again.

Now, the idea of sitting up there alone, day after day, suddenly doesn’t hold the same appeal. Because she’s in the city.

A knock comes at the door, brisk and exactly on time.

I don’t bother looking up as I call out, “Come in.”

Frazier opens the door and steps inside with the careful posture of a man entering the den of a predator. “You wanted to see me? Ready to go over that report?”

“Sit,” I direct, flicking my fingers toward the chair opposite my desk.

He does, spine straight, shoulders tight. Good to see he’s still got a healthy fear of me.

“So,” he begins, clearing his throat. “What do you think? Do we move on this tonight?”

“What’s your take on this report?” I ask, arching a brow.

Frazier blinks. “Mine?”

I nod, patient but expectant.

He hesitates the way he always does before saying something he thinks I might not like. But if he wants to advance in the ranks, he needs to learn to speak plainly.

“I mean, it could just be illegal betting,” he starts slowly, “but if that’s the case, the pack should be getting a cut.” He sits up a little straighter, finding his backbone. “So, either the guy that runs the place is just greedy, or he’s funneling the money somewhere else. The obvious assumption being the rebels, of course.”

“The rebel angle is speculation at this point,” I state.