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But as Wolf approached the front door, he knew something was wrong. The padlock had been cut.
His mind instantly went to Diane. Maybe her route into the Den had been blocked up somehow, and she’d needed to get in. Still, he found it hard to believe that she’d have cut the lock off.
He pushed the front door open, and his blood ran cold.
Fuck. The place was ruined. Someone had — by the looks of it — taken a sledgehammer to just about every surface in here. The walls, the floor, even the damn ceiling had huge divots gouged out of them.
Diane wouldn’t have done this, would she? She’d been angry with him when they’d spoken, and sure — he’d said some dumb shit — but there was no way she’d have done this much damage. She didn’t seem like a violent person or the sort of person who’d lose control of themselves.
Yeah, she’s not like you, dumbass.
A terrifying thought: was he about to find Diane here, hurt?
If she’d been here while this was being done, who knew what could have happened to her? He suddenly felt sick and sprinted toward the bathroom.
Just then, to his infinite relief, he heard something. It was quiet and soft, and very, very sad. Sobbing, coming from deep inside the wall.
*
Sophia didn’t know how long she’d been stuck in here. She’d felt unable to move ever since Hank and the other biker had destroyed the place she’d called home for the past five years.
Teddy was completely destroyed, squashed to a pulp in the middle of the floor. Her old desk had been pounded into splinters; mirrors were shattered; floor tiles pulverized. Every time she’d thought that the destruction was going to stop, they’d just kept going and going, making things worse.
Then, the weirdest thing had happened. She had started to wish that Wolf was there. Sophia couldn’t get the image of him out of her head. The words he said to her when they first met.
When you’re a guest on my turf, it’s my job to look out for you. To protect you.
It was dumb, of course. He was a biker after all, and obviously had some kind of dealings with Groat’s gang. But she couldn’t help but like him. He’d shown her kindness and had offered her a place to stay. He’d even said she could work there if she wanted to.
Of course, the bikers had destroyed her tools. It was unlikely that everything was ruined, but she’d definitely need to buy some new materials before starting on any more restoration work.
She knew that she shouldn’t be here. She should have left hours ago, but she couldn’t move. For some reason, she wanted to stay here, in this space, letting all of this sink in. It had been her home, after all. She had history here.
Through her sobs, she heard footsteps. Thinking that the bikers were back, she froze. Then, a familiar voice.
‘Diane,’ said the voice, ‘it’s me, Wolf. You’re safe.’
On hearing his voice, she felt her pulse slow and her anxiety start to ebb away.
‘Wolf!’ she cried, without stopping to think. Then, to her surprise, she bolted from her hiding space and ran straight to him. His kind blue eyes — which looked confused for a moment — softened as she bounded toward him. Then, acting almost as if her body was being controlled by something deep inside her that she had no conscious influence over, she threw her arms around him, and pulled herself tight.
Tears were still streaming down her cheeks, and she wet his denim top as she burrowed her face into him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered.
‘It’s okay, Little one,’ he said softly. She felt his hand on her hair, gently stroking. It was a tiny, intimate movement, but one that was so generous and tender. ‘I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.’
‘I’m hugging you,’ she said dumbly.
He smelled so good, like a shot of pure masculinity. There was a deep, earthy scent — oil and musk — as well as a sharp, clean shot of salted citrus. She could smell him all day, damn it.
‘Youarehugging me,’ he said. He could have teased her, but he didn’t. He was sincere and she was thankful for it.
She reluctantly peeled herself away from him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, no. You don’t need to be sorry. What happened?’
She sighed. Time to come clean. ‘First thing’s first,’ she said. ‘I’m not called Diane. My name’s Sophia.’ She paused for a moment. This would be the first time she’d told anyone her real surname in ten years. ‘Sophia Ragusa.’
