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Kit nodded as he looked around. “As if he had an organization that isn’t obvious to a logical mind.” Which meant Yordan wouldn’t be able to figure it out. The man was a straight shooter. His room probably had his clothing stacked in precise piles and his shoes had the toes flush with an invisible straight line.
Kit frowned, trying to imagine the situation. “When puppies came in to pay up, where would Coffee sit? What was his ritual?”
“You never saw it?”
Kit shook his head. He’d been in a different combat pack and only rarely coincided with Nero’s pack.
Yordan pointed to the office chair. “He’d sit in his office chair like a king on a throne. The puppies would stand there, holding their cash or whatever. Coffee had a lecture he’d give about always paying debts and then make them set down the money, one bill at a time right there.”
Just like Yordan had been doing a few minutes ago.
“And then what?”
“He’d ask if they wanted to try double or nothing, and eventually, everyone learned to say no.”
Kit nodded. He’d heard of double-or-nothing bets that ended up in the thousands of dollars range.
“When it was done, the puppies would have to say ‘I’ve learned my lesson’ and leave.”
“That’s it?”
Yordan nodded. “That’s it.”
Kit went over to the desk and sat down exactly as Coffee would have. He opened the desk drawers. Nothing.
“I already looked there,” Yordan said.
Yes, but Yordan was organized. Coffee was creatively organized. Which was to say, where would Kit put something secret and important that he could grab right from this seat? His gaze landed on the tiny bedside table just close enough to reach if one were as tall as Coffee. The table had a drawer filled with random shit and a few condoms. Kit knew because it was half open and he could see inside. But what wasn’t immediately visible was the back of the table.
He reached behind, fiddled around blind for a second to find the hidden latch, and then popped it open. He pulled out several thin notebooks and what looked like a kid’s diary.
“I would have found that eventually,” Yordan said without heat. “But I never would have thought my way there.”
“Wulf, Inc. has a lot of employees. I’ve learned some require more flexibility of thought when working with them.”
Yordan grunted. “Which is why I don’t work with them,” he said as he took the diary from Kit. “This kind of shit drives me crazy. Without discipline, everything falls apart.”
“Werewolves aren’t exactly known for their discipline.”
“Which is why we need it even more.”
“And just how disciplined was it when you poked Fuse into blowing up a gator mound?”
Yordan flushed and looked away. “I fucked up. I admit it. And that’s why I don’t deserve a promotion. You don’t reward fuckups.”
No, but you did move them to where they would be most valuable to the company after—theoretically—ending the screw-ups. That was what he was thinking. What he said, however, was even more important.
He touched Yordan’s arm, squeezing it until the man met his eyes.
“No one thinks you’re a fuckup, least of all me.”
“Then why haven’t I ever been given a combat pack of my own?”
“Because you never wanted one!” The need to deal with Coffee’s screw-up burned in Kit’s gut, but nothing would stop him from finally having an honest conversation with Yordan. “I know your file word for word.” In fact, he’d developed an unhealthy obsession with it. “You never push for alpha, you always take the beta role. You dole out the discipline with an even, fierce hand, and you’re great with new recruits. There’s not an alpha here that doesn’t want you in his pack.”
“Gummy does just fine for me.”
“Why? Why do you always accept the beta role?” He shook his head. “It’s not a lack of confidence. You know your worth.”
