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“Me and Sloane are nothing,” I grumble. “I just can’t stand when she cries. I had to make it stop.”
Mason nods slowly, weighing my response. “So, no old feelings there?”
I blow out a breath, sinking further back onto the couch and crossing an ankle over my knee. “Oh, there’s plenty. But it’s mostly hate. And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change anything.”
“Stubborn asshole,” he chuckles.
I just shrug. There’s no sense in arguing when he’s fucking right. Iamstubborn, always have been. But it’s not without reason.
I hated Sloane for throwing away what we had. Hated her for giving up on us. But it was a whole lot easier to hate her when she wasn’t here, staring me in the face and reminding me why I loved her in the first place. Now I’m all fucked up and I don’t really knowhowto feel. I’d rather look at her and feel nothing at all.
“What are you gonna do about Roxy?” Mason asks.
“Haven’t decided yet,” I sigh.
“Think she’ll forgive you?”
“Probably.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and narrowing his eyes on me. “Do you want her to?”
“Dunno,” I admit. “I don’t need the drama, that’s for sure.” I stab my fingers through my hair, grimacing as I weigh my options. One thing I definitely won’t be doing is fucking ghosting her. I know from experience that cutting off all contact is the worst way to end a relationship, and I may be an asshole, but I refuse to stoop to that level.
“Guess I should probably go over to her dorm this afternoon and smooth things over,” I murmur. “Or just end it before she’s dragged into the fucking mess that is me and Sloane.”
Not that there’s a chance of anything happening there, but because Sloane just being here has me in a constant state of volatility. If things continue as they have, anyone close to me is likely to become collateral damage.
Mason nods in understanding, and before he can ask any more questions about my ex, I quickly pivot to discuss business.
“Hey, any word on that shipment?”
He frowns, the look on his face making it clear how he feels about the task I set him to. “It should arrive this afternoon.”
“Good.”
“Is it?” Mason challenges, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “No honorable wolf fights their battles with bullets.”
He’s right, we don’t- but the circumstances with the hunters are extenuating ones, which is why the council came to the tough decision to procure firearms for the squad. I asked Mason to exploit his connections with a shifter pack in Chicago in order to get them- one that notoriously dips their paws in all sorts of illegal shit. Rumor has it they’ve got ties to the mob, which is why they’re able to get ahold of anything,for a price. That part was tougher to swallow than the guns themselves, considering our packs’ coffers aren’t as thick as they once were since the ski resort shut down. Luckily, we had enough funds squirreled away and made smart investments to keep us afloat over the last decade, but we had to liquidate one of those investments to pay for artillery.
“I get it, Mase, but we can’t bring fangs to a gun fight. We’ll lose.”
His frown deepens, though he doesn’t disagree. He may not like it, but he knows we’ll be at a disadvantage against the hunters if we rely solely upon brute strength against their rifles.
“The council already approved it,” I add, a thinly veiled reminder that he doesn’t have a say in the matter. “And we’re not just handing out guns and turning people loose with them, we’ll make sure everyone has the proper safety training.”
“I’m still not comfortable with it,” Mason grumbles.
“Comfortable with what?” Norah asks as she saunters into the room, her hazel-eyed gaze sliding between us.
He looks over at his mate, brows drawn in. “The guns.”
“Oh,that,” she replies with a wince. From her reaction, I have no doubt Mason has vented to her about his feelings on the matter more than once. “But I mean, we have to fight fire with fire, right?”
I gesture to her, smirking at Mase. “See? Your mate gets it.”
He cuts her a scathing look, but Norah deflects by throwing a thumb over her shoulder. “Hey, anyone know why Avery just came back from her run looking like she’s about to keel over?”
“She let Ares make her drinks last night,” I chuckle.
