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Killian
Declan was right, but I’d be damned if I fucking told him that.
Getting my bike up to the pack house was a fucking feat—harder than I remembered. Maybe the recent rain was to blame or maybe it really was that my bike couldn’t handle it, but whatever it was, Declan laughed at me the whole fucking way.
“Fuck me,” I grumbled as I walked my way into a spot at the far end of the lot.
“I thought your girl could handle anything,” Declan taunted, parking next to me.
“Fuck you,” was the best comeback I fucking had. It only made him laugh harder. Jackass.
As I got off my bike, I took a moment to survey her. Overall, she looked good—dirty but good nonetheless. Even still, I looked her over once. Twice. Three times. Anything to stall as I anxiously stuck a cigarette between my lips and lit it. I inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill my lungs, needing the relief. Fuck, I was so goddamn nervous.
“Can I leave my jacket in your truck?” I asked, doing whatever I could to draw it out. The shit was going to hit the fan, and I suddenly didn’t want to be there when it did. All my face-the-fucking-pack mindset flew out the window.
Yeah, I was a goddamn coward.
Or maybe I didn’t want to repeat all the shit that had happened before I left, which was exactly what I anticipated happening. I couldn’t fight everyone at once. I wasn’t strong enough for that shit.
Declan popped open the door to his truck and said nothing as I wasted more time. Leaning into my wolf’s hearing, I tuned into the chatter on the lawn. Fuck, nearly the whole pack was around. There was no easing into this.
“The fuck you do to your bike?” Sam demanded. I glanced over my shoulder to see him, Finn, and Lucas heading toward us. “Did you tell him the path would be shit?”
“Do you think he listens to me?” Declan shot back.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get stuck,” Lucas said. He made a face. “Shit, I’m unlucky you didn’t get stuck. That would’ve been funny as fuck.”
“I told him I wasn’t towing him out.” He shrugged.
“The lot of you are real fucking funny,” I grumbled. Admittedly, the razzing was a nice distraction from the waves of anxiety inside me.
“Nice flannel,” Finn commented. Yeah, I’d worn the flannel Raven gave me. I wasn’t about to wear the t-shirt, but the flannel wasn’t bad. And at least it wasn’t red.
“Just proves I can wear this shit better than you fuckers,” I said around my cigarette. Granted, Declan and I were sorely overdressed compared to the three of them in their fucking sweatpants and no shirts. “Where’s Nolan?”
“Wrapping up story time with the kids,” Sam replied. “We figured we’d see how you idiots were.”
“You mean, you’d walk me up to the house in case shit hits the fucking fan,” I corrected. The silence that followed was palpable as my brothers looked to Declan for an answer. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“We don’t think shit will hit the fan,” Declan said quickly. “But, we all agreed that it’s probably best if we stick with you for a while until the shock blows over.”
“You didn’t tell them I’m coming back, did you?”
“That,” he began, nodding slowly, “and we didn’t tell them that you’re announcing your position in the pack.”
Oh, fuck me. I’d assumed everyone would’ve been on the same page when I showed up. Apparently, the same page was that no one had a clue about the shit that was going to go down.
“Also, Ginny’s dad is here,” Lucas said. I fucking froze, my blood running cold. “Ginny’s with him right now. I’m sure he knows. People are talking about the idiot who rode a motorcycle through the fucking woods.”
“Dick,” I muttered. Any desire I had for the back-and-forth banter was gone with the mention of fucking Phillip Goodwin. Facing him was the one thing I didn’t want to do. Why? Because I was guaranteed to not hold my tongue. He was lucky I knew better than to punch him. He’d have me arrested in a fucking heartbeat, and there was no way in hell I’d go to jail for that asshole. I pushed past my brothers. “Let’s just get this shitshow over with.”
“It’ll be fine.” Declan caught up to me while the others trailed behind. “Just hold your tongue, and don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“Punching him in the face is the line I have drawn,” I admitted. “And I wouldn’t fucking regret it. He deserves it. I just refuse to go to jail.”
“What’d he ever do to you?” he asked. “Maybe if we knew that, we could—”
“Do nothing,” I snapped. “You’ll do nothing. Phillip Goodwin is my problem.”
