“And you just lost me.”
“Like that’s new.”
Smitty gripped her chin, lifting her face so he could kiss her.
“Smitty—”
He didn’t let her finish, kissing her hard, demanding her tongue come out to play. When he finally pulled back they were both panting and Jessie had her eyes closed.
“When we get this done, you and I are going to talk.”
He stepped out of the truck and he heard her mutter, “Great. More talking.”
“What?”
She opened her book. “I said good luck.”
Walt Davis Wilson, Jr., was tired of the bullshit. Tired of the wait. Playing caring daddy to that cheery little snot-nose brat did nothing but wear on his nerves. He already had seven kids—pure wolves, not freaky tiny half-breeds—and he didn’t need an eighth.
But he’d run out of patience and time. He had bears watching his house back home, wanting their goddamn money, and he needed to get it to them sooner rather than later. So he’d pushed it with that wild dog. He had no choice. Especially when the kid stopped returning his phone calls. Usually she responded to his messages right away, meeting him all over the city for dinners mostly. But she’d missed their last dinner date and he hadn’t heard from her since. Bad sign. So he’d put his call in to that Alpha Female, letting her experience a little fear. He hoped she’d pay him off outright. But if she didn’t, he’d take the kid back to Alabama. They’d never follow him into Smithburg. They couldn’t be that stupid. The Smiths protected their own, that was a fact, and the Wilsons were connected to them by blood. In the end, they’d be better off paying him what he wanted so they could get the little brat back.
That money would change everything for him.
Once he paid off his debt and used whatever money was left—he had every intention of asking for way more money than he actually needed to pay off the bears—to start a business, he’d have wolves from all over Alabama itching to join his Pack. He planned to make the Wilson Pack as big as them snobby Van Holtzs or trash-talkin’ Magnus bastards. And he’d definitely make his Pack more important than any Smith. He’d show ’em all. Show ’em all just how powerful he was.
But first he had to find that little bitch. He’d try nice first. If that didn’t work... well, best not think on that right now.
He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him to block the smell, and stopped dead when he saw Bobby Ray Smith leaning back against the worn dresser.
“Bobby Ray.”
“Walt.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in the Navy.”
“I was. Been out for a while. I’d heard you were in town.” The big bastard shrugged. “And that don’t work for me.”
Walt didn’t know if Bobby Ray’s words pissed him off or the fact that the bastard seemed to still have a full head of hair. Wilson males went bald pretty early, but those damn Smiths seemed to go to their graves grizzled, mean, and with full heads of hair.
“It don’t work for you?”
“Uptown, Fifth Avenue, and Park Avenue belong to the Van Holtzs. The Bronx and Harlem are split up between the Vega Pride and the Armstrong bears. But Downtown belongs to the Smiths now.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want you here. I don’t want you on my territory. I don’t want you near my territory. And I can assure you the Van Holtzs, the Vegas, and the Armstrongs ain’t gonna want you on theirs.”
“They don’t know—”
“They do now.”
Walt took a step back in shock. “You son of a bitch.”
“Now, now. Let’s not get nasty.”
“We’re family.”
Bobby Ray stood to his full height, a good four inches over Walt’s, and casually walked over to him.
“I wouldn’t let my brothers come here either. Only them I’d hurt. So you’re getting off lucky.”
“I’ll need some time to—”
“No. Tickets are bought. Sissy took care of all that. Think of it as my Pack’s gift to yours. All you gotta do is head on over to JFK and you’ll be back in Birmingham before the stores close.”
He wouldn’t let the bastard push him around. No way. He wasn’t nine years old anymore.
“Look, Bobby Ray, we’re taking care of some other business first and—”
That big hand wrapped around his neck, shoving him back into the wall. His teeth rattled and his spine ached. Walt felt claws dig into the skin of his throat, and they kept digging until blood trickled down to Walt’s collarbone.
“Since you’ve never been known as a bright boy, I’ll say this one more time. You get your ass and your Pack’s ass to JFK airport within the next hour or I’ll hunt you down again and then I won’t be so nice. Do you understand me, boy?”
Walt stared at him, trying to think of any way out of this. He needed that money. He needed it more than anyone realized.
Bobby Ray didn’t say another word. He let his claws do the talking for him. When Walt felt one claw get dangerously close to a major artery, he turned his eyes away—since he couldn’t move his neck—and relaxed back. Submissive.
“Good.” Bobby Ray wiped his blood-covered hands on Walt’s yellow sweatshirt. “Now you tell your momma I said hi.”
Bobby Ray Smith turned and walked out the door. He didn’t even feel threatened enough not to turn his back on Walt. The ultimate insult.
Two minutes later, while he was trying to wipe the blood off his neck and chest, Polly June stormed in.
“Why did I see Bobby Ray Smith leaving here?”
“That bastard came here to push me out.”
“What?”
“Telling me he didn’t want our Pack on his territory.”
“Really?”
It was the tone his mate had. Not fear—something else. “What?”
“I’m just wondering why I saw that dog sitting up in his truck like she owned the damn thing.”
“Which dog?”
“Jessica Ann Ward. I figured you’d convinced her to come here and bring us the money.”
“She hung up on me. I was going to call back later after she let it all sink in. Are you sure it was her?”
“Yeah, it was her. I wondered why she’d parked three blocks away. And I wouldn’t have seen her if I hadn’t gone up the block to that little store on the corner.”
Walt slammed down the blood-stained cloth in his hands. “Where’s the rest of the Pack?”
“They’re still at the store getting some junk food and tequila.”
“Did you find the kid?”
“Yup, found all of ’em. They’re at this real fancy hotel in the city.”
“Good. Now get my momma on the phone.”
“I don’t understand. Why don’t we need to pay them any money?”
“Because y’all be paying them until Kristan turns eighteen. This was a better way to go.”
“The ol’ ‘get out of my territory’ move?”
“Yeah. You forget. There’s a hierarchy among the Smiths. I have the Smith name. Walt doesn’t. And if he messes with me, he’ll not only be messing with all the Smiths, he’ll be messing with all the Packs connected to us. The Reeds. The Lewis Pack out of Smithville. The Evans.” He shrugged. “Marty.”
Jess laughed. “God, we don’t want that.”
“Trust me. You don’t. Leaving you and your Pack out of this altogether was the best thing.”
“Okay.” She had no problem with that logic. The less involved her Pack, the better for Kristan in the long run.
“Thanks for this, Smitty. I mean it.”
“Anytime, darlin’.” He took her hand, holding it gently in his. “Now let’s talk about us.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been thinking long and hard on this.” Christ, again with the thinking! “And I know what I need to do.”