37. Wolfe Dreadwolfe
thirty-seven
Wolfe: Dreadwolfe
The car crept up the lengthy driveway in the silence of Marianne’s not-so-subtle piece-of-shit Victorian mansion tucked away in Madison Park. The color of it reminded me of dead blood and the way it loses its vigor after sitting inside a body for too long. She probably chose it on purpose.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” Threx asked, eyeing the four goons walking the perimeter.
For someone people wanted gone, Marianne’s security was lazy at best. Either she did not like the idea of her personal life dripping into her sanctuary, or she carried the same spark of untouchable denial that came with wearing a crown.
“Yes. Also, I want you to return to the clubhouse and send Jessie to pick me up. Nathem is in charge while we are on lockdown, and by now, he is probably losing his shit.”
Threx clicked his teeth, giving me the side-eye.
“Did you mean what you said to Daphne?” he asked, still not sure where all the pieces would land. And in truth, neither did I. There was a lot riding on this conversation I was about to have, and no matter how I spun it, nothing came out clean.
“There are a million different ways this could go, and in none of them is she mine.”
I hated the words as they burned out of my mouth, clinging to my skin.
“Not true,” he said, clearing his throat as he took a breath. “Because Daph won’t go down without a fight, and to her, you’re worth it.”
I blinked, pulling on my gloves.
“Do me a favor and convince her that I am not.”
“No fucking way.” He smiled. “They’ll sweep you,” he added, changing the subject. “Are you wearing your special shoes?”
No one ever checked Converse. It was the primary reason I wore them so often. Well, that and I liked how they felt on my feet. Years ago, I had a custom gun made that fit into a removable sole, just in case. It was small, but it got the job done.
“Yeah.” I took a breath and pulled a fresh hoodie over my head.
“Who has dinner at midnight?” Threx arched a brow, trying to keep me steady, but I wasn’t afraid.
This had nothing to do with fear. While Daphne might exist outside the realm of cold logic, this was my playground.
Here, I was the mathematician, and as long as I played the correct numbers, I would win either way.
“Be smart,” Threx coached, his voice cleaving through the icy silence that swept through the vehicle, and I smiled. This was his version of a pep talk. A shitty one, but I appreciated it.
“You too,” I mumbled back. “And if shit goes down, get our guys out. Give them a head start. Don’t let those fuckers take us.”
“Okay,” he said, low, almost tired, as he kicked the car into reverse, and I met the frigid, wet air of Seattle.
“Wolfe!” A man in a tailored suit stepped forward. “She’s been waiting for you. Come with me.”
I gave a brief nod and slammed the door, following one of her goons like the little dog she wanted me to be.
“Right through here,” he stated, and I narrowed my eyes. I had visited her home many times, but she had never led me through a side entrance to a staircase before.
“I am not taking another fucking step until you tell me where this leads,” I said, crossing my arms and halting in the doorway.
The man turned in the low light, keeping his posture relaxed as he smiled.
“It is a direct passage to her chambers in the East Wing.”
Fucking chambers. In the East Wing. Because we were in feudal England, and this extortionate whoremonger was a princess. Ha! More like the fucking devil in a crown made of teeth.
“Her bedroom,” I corrected, grumbling. “And is there a reason she called for her meeting in her private quarters?” I asked, adjusting my tone to match his.
“I am sure she has one, but I am afraid I am not privy to her internal motivations. I simply do as I am told.”
“And you are content with that level of existence?” I prodded, following him up the poorly lit steps to the upper level.
“Not in the slightest,” he smiled at me before pointing to a taped line before her door. “Entry requires a search. It is standard procedure, you understand.”
I didn’t argue when a single guard stepped forward from the shadows and patted me down. His fingers fell over my chest, to my pockets, to the space between my legs.
“If you stay there any longer, I will assume you want to suck it,” I glanced down at the twenty-something with his hands on my balls. “If I wanted to hide a firearm, it would not be inside my nutsack.”
The guard’s eyes flashed, and he dropped his grip, staring at my shoes before standing.
“All clear,” he mouthed, rising to look me over.
“Very well," my escort nodded, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand, watching me step through.
Marianne’s room was every shade of pink imaginable. Pale pink valances draped her four-poster bed, and magenta plush rugs covered her pale, soft floors. My eyes swept left until I saw the forty-something, mostly naked drug queen bent over a café table, getting railed by her bodyguard.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she panted, her face sliding across the pink tablecloth in several ragged breaths. I swallowed down a gag; the thought of anyone else in that position but Daphne made me ill.
To get my mind off the image, I shifted to the guard by her hips, fucking into her mindlessly as if it was Tuesday. And for him, it probably was. The boredom in his eyes and his motions said he was there for his dick, and nothing more.
After Marianne came, or pretended to, she gathered herself back into the white silk chemise she was wearing and smoothed it over her waistline.
As with most women her age, her body was confident, maybe softer, less perky, but right in all the ways that screamed confidence.
It was really too bad it belonged to her, and that messed-up head of hers.
“Wolfe. Sorry, I uh,” she grabbed a napkin and swiped between her legs. “Got bored waiting for you,” and then put the cum rag in her guard’s hand despite there being a trash bin to her left. I made a face when he shoved it in his pocket instead of moving to throw it away.
“Fuck whenever you want, Marianne. I do not give a shit!” I yawned, watching her glide about the room before landing at a small table with a hand-painted teapot in the middle.
“Of course you don’t,” she flashed a stiff smile and pointed to the chair across from her. “That’s your M.O., correct? Nothing matters to Wolfe. Because you can’t hurt what’s already broken.”
“That’s right, Marianne. You have me all figured out,” I gave a relaxed grin, peering out the window to see if Thay had left. The driveway was empty, and the roof was surprisingly accessible from up here.
“Sit,” she demanded, brushing several sweaty clumps of dyed blonde hair to the side while she settled into her chair.
I glanced at the two goons in the room. The one who fucked was a large guy, but green.
He had to be twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, and the way he refused to look me in the eye told me all I needed to know about his personality.
The other was older and bored, often staring at the wall, as most men do when they’ve seen too much that it all starts to blur together.
Neither screamed threat to me, but I’ve been wrong before.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked as she prepared a cup of tea.
“I should ask you that question, since apparently this conversation couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
Marianne released a half-smile, twirling the spoon around in her cup. From this angle, she almost looked human.
“I have a proposition for you, Wolfe,” she said without looking at me, waiting for me to sit.
I lingered for a couple of moments, calculating the exits, running the numbers in my head.
“Wolfe?” she snapped again, looking up at me with nothing but venom in her eyes when I finally sat down.
“I suspect you found out that I was planning to acquire your little club,” she preened, straightening her posture. “Judging from the way the contractor went all kaboom.”
“It was a dick move,” I flashed a grin, folding my hands over my chest. I knew she wanted me to react, but this cunt would get nothing from me.
“Aw, don’t take it personally, love. It is actually a compliment. I’ve been doing business with your family for a long time. It seemed right to make it official.”
I didn’t respond, only stared into her black eyes.
“But now that you’ve gone and taken all the fun out of it, I wondered if you might entertain a different agreement.”
“Or you can leave my club alone. We’ve always come through for you. Why the fuck are you going around breaking shit, Marianne? Are you just bored?”
She let out a huff before running her tongue over the slick of her teeth.
“That’s simple, Wolfe. You’re getting too powerful. If I didn’t cut you down, Cross or Karsten will. Be thankful it’s me.”
“I’m not thankful for shit,” I growled, taking a breath through my nose.
“Be that as it may,” she took a sip from a sky-blue, hand-painted cup. “You and I both know, you can’t fight me off.”
Yes, I knew that.
“But don’t give up yet, because I might have something better.”
A dark, strange rumble fell into my stomach at the way her eyes brightened when she leaned across the table.
“Right now, I do business with roughly twenty-seven smaller factions, yours included, though none have the same clout or reputation. You and I both know that these men are green, ruthless, and can’t take orders worth shit!
This became apparent when the baby criminals’ failure to secure the perimeter led to the destruction of several of my houses last month. ”
I wasn’t surprised. Karsten was a dipshit, peddling untested drugs and falling into potholes that he created, but Marianne was a different breed.
She was fine at getting others to believe in her mission, but keeping them was never her strong point.
It’s hard to trust someone hollow, and harder to keep them when they’re not addicted to drugs.
“What does that have to do with me?”