The Beast in Him (31 page)

“Do you know where?”

She sipped her coffee, those shrewd eyes watching Smitty. “Why you askin’?”

“Because of me,” Jess cut in. “Because I need to find him.”

“You know, he left something behind.” She stood and disappeared from the room, but she yelled back through the doorway, “He called about it a day later and I said I’d already thrown it out because I didn’t want him back here.”

Annie Jo came back in. “I thought it was strange he’d call about something like this, so I went through it. And found this.”

She placed the issue of Wired Magazine on the table. “Isn’t that you, Jessie Ann? In the background? With the sword?”

Jess cringed. That damn article! They’d been pretty successful keeping their names and info out of the paper until about six months ago when Wired did an article on the company. Far in the background of one of the candid shots, if you looked really close, you could see Phil and Jess sword fighting with the Roman short swords they’d just ordered. Watching and laughing were Danny, May, and Sabina. When they saw the photo they all figured no one would notice them in the back like that.

Then the woman in Human Resources said they were getting in a ton of résumés because of that one article. Why? Because everyone saw the “owners” sword fighting in the background. In other words, “What a cool place to work!”

Great for their employee pool, but bad now that they had losers like Walt Wilson coming into their lives.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

“But he circled her.” She pointed at the black marker circle around May. “Why?”

If they needed her help, they’d have to be honest with her. Annie Jo needed to know why she should rat out family.

“That’s Maylin. She’s part of my Pack. She got pregnant sixteen years ago by Wilson. But he doesn’t care. He wants money and he’s using her daughter as leverage.”

Annie Jo sat down again. “Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that. The Wilson males are notorious. They’ll knock a girl up and walk away in a heartbeat. Then they won’t have anything to do with her. See I was real careful because I had a scare once, when I was fifteen, and I swore never again. All I needed was for that bitchy sister of mine to find out I was pregnant and all hell would break loose. Besides, I never wanted children. So I always made sure I was on birth control and that any man I ever had sex with wore condoms. One thing you’ve gotta remember about wolf males, Smith or otherwise, is they can impregnate sand. As a female, you’ve gotta protect yourself. Isn’t that right, Bobby Ray?”

“She’s right. Which reminds me.” He patted Jess’s arm. “I need to have a condom conversation with Johnny.”

Jess’s back snapped straight. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Who’s Johnny?”

“Her foster son. A wolf. She’s gonna adopt him. But he just turned seventeen.”

“Oh, Lord!” Annie Jo exclaimed with a laugh. “Yeah, darlin’. He has to have that conversation with him. And soon. The Smith mantra—condoms, condoms, condoms.”

“Thank you, but I can have that conversation with my son.”

Annie Jo rolled her eyes. “Darlin’, you cannot talk to that boy about fucking. You just can’t. It will freak him out. Let Bobby Ray do it. Y’all are together, aren’t ya?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Now Annie Jo’s expressive eyes crossed in exasperation. “Whatever.”

“I don’t see why we need to discuss this now.”

“We don’t. But I need to talk to him soon.” Smitty smirked at Annie Jo. “Maylin’s daughter is sixteen and a cutie.”

“Oh, Lord!” Annie Jo exclaimed again. “Darlin’, you better let him talk to that boy or y’all are gonna have yourself a nine-pound, eight-ounce problem.”

“Phil and Danny can do it.”

“They’re wild dogs, too, right? They can’t tell that boy what he needs to know. You need Bobby Ray to do it.”

“Why?”

“Wolves are different. From, oh, let’s say, fifteen to seventeen, their aggression kicks in.”

“Johnny’s not aggressive.”

“He growled at me in the elevator,” Smitty told her out of nowhere.

“He did what?”

“If little Kristan hadn’t been there, he’d have gone for my throat.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was there to tell?”

Jess opened her mouth to start yelling when Annie Jo put a calming hand on her forearm.

“Before you tear his head off, you need to understand that the wolves and the wild dogs are different. They grow up different. You, of course, don’t count because you were the only dog in a town of wolves. But it goes like this, from fifteen to seventeen, male pups are aggressive to adult male wolves. They’ll take ’em on in a heartbeat and get their ass kicked every time. They actually need that sort of discipline and they don’t really mind. Of course, Bubba was... oh, never mind. But when they hit eighteen, their aggression turns to a level of horniness the likes of which you’ve never seen. They’ll fuck damn near anything.”

Jess snorted. “That’s not entirely true.”

Smitty growled. “I walked away for a reason.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

“He probably walked away for two reasons.” Annie Jo cut in. “One, because he didn’t have condoms. Bubba Smith beat into every one of his sons the condom, condom, condom rule. He made sure they had condoms in their trucks, in their school bags, stuck in books. Any place he could think of, and Lord love ya, but you better use ’em. Bubba didn’t want a bunch of grandkids running around since he knew his sons would breed a ton once they were mated. Unfortunately, the Wilsons just didn’t have that same philosophy. “

“And what, pray tell, is the second reason?”

Annie Jo smiled. “The second reason is, you were special, Jessie Ann. Everybody in town knew that. Why you think the She-pups kept coming after you? But none of that is here or there. Y’all can work that out yourselves because one of my students will be here in about five more minutes.”

Smitty nodded. “Where is he, Annie Jo?”

“The Bronx.” She stood and opened one of the kitchen drawers, extracting a pad. She tore off the top sheet. “Here. Take it. I don’t want that boy back here. But let me tell you something, Jessie Ann. The best thing Walt Junior probably ever did was throw that little Maylin away. Wilson’s mate, she can’t be more than late twenties, early thirties. But damn if she don’t look closer to mid-forties. They ride their females hard and put ’em up wet, with very little payoff.”

“She’s married now,” Jess said with true pride. “And her husband loves her and their daughter.”

“There you go. That’s all that matters.”

The doorbell rang and Annie Jo stood. “All right, y’all. Time to go.”

She couldn’t hustle them to the door fast enough. But when Jess saw Annie Jo’s “student” she could see why.

Jess didn’t know a lot of virile-looking twenty-five-year-old males who went for piano lessons in the middle of a suburb.

“Curtis, why don’t you go on in the living room and wait for me there. I’ll be right in.”

Devouring the woman with his eyes, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Annie Jo walked them out to Smitty’s truck. “Now, if y’all need anything else from me, you just let me know. And of course, y’all can stop by anytime.”

She kissed and hugged Smitty, then kissed and hugged Jess. But before they could get in the truck and drive away, she added, “And you be careful, Bobby Ray. That boy is a lot like his daddy, and you can say what you want about Bubba Smith, he fights fair. I can’t say that for the Wilsons. But don’t you forget they’re family.” She pointed at Jess. “And she ain’t.”

“Thanks, Annie Jo.”

“You’re very welcome. Y’all get on now. Good luck.”

CHAPTER 27

After parking a couple blocks away from the rundown hotel Wilson and his Pack stayed in, Smitty asked, “Should I bother telling you to stay out here until I’m done?”

Jessie shrugged, dug into her backpack, and pulled out a book, settling back into her seat. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

He grinned. “Now most females of my Pack would be itching to go up there with me.”

“Because they look for a fight. I don’t. I’m more than happy to keep my wild-dog butt right down here until you’re done. Unless we’re talking about a sword fight. Or a fight to the death in the Roman Coliseum.”

“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?”