Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 19

  Rogue almost felt sorry for the bastard.

  Almost.

  The cougar laced his fingers together as he propped his elbows on the tabletop. “Boss searched for your information, Rogue, and there’s only one wolf who can give it to you.”

  Rogue nodded. “Tell me.”

  “Walker Solomon.”

  Rogue stiffened.

  Walker Solomon was likely the only rogue wolf on the North American continent who Rogue didn’t have under his thumb—and the one wolf he refused to deal with. The owner and proprietor of a supernatural casino near Amarillo, Texas, Solomon was a rogue werewolf and businessman. Aside from being Rogue’s only rival, Solomon was the craziest bastard Rogue had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

  If you asked Rogue, the rogue wolf was verifiably insane. Rogue had heard it rumored more than once that Solomon had been nearly poisoned one too many times over the years, and the rogue wolf had the reputation to show it. He was powerful, bloodthirsty, and an unpredictable son of a bitch if there ever was one, and Rogue refused to deal with that unpredictability. Solomon wasn’t a man of his word. He wagered the vast majority of his business dealings on card games—fucking card games—and at the Gold Tooth casino, the house always won…

  …and the losers left in body bags.

  Mae gripped Rogue’s knee beneath the table. “We can’t strike up a deal with Walker Solomon. He’s a criminal.”

  The cougar gave a dark chuckle. “Apparently you’re not aware of the company you keep.”

  Mae ignored him, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “He once killed one of the Grey Wolves driving the cattle to market, all because he said he wanted a fresh steak.”

  That sounded like Solomon all right. He shed blood without rhyme, reason, or remorse. Rogue might have had blood on his hands, but at least he chose his enemies wisely. His decisions were strategic, deliberate. Solomon didn’t give a shit about logic as long as there was blood.

  Rogue knew that firsthand.

  “The Grey Wolves?” A dark fire sparked in the cougar’s eyes.

  Mae opened her mouth to answer, but Rogue gripped her hand and squeezed—hard—the surprise of which stopped her short.

  “Excuse us for a moment,” he said.

  The cougar glanced between them, his eyes narrowed. “Of course,” he ground out. Slowly, he slid from the booth.

  Once the cat shifter was out of earshot, Rogue rounded on Mae. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  Mae glanced between him and where the cougar now stood at the bar. “What did I do?”

  “What did you do?” Rogue gaped at her. “How about giving away your identity?”

  Mae’s eyes widened. “I thought Boss was in your pocket, one of your guys.”

  Rogue growled. “In case you weren’t following, Boss is. But his lackey has a death wish.”

  Mae shrugged. “But you’re more powerful than him.”

  “You’re right, and he’ll be dead soon. That’s for certain.” Rogue leaned into her. “But secrets around here are bought and sold faster than a head of cattle. He may be no more than the hired help, but if he passes your whereabouts on before I smack him down like the fly he is, that will fail to matter.” Rogue inhaled a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.

  Between this and the news of Solomon, they were shit out of luck.

  He cleared his throat. “After that little raid your Grey Wolf second-in-command, Wes Calhoun, orchestrated on the original Midnight Coyote, many of Boss’s clientele have a bone to pick with the Grey Wolves. Not to mention most rogues are no fan of your brother. Now that this weasel knows who you are, if he can find a way to profit off that information, he will.”

  “You can’t know that he knows who I am. He didn’t say—”

  “I know from the way he’s been watching you ever since he left the table.”

  Mae glanced over her shoulder.

  The unnamed cougar lingered at the bar, a bottle of Sierra Nevada in his hand as he whispered to the barmaid, Trixie, and another one of the female servers. His eyes were glued to Mae like a hawk scouting its prey.

  The color drained from Mae’s face. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  Rogue gripped her shoulder, forcing her to face him. “I warned you to stay quiet, and rule number one of life as a criminal is fairly obvious: never give away your identity.”

  Mae gritted her teeth. “I thought he’d be smart enough not to cross a wolf like you.”

  “The more powerful you are, the more imbeciles emerge from the woodwork hoping to gain that power for themselves. He’ll be taken care of, but maybe not fast enough and not without causing a scene.” Rogue shook his head. “This. This is exactly the reason why bringing you with me was not a good idea.” He leaned back in his seat, nodding toward the exit. “Go wait in the truck.”

  “But—”

  He didn’t want her to bear witness to what he was about to do. Rogue’s eyes flashed to his wolf’s. “Go to the truck, Mae,” he growled. “You’ll be safe. My men are watching.”

  Chapter 15

  Mae shoved her way out of the booth. He was right. It was her fault. She’d come with the intention of helping her pack, but so far, she’d failed miserably. As Mae beat feet out of the bar, “Someday You’ll Want Me to Want You” by Patsy Cline played from the jukebox, the sounds of Patsy’s sweet voice ringing in her ears. Mae shook her head, still seething with anger. The woman had sure known how to sing those sweet hurt songs.

  Clutching the keys to the truck in her hand, Mae headed toward the back entrance.

  She had almost reached the exit when the blond barmaid drew her attention. “Hey, sugar.” The barmaid waved her bar towel to flag Mae down, calling out to her over the music.

  Mae paused, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t mistaken, but the woman’s attention was clearly on her. Mae hesitated. But from where Rogue and the cougar were now seated again, she was out of eyesight.

  Someday you’ll want me to want you, When I’m strong for somebody else, Patsy crooned over the loudspeakers.

  Slowly, Mae made her way to the bar top, curiosity getting the better of her. The fiery scent of whiskey mixed with dish soap from the bar sink thickened the closer she eased to the bar. The barmaid wiped the inside of a tulip beer glass with a microfiber towel as she gave Mae a once-over.

  “Is it true?” the woman asked. “You’re a Grey Wolf?”

  From her scent, Mae could tell she was no shifter. But she had to be something if she was in a place like this. Mae’s eyes flashed to her wolf. “What’s it to you?”

  The barmaid smiled, her grin as sweet as cherry pie and her southern accent just as sugary. “Just a word of advice, darlin’.” She leaned over the bar top, an ample amount of cleavage tilting into view. “If you really are a Grey Wolf, I’d stay clear of the likes of that one.” Her eyes flicked to the far corner of the bar.

  Mae followed her gaze, expecting to see the cougar shifter, but the barmaid’s sights weren’t fixed on the cougar. They were focused on Rogue.

  The hairs on the back of Mae’s neck rose on end. “And why would I trust some barmaid in this godforsaken place?” she snapped.

  She didn’t know who the hell this woman was, but she didn’t have time for games.

  The blond’s brown eyes turned toward her. In the dim bar lighting, they glowed a bright shade of amber. “Because this barmaid has seen a thing or two.” The woman set down the glass on the bar top with a small thud.

  “Bully for you.” Mae moved to walk away, but the other woman stepped from behind the bar, coming to stand in front of Mae as if they were old friends exchanging whispers.

  “He’s hard to resist. All that dark charm, the bad boy persona. It’ll draw you in, make you want him. You’ll think you can change him, but you can’t.”

  “I don�
�t know what you’re talking about.” Mae stepped past the woman. “We’re done here.”

  “He’s already in love with someone else.”

  Mae stopped short. She chanced a look over her shoulder. “And would that someone else happen to be you?” She’d suspected Rogue still held a flame for someone from his past. He’d practically confessed as much to her in the library. She supposed they shared that trait.

  The blond smiled. “Not me, sugar, but whoever she is, it doesn’t matter how sweet you are.” She gave Mae another quick once-over. “In his mind, you won’t hold a candle to her.” The barmaid eased back behind the bar top. “Just consider it a word from a friend.”

  Mae moved to step away again.

  “Oh, and sugar?”

  Mae paused, looking over her shoulder one last time.

  The barmaid flashed her a coy grin. “When you get back home, tell Wes and Naomi that Trixie says howdy.”

  The name drop caught Mae off guard. She stared at the woman, wondering what her connection was to her friend and the Grey Wolf second-in-command, but she didn’t dare ask. Considering Wes’s dark past, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Without another glance, Mae walked away, headed toward the back entrance again. Her mind reeled as she replayed the brief exchange in her head. The barmaid’s warning echoed through her.

  He’s in love with someone else.

  It shouldn’t have mattered to her. She wasn’t in love with Rogue—she barely knew him—but still the warning shook her. She’d been trying to push the thought of kissing him, of their night together from her mind, but the exchange only brought those feelings to the forefront. Every time she closed her eyes, she still felt the electricity that had passed between them tingling on her lips. He’d lit a fire in her, igniting something deep she hadn’t realized existed.

  Though it pained her to admit it, Mae wanted the stubborn bastard—badly. She had from the start. She didn’t have to like it, but the attraction between them was undeniably magnetic, and deep down, part of her had hoped he would kiss her again.

  So much for that…

  Perhaps it was better this way. Even if there had been something between them, there wouldn’t have been a future in it. Even if he managed to eliminate her pack obligations as he’d promised, if her brother found out she was literally sleeping with the enemy, she would never hear the end of it.

  Mae pushed through the back entrance. When she stepped outside, she headed straight for the truck. The Midnight Coyote was nestled in a small western town in the middle of who-knew-where that reminded Mae of a modernized set of an Old West shoot-out film. They’d parked only a short walk away from the bar. Still lost in her own thoughts, she stepped in and out of the dim orange glow of the streetlights.

  As she did so, the hairs on the back of her neck slowly rose on end. She could feel a pair of eyes on her, maybe even more than one. Rogue had said his men would be watching, but this felt different…

  Her wolf instincts rose in red alert. She glanced over her shoulder. A pair of large alpha wolves flanked her several paces back.

  Mae picked up speed, transitioning into a power walk. As she did so, the alpha wolves did too. Her breath caught. Whoever they were, they were following her. Mae’s heart kicked into overdrive, and she burst into a full-on run. Rounding several nearby corners, she disappeared into a back alley, trying to outrun them. Finally, she slowed, lifting a hand to her chest in order to catch her breath when a large hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” The alpha wolf stepped in front of her. His partner emerged from the darkness, shadowing him as backup.

  “Excuse me.” Mae moved to step around him, but the first wolf blocked her path.

  A sleazy grin twisted his lips. “Hey now, I paid you a compliment. Aren’t you going to say thank you?” He shot a glance toward his friend. “A Grey Wolf like you should know how to say thank you, don’t you think, Jack?”

  The friend nodded in agreement.

  Mae stiffened at the Grey Wolf comment. Though they were wolves, these guys had to be with the cougar shifter. In the absence of pack loyalty, rogues of different species occasionally banded together. They had to have followed her out of the bar, but she’d been too caught up in thinking of Rogue to notice at first. Damn it. She tried to push past the first wolf, but he blocked her again. She growled, allowing her eyes to flash to her wolf’s. “Move out of my way.”

  Jack snickered. “Looks like you’ve caught a live one, Clint.”

  “That’s okay,” Clint shot back. “I like ’em with a little bit of fight.”

  Fine. If they wouldn’t move, Mae would head back in the direction from which she’d come. The last thing she needed was an altercation. These idiots weren’t worth it. She turned to walk away, but the bastard gripped her by the wrist—hard.

  “Where you going so fast, sweetheart?”

  “Fuck off.” Mae snarled, fighting to tear her hand away, but he overpowered her. She was strong, but no match for an alpha male.

  Wrenching her toward him, he used his other hand to grip her by her hair. Pain shot through Mae’s scalp as he slammed her against the alley wall. He pinned her with an arm across her chest, his other hand still fisting her hair so hard her scalp ached. Mae’s stomach churned. She would have shifted, tried to show this bastard what was what, but a silver blade pressed against her throat.

  Clint leaned in. His pungent cologne filled her nose, and his breath reeked of cheap beer. Mae’s stomach churned.

  “No little she-bitch is going to talk to me like that, especially not a little Grey Wolf whore,” he growled. “I paid you a compliment. Now I expect something in return.” He yanked her hair, which he still held by the fistful.

  A sharp cry of pain tore from Mae’s lips. Fear gripped her.

  “How about a kiss, sweetheart?” Clint leaned into her, his mouth nearly shoving against hers, but Mae turned her head at the last second, his wet, smacking lips slobbering over her cheek.

  “I bet your lips will taste like candy,” Clint sneered. A humiliating chuckle tore from his throat, and his partner laughed too. The sound of their laughter at her expense slithered through Mae. It made her feel small, powerless. Memories of her disgusting uncle Buck and everything he’d done to her bubbled to the surface, bringing bile to her throat. He’d laughed too.

  “Are you going to play nice now?” Clint pushed the knife harder against her throat.

  Mae opened her mouth to cry out, but the sound of cracking knuckles suddenly cut through the night. Instantly, her attacker stilled. A feral snarl sent a shiver down Mae’s spine as Rogue stepped into view, his wolf eyes flashing golden. His Stetson cast a shadow over his face, revealing only the gnarled, scarred skin of the left side. The scars streaked white, barely containing the intensity of his rage, a sharp contrast against the darkness. As he stepped toward them, the rings on his knuckles glinted in the moonlight, lethal and threatening. His hands and those rings were a weapon in their own right. She had no doubt of that. She’d seen as much when he’d taken down the vampires.

  Rogue eased forward toward her attackers.

  One look at him, and her attackers blanched.

  Immediately, Clint released her, lifting both hands in surrender, still clutching the blade he’d held against her throat in his right one. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was yours, Rogue. I swear it.”

  Rogue didn’t answer. He came to stand in front of the rogue wolf, watching him with eyes so cold his face looked like it had been chiseled of iron and stone. Rogue lashed out, his strike so sudden and quick, it reminded Mae of the lethal piercing jaws of a viper. One boot to her attacker’s front kneecap was all it took. The crunch of broken bone echoed. Clint crumpled to the ground, howling. Mae gasped with immediate relief as her attacker lay at her feet, gripping the back of his knee and cursing.

  Rogue advanced past
her, his eyes focused on the wolf howling at his feet. He was so absorbed in his task that it was as if he didn’t even see her. From the look in his eyes, she had no doubt he would easily bleed the other wolf dry. His foot bashed into the bastard’s chest. A crack of ribs beneath his boot pierced the quiet night air. Rogue dug his heel in, forcing the man down like the dog that he was. The sleazebag was howling, clutching his now-broken ribs and pleading like the spineless trash he was. All previous bravado had escaped him.

  Rogue released him with a rough shove of his foot. He picked up the silver blade that had skidded across the ground. “Get up.”

  Mae’s breath caught. From the look in Rogue’s eyes, he wouldn’t hesitate to use the man’s blade to kill him.

  Clint cried. “Rogue, please. My ribs. I can’t—”

  “I said, get up,” Rogue growled. The cold anger in his eyes flared.

  Clint’s friend stepped forward to help him, but Rogue’s eyes barely flicked toward him before the wolf stopped in his tracks. “Don’t play the hero,” he warned. “Heroes die violent deaths around these parts.”

  The friend blanched. With a pathetic-sounding eep, he scampered away, running off into the night without a backward glance toward his comrade.

  Coward.

  But no more cowardly than the wolf rolling in pain at Rogue’s feet.

  Slowly, Clint managed to drag himself to his knees, still clutching his ribs.

  Rogue wrenched him up by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the brick wall he’d pinned Mae against. He pressed her attacker’s own blade against his throat. “What’s your name?” Rogue snarled.

  The coward refused to look at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his head was turned as if he couldn’t meet Rogue’s eyes, lest he find death there. “Clint, sir. Clint.”

  Rogue snarled. “And who am I, Clint?”

  Clint whimpered. “King. You’re king,” he cried. “King of the Misfit Wolves.”