Filthy rich werewolves novel Chapter 7

Jay’s question burns between us.

Do you want me?

I’m speechless for several second because I know whatever I say next, it till change … everything.

If this had been said by some other man, it would've sounded like they were flirting with me.

But when the words came from him, it was like he was just asking a simple question of "want" or "don't want” and I assume he means it to mean his presence here. I don’t read any ambiguity into his words, even if there had been, I realize my answer would be the same:

“Yes.”

He nods.

And I lay back down.

We don’t speak again after that.

Somehow, I sleep through the night.

I’m amazed by that actually, because I’ve not had a single night’s peace since leaving prison that didn’t involve nightmares of being beaten, shamed, abused…every finger burning with the pain of breaking and nails torn off.

I wake up several times each night, terrified or crying. My heart pounding and my mind a mess. I tried sleeping pills once—but that just locked me in the terror.

I’ll never make that mistake again.

But I slept last night and somehow, I didn’t dream.

I roll over to look at the figure lying on the ground beside my bed.

Still here.

Was it because of him? Because I was no longer alone in this room?

I get out of bed and squat down beside Jay to tug a blanket over him. I know he’s a wolf, but this apartment is cold. He catches my hand.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I feel awkward and not really sure how to act or what to say. So I get up and hurry to get ready for work.

Before I leave, I pull money out of my purse and leave it on the kitchen table.

“You’re welcome here,” I tell him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He looks at the money and then back at me.

* * * * * * * * *

JASON

I’m still sitting at the tiny table with its rickety chairs and wobbly tabletop after Grace has left the apartment.

I stare for a long time at the twenty-dollar bill she left me. It’s for food, I’m guessing.

When was the last time someone made such a gesture to take care of me?

Well, that isn’t fair. I have countless pack mates who would do whatever I asked of them. I have employees, servants, guards. Women fall over themselves. Humans, especially.

But they know who I am.

The power I wield.

The wealth and privilege.

Would any one of them have welcomed a homeless man into their home? Offered to feed him? Offered money they didn’t have to spare.

I don’t think so.

With Grace gone, the room is eerily quiet.

None of her light vanilla scent or somewhat nervous energy is filling the space. I roll up the quilt I slept on and then wash out the coffee cup I used.

I eye the apartment. My closet is twice the size.

I debate briefly poking around, but I’m hesitant to intrude on her space.

With one last look, I leave and close the door behind me. Already people are waiting for me outside. Of course they are.

I’m respectfully greeted, “Alpha Reed.”

"Let's go," I respond quietly.

A black Bentley pulls in front of me. I get in only to see that I’m still holding that twenty dollar bill Grace gave me.

For as long as I’ve been Alpha, people have only been looking to take money from me.

My beta, Terrence, meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. He’s smart and capable. Whether it’s in the boardroom or a back alley or brawling as a wolf beside me.

“Well?”

He pulls out of the apartment complex. “The woman who was with you last night is a contract worker of the Sanitation Service Center. She started renting her current residence here a month ago, and was just released from prison a few months prior."

"Prison?"

"Yes, her name is Grace Cummins. She's the ex-girlfriend of Sean Stevens—“

“Alpha Sean Stevens?”

Terrence nods. “Yes.”

“There was a pack dispute between Grace Cummins and a neighboring pack. Something to do with her grandfather.”

I can’t imagine that he’d be okay with her living alone or working as she did. This area is a neutral zone, but only insofar as we don’t bother with it. As far as wolves go, this is slum territory. A hotspot for outcasts and rogues and those lower individuals that aren’t a priority for the ruling packs in the area. “Is the grandfather alive?”

“No.”

“Pack affiliation?”

“Officially, she’s rogue.”