9

  LEXI

  Grey’s waiting for me when I exit the bathroom. Arms crossed, feet planted, he stands framed by a window with the sunlight muted by a Roman shade. Refusing to acknowledge the fact that I find him handsome as he broods at me, I look away. Instead, I glance over and note the neutral bedroom tones. The space is furnished with a dresser, nightstand, and large bed, the last of which is covered by a fuzzy comforter and matching pillows done in a soft gray. Shocking.

  I turn back to my captor and do my best to appear unfazed by my circumstances—something that’s getting harder and harder to do as reality sets in.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “I’m not going to pee on your carpet if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He drops his arms, shaking his head as he makes his way to the door. “You’re more of a smartass than I expected.”

  “At least one of us expected this.” I glare at him pointedly. “Are you going to tell me what you’re planning to do with me? Or do you get off on leaving me terrified at all the possibilities I’m imagining?”

  “I don’t get off on any of this.”

  He seemed to get off on that lap dance, I remind myself. Even thinking it makes my cheeks flame with heat, but I refuse to bring that up now.

  “Then why kidnap me in the first place?” I demand.

  “Because, princess, you’re valuable. Whether you know it or not. And I need the leverage you provide me.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his words. “You must have me confused with someone else. I’m not leverage, and I’m no princess. I’m worthless,” I say, my voice twisting at how much I hate that it’s true. “I’m nothing to anyone. No value at all. Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve done all this for nothing.”

  “You’re Lexi Ryall. Or that’s the name you go by.”

  “What the hell do you mean the name I go by? That’s my name, dumbass.”

  I clamp down on my tongue. Apparently, fear makes me a shit-talker.

  His eyes flash, but his voice remains even as he says, “No, your real name is Lexi Giovanni. You’re the granddaughter of Franco Giovanni, the alpha of the entire mafia pack and the man who currently runs this city. You are his only living blood relation, and that makes you valuable currency in my world.”

  His voice is calm and matter-of-fact, but that doesn’t stop my jaw from dropping.

  “I’m sorry, did you just say mafia?”

  “I did.”

  So, the rumors are true? The mafia is real? And this asshole thinks I’m related to them?

  “That’s insane. Truly. I mean, I knew you were crazy for kidnapping me, but this story is just… I think you need to check your sources. I don’t even have a family. I grew up in foster care. My parents were killed when I—”

  “Was three months old,” he finishes for me.

  I scowl. “Anyone could have looked up that detail.”

  “You’re right. It’s in your social services file. What’s not in that file is the cause of death.”

  “Actually, it is. They died in a car accident, wise-ass,” I shoot back.

  “It does say that. And it’s true that they died in the car. But what the file left out was the cause of death being a gunshot wound to the chest. For both of them.”

  I stare at him in stunned silence.

  Four years ago, just before I aged out of the system, my social worker caved and showed me my file. The first and only thing I looked at was the little bit of information they had on my parents, including cause of death. It’s the only reason I know the story Grey just gave me is real.

  “How do you know that?” I manage to ask.

  My stomach twists with the idea that he might be telling the truth. But that’s crazy.

  “My sources,” he said, way too damn smugly, “don’t lie.”

  “Well, I want to talk to these sources,” I demand. “Now.”

  “Not happening. As far as you’re concerned, I’m your source for everything.”

  “You’re holding me hostage,” I realize. “Or ransom or whatever. Using me against this Franco guy.” Grey doesn’t answer. “Wait,” I say when he starts to leave. “Does he… does Franco know I exist?”

  His hard gaze softens ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “He’s known all along.”

  “I see.”

  Hot tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let myself fully believe his story. If I do, it means believing in a grandfather who’s known about me all along—and didn’t give a shit about what I went through to survive.

  The pain hardens into resolve. Fuck him and his resources, which are apparently extensive, given the fact that he runs this town.

  Pack, Lexi. He runs a pack of wolves in a secret city in the mountains.

  Ugh.

  “In that case, what can I do to help?” I ask.

  Grey’s expression flickers with genuine surprise, and I can see he never considered I’d do this willingly. Now that I’ve offered, the wheels are clearly turning.

  In the end, though, he shakes his head. “You think you want to help, but you don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

  “I know this Franco asshole let me go through a lot of bullshit when he could have saved me from it,” I say. “Whatever he did to you, it’s not worse than what he did to me.”

  “Look, it’s not really about him,” he says warily. “You’re the heir to the ruling family in this city. And my family is the only one with enough power and clout to stand a chance against yours.”

  “Your family wants to take control.”

  “My family wants to take everything from Franco,” he says, that same fury flashing in his eyes.

  “And you’re going to somehow use me to do that?”

  “We already did do that,” he corrects. “We took you.”

  “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard. I’m nothing to that guy, clearly, considering I’ve never met him.”

  “Never meeting him is precisely what tells me you are not nothing.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He shakes his head. “You’ll see. Whether you want to or not, you’ll see.”

  10

  GREY

  Franco’s a son of a bitch. I’ve always known it, but after meeting Lexi, I’m not sure I can continue giving him credit for the good shit he’s done for this town. Not if it meant giving her the life she’s had. The look in her eyes when I told her who she was, that she wasn’t actually alone on this planet like she thought, and then watching her realize her people didn’t want her… I might as well have kicked a puppy.

  Her offer to join forces surprised me, but the thing I can’t stop thinking about is how much I wanted to take her up on it. I acted like the idea was stupid but honestly? It’s what I would have done if I’d been in her shoes. Ally with the bastards holding you prisoner. It’s literally a survival technique I learned in my training during my time away. And she did it out of instinct. Or maybe heartfelt desire, I don’t know.

  Either way, it doesn’t matter.

  My father won’t allow it.

  I have to remember this isn’t my war. I’m only the one firing the first shot.

  When my part is done, I’ll vanish again, this time for a lot longer than a few years. This is not an empire I want for myself, not with Franco at the helm and damn sure not with my father running it either. Worry for Indigo Hills tugs at me, for its people who didn’t ask for this fight but will be caught in the crossfire nonetheless. I’ve spent years training to keep innocents out of danger, which is the irony of it all since I just put one right smack the hell in it. But I’ve made my peace with being the asshole. What’s proving a hell of a lot harder is wanting to finish what I started with Lexi on that couch.

  The minute I think of it, my body responds, muscles tightening, dick hardening. My wolf stirs, and the feeling of raw need ripping through me nearly brings me to my knees. This is more than attraction or lust. This is primal. I’ve never felt it before, and I have no idea how to stop it other than to give in—but that’s not an option.

  Instead, I stalk into my bathroom to turn on the shower—ice cold—and strip, stepping into the steady stream with a hiss between my teeth.

  My muscles tense and coil at the onslaught of cold water streaming over my body. Then everything goes limp—which is exactly the fucking point.

  I wash quickly and towel off before padding out and into the walk-in closet that attaches to both the bathroom and bedroom. The penthouse is kind of ridiculous and not somewhere I ever spent a lot of time before. Maybe a few times when I wanted to impress girls, but it was never home for me. It’s cold and empty—which is a constant reminder of my father’s nature and the exact reason I never came here much before now. But between the secure elevator entrance and the guards and cameras we have stationed around the perimeter, the place is a damn fortress. At least, locked in this pristine tower, Lexi’s safe from anyone else who’d try to make a move for her.

  My phone vibrates and I frown at the unknown number but answer it anyway.

  “Yeah.”

  “Grey,” says a soft female voice that I recognize instantly.

  “Mom. What—Where are you?”

  “Your father said you made it back.”

  My brows lift. “You’re talking to him again? You said last time was it—”

  She sighs. “My whole life is here, darling.”

  Something about the way she says it. “You’re back, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” There’s defeat in that single word but also determination. “You know how it is.”

  I resist the urge to punch something. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

  “You’re safe? You’re not hurt?”

  Her worry tugs an almost-smile from me as I picture Lexi actually inflicting any damage on me. “I’m not hurt,” I assure her.

  “Good. Listen, I know you’re in the middle of something for your father right now, but when you’re done, you need to come for dinner. I haven’t gotten enough time with you since you’ve been back.”

  “That’s because I was here all of twenty-four hours before the old man sent me out on this mission.”

  “And before that, you were gone for five years. You owe your mother a meal.”

  Her tone takes on a stern lecture quality that has me giving in to the guilt tugging at me for leaving her in the first place. She’s not the one I wanted to get away from, but she undoubtedly suffered for it.

  “Tell you what, when I’m done with all this, I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll drive out to that bed and breakfast you like. We’ll stay a few days, maybe go to a winery.”

  “Hmm.” She hesitates. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Trying to get me away from here.”

  Not here. Him.

  “I don’t care if you know,” I say honestly.

  She sighs. “All right, sweetie. We’ll go there. You and me.”

  “You and me,” I echo.

  A noise from Lexi’s bedroom interrupts.

  “Mom, I have to go,” I tell her.

  “Okay, love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I hang up, and my gaze lands on the selection of suits hanging in a row in my closet, all of them undoubtedly delivered here at my father’s request, but I step past them and snag another pair of pants and shirt like the ones I wore earlier instead. They’re more casual and comfortable, but they’re also better for tucking weapons inside them than a damned suit is. Something my father never understood or cared about and something I’m done trying to explain. He got me back here for one last job, but he’s not going to get anything else.

  After this, I’m done.

  11

  LEXI

  Grey doesn’t lock the door behind him, but the sentiment is clear. Alone, I prowl the bedroom for several minutes, my thoughts crashing into one another as I process everything he just told me.

  A wolf pack mafia.

  It’s a lot to take in, but despite the impossibility of men becoming actual wolves, it’s that last word I keep coming back to.

  Two days ago, I would have laughed at the very suggestion that I might somehow be involved in the mafia. Maybe because, whenever I think of the mafia, I picture guys with Jersey accents and gold chains busting kneecaps with baseball bats. I’m not that.

  But then, neither is Grey.

  And while he’s shown me no proof that his story about me is real, something tells me he’s not lying about the dark world he’s grown up inside. It’s in his eyes. Every time I look into them, I see glimpses of shadows and secrets best left buried.

  Grey’s the kind of guy who backs up his talk with action.

  Even as I think the words, a thrill shoots down my spine.

  Not that kind of action, I tell myself.

  Ugh.

  I force myself to refocus on the problem of, you know, being kidnapped. Even if my kidnapper is dripping sex appeal, I still have to figure out a way to get free before I become a pawn in his criminal game.

  There’s only one problem.

  If I really am an heir to a crime syndicate, then being trapped inside this room is nothing compared to what waits for me out there. I suddenly remember Grey warned me that being held captive by him was probably the safest option in this city. And that makes me trapped on a whole new level. Even if I find a way out of this apartment, I won’t be any safer; not while I’m inside the borders of Indigo Hills.

  Still, I can’t exactly sit around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for someone to show up and rescue me. That’s never happening—not to me.

  If I’m going to get out of this shit, I’ll have to save myself.

  Despite Grey’s warning, I glance around for some way out. Survival instincts and all that. But the one window in the room is locked tight, and even if it weren’t, I’m twenty floors up at least with no fire escape or even a ledge or drain pipe to help.

  Ugh.

  If I want to be free, I have to start by leaving this room.

  When my stomach growls, I decide it’s as good an excuse as any to venture out, if for no other reason than to test the boundaries of my cage.

  Grey’s in the kitchen, dressed in a fresh shirt and dark cargo pants that are nearly identical to what he wore earlier. His dark hair is wet, and I can smell his soap as I drift closer, stopping in front of the bar that separates me from the kitchen—and him.

  The smell of him alone threatens to make me forget he’s my enemy.

  “Figured you’d be asleep,” he says, eyeing me.

  “Figured you’d have locked me in that room,” I shoot back.

  “No need. Elevator’s fingerprint operated.”

  Damn.

  “So, I’ll have to kill you or cut off your hand to get out of here.”

  His brow lifts at that, but the lack of worry as he dismisses the comment and turns for the fridge makes it clear he doesn’t see me as a threat.

  Asshole.

  “You hungry?” he asks, taking out a carton of eggs.

  My stomach growls again, and I suddenly hate how I’m completely at his mercy. “I could eat.”

  His mouth quirks, and then he goes to work scrambling eggs like he’s done it a thousand times. I slide onto a barstool to watch, catching myself admiring the flexing of his forearm muscles as he whips the eggs, adding a little milk and some herbs.

  “So,” I say, trying for casual. “You’re in the mafia.”

  He nods but doesn’t look up.

  “What’s it like?”

  “The benefits suck,” he quips.

  “Have you killed anyone before?” I ask as he pours the eggs into a hot pan.

  He glances at me then back down again. “Have you?”

  That’s not an answer, but it’s also not the most important question.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  He looks up then, spatula in one hand, and meets my eyes with a level gaze. “No,” he says firmly, and even though I know it’s probably naive of me, I believe him. “That’s not on the table,” he adds.

  The way he says it makes me wonder if someone wanted it on the table.

  “Was kidnapping me your idea?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, which, even without words, tells me this isn’t his plan. It also explains why he’s not locking me in a room or tying me to a chair.

  “Here,” he says, handing me a plate of eggs and a fork. “Eat.”

  I take the fork, but I also continue watching him as he pours coffee and juice, offering them both to me. The longer I’m around this guy, the more I wonder how he came to be someone who’d kidnap another human. Because beneath his grouchy exterior, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy.

  Or maybe I just have Stockholm’s Syndrome already.

  “What?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been openly staring for way too long.

  “I’m just wondering why you really brought me here.”

  “Believe me, I’m wondering the same thing. I had no idea you wouldn’t have an off switch.”

  I smile at that. “I’ve been told I could talk a hole in your head.”

  “A deadly weapon,” he mutters, and for some reason, knowing I’m annoying him makes me feel better. If I can’t fight my way out, maybe I can talk him to death.

  “Seriously,” I push. “You don’t seem like the kidnapping type.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “And you don’t know me, but you keep calling me princess as if I’ve somehow lived a life of luxury despite being orphaned, broke, and alone my entire life.”

  He scowls. “You don’t know how lucky—”

  The elevator dings, and he breaks off, his head swiveling toward the entrance. When he looks back at me, there’s mild panic reflected in his gaze.

  “I thought you said it only takes your fingerprint,” I say, confused.

  “Mine or my father’s.” His voice is grim enough to send a ripple of unease down my spine. “Go to your room. Don’t come out until I tell you.”

  I slide off my stool and do as he says, some instinct telling me not to argue with him on this one. Just as I slip into my room, the elevator dings again, and I hear the hum of the doors sliding open. Leaving my door cracked, I hover in the opening, listening.