Page 35 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Archer mutters. “But you know nobody gets in here unless we want them to. They’ll be safe.”

I swallow thickly, nodding. As much as I wish there was a different outcome here– one that didn’t involve Miley skipping town without me– it’s the best option we’ve got.

The one she wants. And the last thing I’m about to do is force her into another damn pairing against her will just to keep her close.

That’d make me no better than her dickhead father.

“Well, now that’s settled, tell us what she’s like,” Archer prompts, lips curving into a grin.

I can’t help but grin back. “She’s… amazing, bro. Smart as hell, tough as nails. Hot as fuck. She’s always got her guard up, but I’m slowly working my way in.”

“Can’t blame her,” Nash murmurs, swiping a hand over his chin. “I didn’t tangle too much with the Alpha when I was there, but his reputation precedes him. The man loves to flex his control, and he keeps his daughters locked down tight.”

“All the more reason to make sure we manage this situation carefully,” Archer muses.

Nash jerks a nod, turning to Arch. “Exactly. When he realizes she’s gone, he won’t just let it go. He’ll want answers, be out for blood.” He swings his gaze back to the screen, jaw tightening. “Ares, you need to be careful, man. No screwing around. This could put our entire pack at risk…”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, immediately going on the defensive.

“I know you do, I’m just saying,” Nash huffs.

“No more trouble, Ares,” Archer warns.

I roll my eyes, flipping him the bird. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”

My brother glares at me for a beat, then his expression slowly softens. “Miss you, kid,” he says quietly.

Nash nods his agreement, but he’s not the type for sappy. “Your sister’s been driving me especially nuts lately, by the way,” he puts in. “Says nights at the Stillwater Tap aren’t the same without you.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, and for a second my chest aches. “I miss home, too. ”

Nash looks like he wants to say something– maybe even admit that he misses having me around, too– but just lifts his chin instead, giving me a pointed look. “Don’t get soft on us, Raines. You’ll need your edge when this goes down.”

“My edge is always razor sharp, bro,” I fire back, flashing him a grin.

There’s a brief pause, then Archer speaks again. “Just keep your heads down and work on getting the IDs sorted. We’ll be in touch soon about more details, and we’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, man,” I reply sincerely.

“Stay alive, dipshit,” Nash grumbles as the call ends, Archer tossing me a wave before the video window goes black.

I let the silence hang for a minute, staring at the blank screen before grabbing my phone off the dash and tossing it onto the passenger seat.

Drawing a deep breath, I turn to look out over the college quad I’ve been parked near for the last half hour as I exhale slowly.

Students filter past, not giving my truck a second glance as they mill about the campus paths.

For a second, I let myself pretend that I’m not caught up in a crazy scheme, not risking everything for a girl I barely knew a month ago.

I just sit there, missing home, missing the idiots on the other end of the phone and wishing I could go back to being a dumbass with nothing more to worry about than the stupid shit back in Stillwater. But that life’s on pause now.

My phone pings and I glance over at it, finding a message from Nash waiting with the contact he promised to send. Richard Drake . I quickly save it, toss my phone back onto the seat, and flicker a glance at the digital clock on my dash. Miley should be getting out of class any minute now.

I turn my head to stare toward the glass doors of the Langley building– four stories of weather-stained brick and concrete where Miley’s Early Modern Journalism class convenes every Tuesday and Thursday.

It’s a few more minutes before the doors of the building finally burst open and a flood of students pour out, most of them glued to their phones or shoving earbuds in.

Even in a sea of people, Miley stands out. She moves different– back straight, steps deliberate, head on a swivel like she’s casing the place for threats. Always on guard. She’s outfitted in a pair of skinny jeans and fitted blouse, a silk ribbon tying back her hair like always .

She doesn’t see me right away. She’s focused on her phone, scrolling or texting– or maybe just pretending to– but then she hesitates. Slows. Her head turns incrementally, and I see her nostrils flare.

It’s stupid, but it still makes me smile. Even now, after weeks of this, her wolf can sense me before her eyes catch up.

Miley stops dead in the middle of the walkway, doing a slow pan of the block.

I swear she looks right at my truck for a second, then past it, as if my shiny Chevy is just part of the cityscape.

Then she shakes her head and heads off down the sidewalk again, seemingly deciding that she isn’t being watched.

Wrong again, sweetheart.

A smile tugs at my lips as my eyes follow her path to the bench under the big maple tree; the same one she always gravitates toward.

The same one where we shared cupcakes and kisses.

She slips her messenger bag off her shoulder and sets it down, still looking a little on edge as she sinks down beside it.

I finally kill the truck engine and step out, the air sweltering hot with summer humidity. Swinging my keys in a lazy loop around my finger, I stroll around to the other side of my truck, placing myself right in her line of sight as I lean back against it.

Her head snaps up. Violet-grey eyes lock on me. My wolf shoves forward with a possessive snarl.

Mine.