Page 40 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Ares

The vibration of my phone on the nightstand yanks me out of sleep, but I pretend not to hear it.

Instead, I roll over and reach for Miley, my body moving before my brain catches up.

She lets out a soft, sleepy groan as I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back against me, her ass settling perfectly against my morning wood.

Good morning, indeed.

I’m getting way too used to this. Waking up wrapped around her, breathing in her freesia and vanilla scent, pretending for a few quiet hours each morning that the world isn’t a flaming shitstorm and we’re not living on a clock that’s about to run out.

In this bed, she lets her armor slip. No snapping, no power plays.

Just her. Just us. And if I could bottle that peace up and drink it straight, I would.

But I can’t. Because last night I came home and found her shaken to her core, reminding me exactly why she can’t stay here. Why I have to get her out, and why I can’t go with her.

We’re living on borrowed time, and every second ticks louder than the last.

I slide my hand up beneath the hem of her silk cami, cupping one of her perfect tits as I nuzzle into the curve of her neck. Her scent curls around me like smoke and my wolf stirs, hungry and possessive.

Miley hums sweetly, pushing her ass back against my cock and making it twitch with interest. I flick my thumb over her nipple and press a lazy kiss to her shoulder, pulsing my hips.

My phone buzzes again, loud and persistent.

“Don’t you need to get that?” she rasps, voice thick with sleep.

“Nah,” I murmur, still shamelessly grinding against her. “It can wait.”

I give her nipple a light pinch, coaxing a gasp from her lips. She arches into me, then promptly ruins the moment when she asks, “But what if it’s Alpha?”

I freeze.

Yep, the thought of her father is definitely a boner killer.

“We don’t need to give him any more reasons to keep us under a microscope,” she mumbles, rolling over to face me. Her fingertips brush over the sharp edge of my jaw with surprising tenderness, violet-grey eyes locking with mine. “Just check it.”

I groan dramatically, flopping onto my back and reaching over to paw for my phone on the nightstand. I swipe it up and the screen illuminates like the wrath of god, momentarily blinding me. I squint at it, blinking through the assault on my eyeballs.

All caps. Flagged urgent.

Fucking fantastic.

I open the message, skimming the job assignment. It’s nothing out of the ordinary– just another bullshit task meant to remind me who’s got their boot on my neck.

I keep scrolling through the details, and when I hit the final line, my blood pressure spikes.

PROTECTION DETAIL – ELIAS BURKE

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Detroit’s finest, in town right before the full moon. This can’t be a coincidence. Alpha’s been jerking my chain nonstop, but dragging Burke back into the picture? That’s next-level petty. The kind of chess move that tells me he’s not just playing the game– he’s gunning for checkmate.

I thumb off the screen and toss my phone back onto the nightstand, half tempted to smash it into oblivion. My wolf’s already pacing, hackles up. But I’ve got to stay sharp, clean, obedient– at least for another couple weeks. Long enough to pull of Miley’s escape plan.

Which means today, I get to play bodyguard for the asshole who was supposed to claim her .

“What is it?” she asks quietly, her warm palm landing on my arm.

I drag myself upright, running a hand through my hair. “Protection detail. I’ve gotta be in the lobby in ten.”

I don’t tell her who I’m babysitting. No point in ruining both our mornings.

Her brows pinch, lips drawing into a frown. “He’s doing this on purpose.”

I reach over and smooth the crease between her eyes, forcing a smile. “I know. But it’ll take more than a shitty assignment to break me.” Leaning in, I plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” she mumbles.

“No promises,” I grin.

Because there’s a certain someone I’d really, really like to kill today.

She curls back into the duvet, eyes fluttering shut, and I let myself watch her for just a second longer. My girl. My fake mate. The realest thing in my life.

Then I toss the covers back and get moving, dressing quickly, strapping a handgun into my waistband, and giving my inner wolf a pep talk on the elevator ride down.

Stay cool. Stay quiet. This doesn’t have to end with blood.

The lobby’s all marble and menace when I step out, a few enforcers and other pack members milling around.

Some look my way, others pretend not to.

Which is fine. The few guys that were friendly when I first arrived stopped talking to me right after the announcement came out about me and Miley.

Guess the other enforcers no longer consider me one of them, but I didn’t come here to make friends anyways.

I spot Elias Burke– the embodiment of smug entitlement– leaning against the security desk across the lobby like he owns the place.

He’s dressed like a wannabe mobster in a slick suit, hair shellacked and aviators perched on the bridge of his nose like he’s starring in his own low-budget action movie.

He’s a good four inches shorter than me, but puffs up like a rooster in a cockfight when he sees me strolling over .

I come to a stop in front of him, shoving my hands into my pockets. “So, where to?”

He yanks off his sunglasses, giving me a look that would curdle milk. “You’re late.”

I lazily glance down at my watch. “Right on time, actually.”

“You’re late if I say you’re late,” he snaps, giving me a slow once-over like he’s trying to find something to insult. “Do I need to spell out the job for you?”

I flash him a grin. “Please do. I love it when lesser men try to explain things to me.”

His wolf surges to the surface, eyes flashing gold. My own perks up in response, ready to rumble.

“I’ve got a meeting at the docks,” Elias grits out. “High value, potentially high risk. I don’t want surprises.”

“Docks. Got it.”

“You don’t speak. You don’t improvise. You follow my lead.”

“Sure, boss,” I snort, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my tone.

He glares back at me, then turns on his heel like I’m not even worth a reply. “Let’s go,” he snarls, stalking off and expecting me to follow.

I do, because I’m a professional. And because I’m well aware of what’s at stake in this game. I’ll jump through Alpha’s hoops, play nice while I have to, just long enough to get Miley the fuck out of this city. Then all bets are off.

We take Burke’s car– a sleek black Mercedes that smells like money laundering and midlife crisis. I claim shotgun out of principle.

He drives in silence, occasionally muttering under his breath about ‘amateurs’ and ‘loose cannons’, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I just let him stew, watching the city blur by outside the passenger window.

It’s only when we hit the outer ring of the city that he finally turns to me, jaw clenched so hard he’s at risk of cracking a tooth. “You still playing at fated mates with my girl?” he growls, completely out of nowhere .

My lips twitch. “You mean my girl?” I ask, slowly turning to glance his way. “Careful, Burke. Your jealousy’s showing.”

He makes a scoffing sound in his throat, rolling his eyes. “Girls like her are a dime a dozen. From what I hear, she’s a nightmare, so maybe I should be thanking you from taking her off my hands.”

My hands curl into fists, but I don’t rise to the bait. I’ve got a lifetime of practice in letting shit roll off my back. I turn to glance out the window again as I calmly say, “She was never yours.”

He grinds his molars, obviously still stewing. “You wouldn’t understand, considering you’re from some hick town in the mountains,” he mutters. “But civilized packs honor their deals.”

“Every pack honors fate,” I fire back, smirking at my reflection in the window.

“Fate,” he spits like it’s a dirty word. He slams on the gas, the engine roaring. “Where’s the proof?”

A smug grin splits my face as I swivel my gaze his way. “She’s upstairs in my bed, sleeping off all the orgasms I gave her last night.”

He flushes red all the way to his ears, but he doesn’t say another word for the rest of the ride.

We make it to the docks without killing each other, but not for lack of trying.

It’s one of those industrial dead zones no one’s bothered to gentrify– just crumbling concrete, rusting cranes, and the faint stink of river rot and diesel.

Chain-link fences rattle in the breeze, graffiti bleeds down the side of shipping containers, and the water churns below like something alive and hungry.

This place has the exact kind of energy that makes my wolf pace, hackles up.

Elias parks his pristine Mercedes like it’s not completely out of place in this shithole, checking his hair in the rearview as if that helmet of gel might’ve shifted on the ride over. Then he grabs a slim black briefcase from the back seat, cutting me a glare.

“Stay close. Don’t talk. If anything looks off, handle it, and if I give you the signal, shoot.”

I nod, knowing I’ll do exactly the opposite if it comes down to it.

He slams his door with unnecessary force and strides ahead, sharp-heeled and full of self-importance. I follow with my hands casually tucked in my pockets, eyes scanning the perimeter. My wolf’s on alert, muscles wound tight, senses flaring for anything that doesn’t belong.

We walk about two hundred yards down a cracked stretch of concrete until we reach a recessed alcove near an old loading crane.

That’s where they’re waiting– three men in tailored suits.

Two are clearly muscle, thick-necked and glassy-eyed, while the third is a tall, thin guy in a silk tie, posture stiff and beady eyes narrowed.

They’re all human, but not the soft kind. These guys have the look of men who are accustomed to getting their hands dirty.