Dannika Dark - Six Months

Reno turned his back, ignoring the ruckus.

Wheeler slid in the seat beside him at the bar, shoving a deck of cards away. “You okay?” He eyed the new scar on Reno’s left arm as he reached in a plastic bag on the bar and pulled out a flat stick of spicy beef jerky. Wheeler was the only one in the house who ate that stuff and he could eat bags of it at a time.

“Just a scratch,” Reno said dismissively, taking a swig of beer.

Wheeler and Ben were identical twins. They looked alike in almost every way: amber eyes with angled brows, a strong nose, and carved features. They had brown hair, but Ben kept his styled neater than Wheeler, who wore his short on the sides and long on top, combed upward and every which way. They were six feet tall, which was a smidge taller than Denver but shorter than the rest of the brothers. Their build was average, but Wheeler had a tougher stance. He had a no-nonsense mean streak and had quickly gained a reputation in the family as the black sheep. Ben, on the other hand, was easygoing and always enjoyed a game of cards. In fact, he had entered a number of card tournaments and played the circuit. Everyone got along with him better for the simple reason he was less trouble and joked around more.

It was as if Wheeler was trying to sever his connection to Ben. He’d inked himself up, grown facial hair, and developed a serious attitude problem. He used to be a whiz at finance, working for some of the wealthiest immortals, but now showed no desire to go back to work. Austin had once confided to Reno he thought Wheeler might have been involved in a financial scandal, but they didn’t ask questions because everyone who decided to join with the Weston pack was each given a clean slate. They all had a past, but you can’t force someone to show you their ghosts. When a man wants you to see his house of pain, he’ll open the door and invite you in.

Everyone has a few dark years on them. At least with PI work, Reno didn’t have to travel as much, but he still armed himself. Shifters didn’t have official law enforcement, so PIs worked independently. Only proven crimes would go to the courts run by the higher authority, and that left the rest to good old-fashioned street justice. So Reno didn’t exactly have clean hands, but it’s not something he talked about. He’d seen a lot of shit go down in his life, and sometimes those memories haunted him in quiet moments. Like the fifteen-year-old runaway he’d found living under a bridge who’d revealed what her father had done to her. Reno could have driven her home and let her pack deal with it, but he’d understood the humiliation she would have to endure. No woman deserved to have a man’s eyes look upon her with pity. He’d taken her to a respectable pack up in Colorado and given her a new lease on life. The Packmaster had owed him a favor, so he’d assigned one of his best men as her watchdog. Reno had driven home and couldn’t sleep for weeks. Not until he’d tracked down her father and delivered a beating that man would never forget.

“I’ve got someone I need you to check out,” Wheeler said in a low voice.

Meanwhile, Denver and Jericho were in a verbal argument about who had the bigger dick, and who was the bigger dick.

“What’s it for?”

Wheeler leaned on his forearms, staring at their reflection in the mirror behind the liquor glasses. “Austin wants me to help Lexi get the business on its feet, and dammit, I can’t get out of it until I review some of the documents that dead human left behind. I found a couple of wire transfers I can’t account for. Large sums of money.”

“So? Maybe her boss bought a few cars.”

Didn’t seem like breaking news for a business owner to spend money.

“No,” Wheeler said. “I tried searching the name on the Internet and nothing came up. It’s an unusual name.”

Reno cocked his head, considering Wheeler’s insinuation. All Breeds had alternate identities. It was essential to use their fake IDs in human establishments so the Breed could keep tabs on them. Reno had once fallen off the radar after being arrested by human law enforcement, and his partner was able to run a trace and bail him out. Unusual names were easier to spot as one of their own. The Breed functioned as a completely separate society from humans. They had their own banks to avoid dealing with the IRS, their own jails, and their own clubs.

“Give me his name and I’ll see what I can find out,” Reno said in a quiet voice. “Are you going to transfer the Sweet Treats money over to a Breed account?”

“It gets sticky,” Wheeler said, chewing off a piece of jerky. “They’ve already filed taxes and Lexi is making quarterly payments. The only way around it would be to sell the business and start over. I talked with Austin and she can run it until she gets old enough that it might attract attention, then we can move it. It would make more sense to open it up on the Breed side of town where we have more control on leasing and don’t file taxes. Humans just love those taxes,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I don’t normally track down humans, but as a favor for a brother…”

Wheeler jotted down a name on a paper napkin and slid it over. “’Preciate ya,” he said, slapping Reno on the back and strolling across the room.

Reno glanced down at the name.

Maddox Cane.

That evening, Trevor and I whipped up some beef tacos with refried beans, guacamole, and tortilla chips on the side. Nobody cooked tacos like Trevor; he made his own seasoning and deep-fried the shells. When he had extra time, he’d make salsa from scratch and it was out of this world and over the moon.

As delicious as it all tasted, my stomach twisted in knots over the thought of meeting up with Sanchez later that evening.

Trevor and I sat at the tiny table, eating off our paper plates, listening to the radio, and chatting. We mostly talked about dream vacations. Trevor wanted to see a shuttle launch at NASA, and I’d always dreamed of walking along a sandy beach where the waters were as crystal blue as the sky. I’d never been to the coast and loved the idea of standing with my feet in an ocean that stretched across the world. Just the idea of it made me smile, close my eyes, and imagine the warm sun on my shoulders and the powerful roar of the surf.

“You’re a romantic at heart,” he said, pinching a heap of fallen lettuce and nibbling on it. “No one would ever know it because of the mixed signals you give out.”

“What signals?”

“ Slippery When Wet mixed with Library, Next Exit .”

I swiped the last of the guacamole from my plate and licked my finger. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Public Recreation, Next Five Miles .”

“Oh, is that how it is!” he said with a boisterous laugh. Trevor’s eyes danced with amusement. “At least I’m not falsely advertising. I knew you were a romantic the day you fell on your ass in front of the escalator and looked up at me with those dreamy eyes.”

“They weren’t dreamy!” I tossed a piece of chopped tomato at him. Well, maybe they were a little bit dreamy, but Trevor knew me too well. Sometimes people just get you, and those are the people you never have to explain yourself to.

“Your nose looks a lot better,” I said. Remarkably so. I couldn’t even tell he had been hit except for a tiny bit of swelling.

“I put some ice on it.” He arched an eyebrow and glanced at me. “It wasn’t broken after all.”

“And your lip?”

He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “That was just dried blood from where my nose dripped.”

“You still want to go to the party?” I asked, picking a morsel of beef from my plate.