Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

I stood up and had reached out to touch his arm reassuringly when he stepped back.

 

“Wheeler, that’s not my intention. I’d never do anything so selfish as take him away from his pack. I care for him too much to want to rupture old wounds. But if I stick around, Jericho’s not going to stand by and watch these guys come after me. That’ll leave me with no choice but to skip town. I wish I’d never met Hawk—he was the biggest mistake of my life. Not because of what he did to me, but what he did to those women. To Jericho. And to you…”

 

“Look, I’ll tolerate you because I have no choice. But don’t expect me to be nice and warm up to you just because you’re sorry—that’s not going to happen. I may be in your debt, but I’m not going to let you drag my brother away from the only good thing he’s had in this life, and that’s his family.”

 

“I told you I’m not asking him to come with me!”

 

Wheeler shook his head angrily. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll follow, and you know it. Jericho had a fucked-up past, and whether you want to admit it or not, you were part of it. So don’t get the idea that your love is going to weather the storm. He’ll resent the hell out of you for making him leave his family, and he’ll go back to that same old bullshit we pulled him out of all those years ago. If you split, then do it quietly in the middle of the night and leave him a Dear John. ’Preciate ya.”

 

Wheeler turned away and stalked out of the room.

 

As much as I hated his abrasive candor, he was right. Jericho would follow me if I tried to leave; I was certain of it. But someday he’d start thinking about his family, and maybe that will be the fissure that finally breaks the dam.

 

I owed it to him to stick around and clean up this mess. I owed it to him not to bail.

 

When I searched for Wheeler, a light at the end of the hall caught my attention. It came from the room Hawk had kept me in. I heard the sound of Wheeler ripping apart the mattress and I shuddered.

 

The living room was small and insignificant. I sat down on the sofa and stared at the television, wondering how Hawk could have watched movies while I was tied up in the bed. It made me furious—it made me want to hurt him. But he was gone now, and I needed to let all that anger go before it ate me up like a cancer. It wasn’t good to hold in that much hate; all it does is make your wolf insane.

 

I stared at an ugly painting on the wall, one with puppies running in a distant field of weeping willows. Hawk liked pastel imagery, and this was a dark oil painting. I got up and stood in front of it, running my fingers down the brassy frame.

 

“Wheeler?”

 

“Busy,” he barked out.

 

“Wheeler?” I said more urgently, tugging at the immovable frame.

 

“Busy,” he growled loudly.

 

“Fine,” I yelled back. “Be busy while I’m looking at the drugs and money.”

 

The door slammed against the wall, and he rushed into the room from my left. “Where?”

 

I pointed at the painting and stepped aside as Wheeler gripped the edges, tugging so hard his biceps looked like painted rocks.

 

I ran my fingers along the frame while he scraped his nails on the canvas. Wheeler pushed in, and a clicking noise sounded before the painting opened up like a door.

 

“Slick bastard,” he breathed. “Doing it old school. How did you know to look at the painting?”

 

“Hawk hated dogs.”

 

“And he was dating you?” he said with a snort.

 

We both stared at the combination lock sunken into the wall. Wheeler was tall, so he leaned in and began turning the dial.

 

“What was his birthday?”

 

“Heck if I know. Try the address.”

 

“He wouldn’t be that stupid.” Wheeler turned the dial and it clicked. “Yeah, he was that stupid. Why the hell did you end up living with a pinhead like Hawk?” Wheeler stretched his arm inside the wall.

 

“What’s in there?”

 

He pulled out stacks of money and placed them in my arms. I almost squealed with excitement. Then he pulled out bags of drugs—a larger quantity than I’d ever seen before.

 

“He’s got compartments on the left and right,” Wheeler said, his voice straining as he reached all the way up to his shoulder and pulled out more money.

 

“How are we going to get this to Delgado?”

 

“Maybe we should keep it,” he suggested.

 

“No! Absolutely not.”

 

Wheeler shut the painting and smiled darkly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

 

“So you’re testing me?”

 

“Just need to make sure my brother isn’t tangled up with a greedy whore.”