Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 19

After coming out of the hospital, Terrence asks, "Alpha, do you want to go back to the mansion, or...?"

"Back to the Westside," I say absently.

The Westside is where Grace lives.

“How long do you think you’ll continue this …arrangement,” Terrence asks carefully.

I catch his tone and his expression conveys his displeasure with me associating with such a damaged

woman.

It’s a complication that normally would avoid like the plague.

But I don’t recall asking for his opinion.

Nor do I need to update my beta on my intentions.

“I’m sure you have a plan, sir,” Terrence says. “You always do. Keep our enemies close, and such…

Just let me know if I need to prepare our teams for whatever plan you’re setting up.”

“Hmm.”

Terrence nods and resumes driving away from the hospital. As we near the Westside, he slows down

instead of accelerating through an intersection.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Terrence points to the side of the road. “Isn’t that Miss Cummins?”

I glance sharply out the window.

In an instant I know it is Grace.

Her hair is swept up in a simple ponytail. She’s slender and working efficiently, sweeping the street

from the buildings toward the passing traffic.

She’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, but even still a delivery man on an electric bike doesn’t seem

to notice her. He clips her and Grace collapses.

I growl.

Terrence slams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road.

“Alpha, shall I deal with this?”

Terrence gestures to the biker who has sped away without even bothering to check if Grace is okay.

“Sir, do you want to find out who the owner of this electric bike is and make him take responsibility?"

I get why Terrence is asking.

I lost my shit on Assistant Director Curtis—and rightfully so.

The man had drugged and slapped and likely would’ve raped Grace if given the chance.

Do I feel the same urge for justice now?

Yes.

But I am not an Alpha who will be controlled or led by his emotions.

My grandfather’s warnings about my dad are fresh in my head.

“Drive on, T.” I resume flipping through emails on my phone. ”There's no need to worry about it.”

Terrence is stunned.

But he doesn’t question me.

The red light turns green, and he drives forward.

Grace is a magnet for trouble.

I might intervene when it suits me.

But this woman…she is not my responsibility.

* * * * * * * * * *

GRACE

My coworker Claire helps me to my feet. "Are you alright? Do you want to go to the hospital?"

I grit my teeth and stand up. These days, I feel like one giant bruise. My face, arm, hip, leg. I still have a

scab on the back of my head from Christopher.

There’s no bleeding on my ankle from where the bike clipped me. Although it’s red and swelling rapidly.

"No need. It’s just a bruise. I’ll be fine.”

“If the swelling doesn’t diminish, go and get checked out," Claire says. “ASSHOLE!” she screams at the

biker who has zoomed ahead without so much as an oops! or apology.

“What is wrong with people!?” Claire asks.

That’s a million-dollar question.

Rather than try and think about the overall awfulness of humanity, I just shrug.

“I’m sure he has somewhere important to be. Maybe it’s an emergency.”

She shakes her head. “You’re always making excuses for people.”

“Thank you for letting the driver know how we really feel.”

She snickers. “No problem. You know me.”

I resume sweeping and so does she.

It’s a cold morning and our breath fogs in the air. I used to love the cold. I loved running through the

woods and feeling the crisp air rush in and out of my lungs. These days, I’d just as soon not be outside

with the temperature below freezing.

The hours pass quickly.

The work is monotonous and mindless, which is actually kind of nice. I can track my progress, see the

end result. I don’t have to worry or take the stress of a job home with me.

At the end of the shift, I’m done.

I leave my cleaning supplies in my locker, wave to Claire and a few other workers, and start the long

walk home.

When I enter my apartment, I see a figure sitting under the light.

"Sister, you're back." Jay greets me.

I like the way he’s adopted our relationship.

I like the easy friendship we share.

Though I’m cold, the chill inside me begins to dissipate. Jay has a way about him that is vibrant and

warm. Not warm emotionally, mind you, but warm in the sense of energy that is strong and that seems

to exude from his body.

All I know is that my body temperature rises around him.

My wolf, she would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

It wasn’t that way with Sean, I realize.

But I don’t dwell on the thought.

"I'm hungry.” I hang up my coat. “Give me a few minutes to wash up and then I’ll prepare our dinner.”

"Okay," he answers.

I work extra hard not to limp across the room, but my ankle is throbbing something fierce.

He notices within two steps.

"What's wrong with your foot?”

"It's just a scratch. I'll massage it with arnica oil,” I tell him.

But in taking off my shoes by the door, the pressure that had been around my foot is gone and my

ankle aches really bad.

Sweat beads on my brow.

Jason purses his lips. “Sit down, Grace. Let’s clean it up now.”

Yes. That’s what I intend to do.

Alone. In the bathroom.

Where he can’t see me wince.

But I don’t get the chance.

Jay sweeps me up. One arm behind my knees, the other behind my back.

He lays me on the bed and props up the pillow behind my head.

I’m rendered speechless as Jay deftly rolls up the cuff of my pants and then peels down my sock.

My ankle is twice the size it should be.

He mutters a curse.

“It’s nothing.”

His dark eyes cut to mine, and they flash gold, like he’s angry.

“Don’t lie to me.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and then nod.

He holds my gaze a little longer as if to reinforce the command. My father would do that. An Alpha can

imbue a command with his powers so a pack mate has to obey.

My brow furrows.

“I don’t like this,” he says, but it’s more to himself. To me he asks: “where’s this arnica oil?”

“In the medicine cabinet.”

He disappears into the bathroom. Then returns a minute later and sits on the bed. He lifts my foot then

sits so that my foot is in his lap.

He presses his fingers into the rapidly coloring bruise and I wince. He curses again.

“It’s funny,” I say. “I always took my wolf for granted until she wasn’t with me any more. I’d shift and

she’d heal me and I never gave much thought to bruises or minor injuries like this.” Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“This isn’t minor.”

“Compared to what I was dealt in prison it is.” I regret the words the minute the leave my mouth.

Jay’s gaze swings to mine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow. “What the hell did I say about not lying to me.”