Page 76 of Bad Blood Wolf

Chapter 29

Fifteen minutes later, they drove without trouble through a completely unmanned security gate, Xander standing in the back of the truck with the grenade launcher on his shoulder. Three minutes after that, they were standing in front of Timber Jenkins, alpha of the Nashville pack.

He was a big man in his forties, his handsome face starting to get a little fleshy, as if he enjoyed his food a little too much and didn’t exercise quite enough. His blond hair was tight and curly, his gray eyes cool.

Brody hadn’t had many dealings with Timber. For a son of Nash Jenkins, evil sonovabitch, he wasn’t too bad, but he didn’t have the rep of being an especially stand-up guy, either. Brody had never been in this particular office before—he was too far down in the pack hierarchy to rate a personal interview with the alpha.

He’d realized pretty early on that the Nashville pack was a lot safer place if you didn’t come to the alpha’s notice.

The office was rich and pristine, full of expensive art and polished wood and crystal and brass. Jenkins had on a cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up.

The crew was dressed in tatters, covered in blood and dirt, dripping muddy snow on the Aubusson rug. Flynn stood in the center and the others ranged around him, Xander and Sloan holding Bastian’s unconscious body. Brody had never been prouder to stand shoulder to shoulder with anyone.

Flynn jerked his chin at Xander and Sloan, and they dumped Bastian on the floor in front of the desk. Timber winced.

“Really?” he said. “Do you all have to act like barbarians? He’s bleeding on the carpet.”

Flynn glanced down. “I go with hardwood, myself,” he said. “Get a nice glossy finish on it, and you can just mop that shit right off.”

Jenkins ignored that. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, as unconcerned as if he wasn’t facing an entire crew, fresh from battle and armed to the teeth.

“Do you care to tell me why you brought me one of my wolves in this condition? That could be construed as an act of war.”

“Or not,” Brody said. “Especially since I’m the one that did most of the damage, and I’m a member of your pack.”

Timber looked him up and down. “The traitor,” he said coolly. “Why am I not surprised?”

Jasmin growled, and Brody could feel the rumble spread through the crew. Only Flynn was silent.

Waiting for him to speak.

Brody looked at Timber—his supposed alpha. He never gave a shit about me, Brody realized. And neither did his father. He’d never have lifted a manicured claw to save me. This is a pack in name only. They call me a traitor, when they don’t even know what loyalty means.

He stepped up to Timber’s shiny desk.

“I was never a traitor,” he said. “Your brother was the one who betrayed me—who betrayed all of us. He went after the alpha of the pack—not in fair combat, but by throwing in with that asshole Creston, letting shifter hunters do his dirty work.”

Timber narrowed his eyes, but Brody wasn’t done.

“Tyrone called everyone who he knew wouldn’t support his cowardice into an auditorium for a ‘mandatory meeting,’ hit us with knockout gas and locked us in your father’s fucking cages. Do you have any idea of the tsunami of shit the Silverlake pack would have brought down on us if he’d succeeded in killing Jesse and taking Rafe’s pregnant mate? You’re damn lucky Donnie and us other so-called traitors shut him down, or you would have lost this whole pack instead of a few million in restitution money. Not to mention that it was the right thing to do, which I know is a difficult concept for you. So don’t call me a fucking traitor, you pansy-ass corporate pecker who wouldn’t know pack loyalty if it bit you in the ass. You never gave a damn about me. You never gave a damn about any of us.”

Timber’s expression grew hard, and he opened his mouth to speak, alpha dominance rolling off him.

Brody didn’t care. He owed no loyalty to Timber Jenkins, and Brody Jameson, aka Monster Wolf, did not submit to assholes.

Brody leaned his fists on the desktop, crowding Timber’s fancy polished personal space, and kept talking.

“And then tonight, that piece of shit bleeding on your rug kidnapped my mother,” he said. “He spied on me, ambushed me, and tried to sell us to Creston’s buddies. Some underground lab called Gen-X.” Flynn had gotten that much out of Bastian before he passed out.

That meant something to Timber. His expression didn’t change, but Brody saw him swallow hard.

Flynn shook his head at Timber. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I distinctly remember that, as a condition of getting to keep the Nashville pack, you agreed to cut off all ties with any of Creston’s contacts, and to keep your dirty little pack squeaky clean. I’d hate for the Council to find out you haven’t done that.”

Timber leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowed, turning a fancy pen over and over in his fingers.

“Why would Bastian commit this alleged crime?” he asked. “Or, more specifically, why you?”

Brody stared at him. He’d kept this secret for too long—ever since he was six years old. He bore the scars of his shame on his face, for everyone to see.