Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Noah winces. “Videos are hard. Lip reading is only thirty percent accurate. Under normal circumstances my shifter senses and context clues improve that, but with a video, I may not get much.”
“I understand. You can only see one of their faces, but the lighting is decent because he’s under a streetlight. Will you try?”
“Of course.”
He presses play on the video, and we see Aiden Adalwulf in a long woolen coat on the sidewalk near Madi’s building. He watches it several times. “I think he said, How much does he pay you?”
Madi walks into the frame.
My wolf goes insane at the sight of her, and I nearly shift again.
Noah darts an alarmed look my way. Whether it’s because I seem dangerous and close to feral right now or whether he’s just putting two and two together about Madi being gone and the video of her speaking the rival alpha, I can’t guess.
Her back is to the camera, so Noah can’t see her lips to read them.
Noah watches it several more times. “He’s saying double–maybe that he’ll double it.”
He lets it play and rewinds to rewatch. “I think he’s asking if she’s fucking her boss.” He darts another look at me.
My upper lip lifts, and I let out a loud snarl. “He’s insulting her.”
Noah nods. “It seems so. Then he says something about a secret–did he tell you his secret?” He rewinds and reviews a few more times. “And then something like, he doesn’t plan on keeping you. I don’t know–the last part is tricky. He says that she’s smart or not smart. Not smart enough.”
The tendons in my neck harden, and I’m sure my eyes turn amber, but I manage to nod.
Good, I remind myself. This is good news. It’s proof it wasn’t Madi.
How could I have ever believed Madi would be working for Aiden? She’s loyal to the core. She may be defended, but she truly cares about me.
And I lumped her in the same category as my mother.
I couldn’t have fucked up more.
“Thank you, Noah.”
“Was it a help?”
I give a grim nod. “Yes. I’ve made a terrible mistake.” I shove my hands in my pockets. Some of my insanity has leaked away. I feel calmer than I have in days.
“But that’s actually the good news.”
Chapter Eighteen
Madi
Brick started calling last night. I didn't answer. It’s Christmas Eve, and I managed to drag myself out today to get a few presents for Aubrey, my mom, and Brayden, and now I’m holed up at the apartment.
Tomorrow, I will go to my mom’s to be with my family, but I am just not ready to fake holiday cheer yet tonight.
I heard on NPR that Moon Co’s deal with Benson was approved. Indira tried to call me a few times over the last couple of days, but I wasn’t up to chatting.
I did my part to get closure. I talked to Sully about Jerry, and I called Catherine to tell her what had happened and commiserate on our similar fates of being used by her pack to harm the men we loved.
Now I am done. It’s time to move on although I don't know what that means.
I have the money from the bonus Brick gave me, and I’ve saved a large portion of my salary, so I don't need to rush off and find a job. I can take my time to lick my wounds and figure out what I want to do.
My phone buzzes with another text from Brick. The first read, “Madi, please pick up your phone; then, I made a terrible mistake. Followed by please let me apologize.”
It’s tempting to answer. To hear the apology. My pride wants to soak it all up. But my heart just can't take it. The pain of this breakup was like nothing I’ve experienced in my life.
It’s honestly something I never, ever want to go through again. If that means I put my heart on the shelf and never sleep with another man or woman, so be it. I seriously can’t take pain like this again. It would kill me.
Aubrey walks in and throws her pea coat over the arm of the coat rack by the door. “Save me.” I thrust my phone out. “I don't want to answer his calls or texts.”
She stomps over in her combat boots. “I got you.” She takes my phone and walks away from me, her thumb moving across the screen.
Of course, my control issues rear up. Or is it fear of letting go? “What are you doing?” I call after her.
“I’m blocking him–that's all. He doesn't even deserve a response.”
“Wait.” I jump up from the couch.
She darts into the bathroom, closes the door, and locks it.
“Aubrey!” I shout, trying the handle even though I heard the door lock. “Wait.”
“Too late. All messages and voicemails have been deleted, and the number is blocked.” The door unlocks, and she breezes out, an impish smile on her face. She hands me the phone back. “Problem solved. He won't be bothering you again.”