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Being here sucked, that was all there was to it. Kayla already felt down because of the weird goodbye with Parker, and now she was stuck with these people who she'd been rather happy to leave in January.
At least there wasn't a party tonight—the place was more subdued. The only people around sat in the gazebo where Bronson strummed a guitar, his thick fingers moving agilely over the strings. Kayla tried to relax on a bench seat across from him, but Sloan was at her side, and all she could think about was Parker. That kiss. All fury and passion.
"You smell like a tiger," Sloan had muttered during their walk from the drive to the back yard of the mansion.
"He's a friend," Kayla said. "He drove me here tonight."
A friend. It was the truth, wasn't it? It was a truth that broke her heart, though. No more kissing, no more fighting, because friends didn't do either of those things—at least, they didn't fight the way Kayla and Parker did, with each argument leading to some kind of lust-fueled encounter.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Sloan asked. He clicked his teeth together in that annoying way.
Kayla nodded, distracted by her thoughts of Parker. "Yeah, thanks. A beer would be great."
Skimming his hand along Kayla's shoulder as he went, Sloan walked toward the cooler on the back patio, some yards away. Kayla smiled after him, knowing she had an audience, however small.
Other than Bronson, the only people in the gazebo were Colby and Carl, two wolves who she'd known before she left the Bitterroots. Carl had even been in the RCC at one point, but that had been sometime after Kayla left. Colby had shoulder-length blond hair that he wore in a ponytail. He smelled like wet bark and was bigger than Nolan, even. Carl had dark curly hair and angry eyes. They sat apart on a bench, cans of beer in their hands, permanent scowls on their faces.
Scowls, people sitting apart, all the silence...this place was so different from how it used to be.
Or no, maybe the difference was that Kayla had changed. This place was the same, but Kayla had seen something new, something better, in the Rock Creek Clan. Now that the RCC was free of Jake's toxic personality, Jameson had turned it into a comfortable place, with friendship and camaraderie. Even when there was tension between members, the clan as a whole still felt as if it was held together by a common, unified goal to stick with each other and thrive.
She sensed none of that here.
While Sloan shifted ice around in the cooler to find their beers, a woman came out of the mansion, long brown hair swinging behind her. She held a manila folder in her hand.
"Hey, Rhiannon!" Kayla waved.
Rhiannon gave her a haughty look, but that was nothing new. Despite the fact that Kayla and Rhiannon had at least talked occasionally before Kayla left, the two had never been bosom buddies. Rhiannon had ignored too many of Sloan's cruelties for any kind of real friendship to take shape.
"Bronson," Rhiannon said.
Bronson set down his guitar. "Yes, pet?"
The absence of the faint chords amplified their conversation, and Rhiannon shot a suspicious glance at Kayla before continuing. "Here is the information you want. The list is not very long, I do not know that you'll find what you seek."
She held the folder out to Bronson, but he grabbed her wrist instead of the papers and pulled her into his lap. Her eyes went wide with surprise before she made her face into a carefully schooled expression.
Kayla watched, fascinated—there hadn't been any interest between the two back in January, and when she'd seen Bronson hold a towel out for Rhiannon the other night, she'd wondered if there was something, but she hadn't really believed it. Colby and Carl didn't look surprised at the contact between Bronson and Rhiannon. When had this developed? And why did Rhiannon look less than completely happy?
Maybe Rhiannon was playing the alpha. Kayla wondered what her motivation could be, but she wouldn't get an answer anytime soon, if ever, so she simply filed the thought away for later.
More importantly, one of the papers had come partway out of Rhiannon's folder. Kayla flicked a glance over it and saw the words, Helene Public Library, Rare Books.
Rhiannon straightened the papers and Kayla quickly looked away.
"Colby, play us something," Bronson said, passing his guitar over.
Colby took it and strummed a couple of chords before fussing with the pegs at the end.
"It's already in tune," Bronson said in a sharp voice.
"Of course," Colby said smoothly, but Kayla saw him grimace as he played the next chord.
Bronson set the folder down on the bench next to him, probably to free up his hands for touching Rhiannon. For her part, Rhiannon smiled, touched him back, and even let out a soft giggle. But for all of Rhiannon's show of reciprocation, Kayla wasn't convinced.
Sloan returned with their beers, and Kayla tried to focus more of her attention on him. The folder was in her sights the entire time, but she knew it would be too risky to try to peek at it now.
Sloan spotted it, though. "What's that?"
Bronson shrugged, but not enough to dislodge his hand from halfway up Rhiannon's long, muscular thigh. "Some info Rhiannon found for us."
"Great." Sloan reached for the file.
"Not now," Bronson said, flicking a look at Kayla.
She held her hands up, careful not to slosh her beer. "You can say it, B. I'm not a Bitterroot anymore, so you guys shouldn't be talking about pack stuff in front of me. I'm not offended or anything."
Bronson wrinkled his nose at her old nickname for him. He'd always hated it, and she'd always gotten a secret sense of satisfaction every time she used it.
Nothing more was said about the folder. Colby continued to play the guitar, and Kayla got Sloan talking about his favorite subject—himself. Time seemed to crawl by.
When Sloan held her hand, she didn't pull away. But when he set his other hand on her thigh, perhaps inspired by Bronson and Rhiannon's pawing, Kayla set it back on his own leg.
"I should probably get going," she said.
Sloan frowned. "Feels like you just got here. You should spend the night, sweetcheeks. Didn't you say you were going to?"
"No," she said, surprised. "I never said that."
"I could've sworn you did. I really hope you aren't messing with me."
"Leave it, Sloan," Bronson said. "We can hear the truth in her voice. She never said she was staying."
Thank heavens. Kayla let her shoulders lower from where they'd risen defensively.
"Fine," Sloan said, "you want to leave, I guess I'll see you later."
Kayla could have stayed a few more minutes. She could have held Sloan's hand, led him on a little more, "explored the possibility of rekindling their relationship" with casual touches and fake smiles. But waiting for her back at the truck was Parker, and she had her own, legitimate drama going there, nothing like this fake one with Sloan.
What if she called it quits with this farce? Nobody was forcing her to come here and make nice with Slithery Sloan. She wanted to help the RCC get to the bottom of that issue with the sphere, whatever the hell it was, but maybe she could come up with some other ways to help.
She said goodbye to Bronson, Sloan, Rhiannon, Colby, and Carl, then began the short trek back to the truck.
Her heart started beating faster at the thought of leaving Sloan behind—for good. Because if she was through with this charade, it meant she was free. Free to be with Parker.
There was no question in her mind that Parker was the man she wanted. She'd wanted him since she first laid eyes on him, and now, it seemed he wanted her, too. A bit of a rocky start, sure, and yes, they had just, hours before, said they would only be friends. That had been a stupid agreement, and Kayla was looking forward to driving home with him, talking it out, moving past that and into their future as mates.
Mates. She felt her face lift in a smile. She and Parker belonged together as mates, and now that they could admit it to each other, they could move forward. Kayla wanted babies—lots of babies. Three at least, but maybe four or five. She and Parker could ask Erena to build them a bigger cabin so they'd have plenty of space for their little wolf pups and tiger kittens.
"Slow down, girl," Kayla said to herself. Her inner wolf balked at the notion, but sat down and sighed, content for the time being.
The black truck came into view. Kayla peered through the dim night, trying to see Parker's outline through the windshield, but no luck. She picked up her speed, eager to see him.
Instead of finding Parker, she saw a piece of paper tucked into the windshield. A note? Maybe he'd gone for a quick patrol as a tiger. She hoped he hadn't gone into the Bitterroot territory. Bronson would be pissed.
She hurried to the truck. She'd just climb inside and wait for Parker.
First, she grabbed the piece of paper from under one of the windshield wipers. Unfolding it, she read, I had to get out of here. Keys are in the ignition. See you at the RCC.
What? Kayla read the words a second time, and then a third. The meaning didn't change.
He'd left her. He'd fucking left her here...to drive herself? Did he even know what he was asking?
Taking deep breaths, she crumpled the note, opened the truck door, and tossed the paper to the floorboards. After climbing into the driver's seat, she carefully closed the door. The seat belt was cold and slithery in her shaking hands. It reminded her of a snake, but she carefully draped it over her chest and listened hard for the click telling her that it was secure.
Her dad hadn't buckled himself in, and his injuries had been too great to heal from.
Kayla and her mom had watched him die.
She could call Jameson. She could call anyone in the RCC, and they'd drop whatever they were doing and come get her. But most of them would be sleeping right now, and it would take them two hours to get here, then two hours to get back.
She started the truck and jumped when the engine came to life. Such a scaredy-wolf. She'd never make it back to the RCC territory if she felt like this the entire way; she'd have a heart attack and really cause an accident.
So rather than being afraid, she let her rage fuel the drive. Parker shouldn't have left. He had one fucking job to do—drive her to and from the Bitterroots. One job. Whatever was going on between them personally, he could have at least stuck around and driven her home.
The winding highway was empty, but Kayla drove well below the speed limit. Instead of a two-hour drive, it turned into three, then four. To keep her mind off her father's cracked skull, she thought of Parker and all the different ways she could skin a tiger.