Page 10 of Wolf

“I need you to come to my place,” Edge says. “Somethin’ that we got to talk about.”

“You’ve gotta give me more than that. Club business or what?” If this was an official meeting, it would take place at the clubhouse.

“Personal stuff. Stuff about you, man. Come on by. Right now.”

I don’t like being ordered around, even if it’s my VP doing it. I had six years of taking orders like a good boy. My teeth grind together. “What if I’m busy right now?”

“Then stop bein’ busy and get your sorry ass over here.” He sounds close to losing his patience, what little of it he has.

I smirk slightly. “I’ll come. Only ‘cause I need the distraction.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. Pretty sure I heard your yell all the way over here.”

I hang up on him and guide my bike off the curb and get back on the road. I still feel like a fuckin’ pent-up animal, but now that I have a destination in mind instead of roaming around at random, I’m a little more in control.

The house Edge shares with Harley is a small thing, not much bigger than my own. It’s a lot prettier though, with a fresh coat of paint and a wraparound porch that’s mostly new. Some of the old boards are still in place, mostly on the steps. Off to the side and rear of the house is an actual garden that’s surely Harley’s domain. Whatever she’s got growing back there is thriving.

Edge’s bike is parked out front. There’s another bike, too, and that one is a total piece of work. The rider’s fiddled with it to the point where it’s barely recognizable as what it originally was, the brand long since anonymized by all the layers of shit put on it.

It belongs to Tracker.

Tracker’s basically exactly what he sounds like, while also being a jack-of-all-trades. He can work any gadget, find any person, any object. He’s the closest we’ve got to a hacker since Cipher left town a few years back.

Basically, Tracker will do whatever needs to be done.

That’s gotten him into trouble before. He turned traitor at one point, got himself all crazy and drugged-up. Been rehabilitated since then, because Steel fucking loves to save every sorry rat he comes across.

The way his bike looks is a result of him constantly trying to improve on it with different materials and devices. I can’t even begin to figure out what most of it is.

I walk right up to the front door and am about to let myself in when it opens right out from under my hand. Tracker looks out at me. He’s lean and mean, but in a quiet, watching sort of way. Kind of reminds me of myself. Which isn’t great, honestly.

“The fuck are you doing here? Is it my turn for you to fuck up my life?” I snap.

Tracker gives me a lazy, unimpressed roll of his eyes. “I’m here to make it better, maybe.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“If you would come inside, you’d find out.” Edge calls out from inside the house.

I shove past Tracker, knocking his chest with my shoulder. He grunts and glares. I ignore him and look around the house. The potted plants and artworks hanging on the wall speak to a woman’s touch, though the furniture is sparse and well worn.

Edge sits in the middle of a ragged loveseat, in front of a coffee table that’s all covered in burn marks from having cigarettes put out on it for years. He was always the club’s pretty boy before I went away, and it looks like that hasn’t changed any. He’s got a face for modeling, mismatched from his massive frame. His hair looks like he went after it in his sleep though, buzzed on the sides and long on the top. Maybe it’s supposed to be some fresh take on a mohawk.

On the table in front of him is a folder.

“What’s that?” I frown at the thin folder, which looks like something that might get passed around in a thriller movie. Might have the codes to the country’s nukes or something.

“Sit,” Edge says curtly.

I remain standing while Tracker marches his ass over to a recliner. Folding my arms over my chest, I wait.

Edge heaves a huge sigh. “Steel would be the one to tell you, but he’s doing somethin’ with Leah and the kid today. I didn’t want to do this. Take pity on me, yeah?”

Thinking of Steel’s old lady and their kid makes me think of Julia and her son. I don’t know why, but I feel a spark of jealousy knowing she moved on so quickly. Sure she got married to that asshole, but knowing she had a kid with him so soon after we broke up hurts.

I march over to the loveseat, forcing Edge to stop hogging both cushions. He taps a meaty finger on the folder. “We all know your arrest was bullshit.”

That’s not what I was expecting.