Adrien's Mate

Sarah's Friend

Nowadays

Seth

My head is pounding like crazy as I stumble into the bar, late as f*uck. I mean, it’s only normal having in mind I am hangover and I haven’t had a proper sleep in days. Naturally, I am grumpier than usual. I guess I look more intimidating than usual too, because people pretend to be relaxed and chill when I pass by them but it just seems forced and fake. Most of them don’t truly like me but it’s not like I care. I kind of enjoy it when they are intimidated by me, by my bulk and my scowl. It reminds them not to mess with me and masks the fact that I really have no desire to interact with them anyway.

I walk towards the back door of the bar where the offices and the common rooms are, where my associates live. Not me. I have my own place because I am not comfortable with too many people around me, plus I like the silence and freedom my home on wheels offers.

Grumbling a little, I knock at the door of our leader’s office. Judd ‘Bastard’ Wilkerson is a vile son of a b***h and the closest thing I have ever had to a father. When my own mom threw me out twenty years ago he’s the one who found me and took me in. Practically saved my ass from freezing to death in that field near Redwind Valley and gave me a chance in life - to prove myself and earn my place among his gang, scratch that, club, we are rebranding now. And boy, did I.

I don’t wait for him to shout for me to get in, I just enter the office. My fear of walking into people’s offices is long gone. It’s been awhile since I have been in a room with someone bigger or stronger than me.

It’s a nice place, Bastard’s office I mean. Large space, dark walls, leather couches. The desk is a mess though - an overflowing ash tray, empty beer bottles, two laptops, a tablet. The guy’s been working hard the last few days and it shows. Bastard like his numbers and his order and does everything he can to make us appear legal. Like the kind of money our club has in possession could ever come from the legal business. The boss is a master at what he does and the general bribes are not the only thing that keeps us in the light and out of suspicion. And when things go downside, I am always happy to step in and remind whoever is making things difficult see reason.

As I slide in the comfy chair in front of the desk, spreading my large legs wide, because damn this thing is not made for people with my frame, Bastard’s eyes gleam at me with satisfaction.

“Look at our hero coming back from the battle field,” he says unable to hide the smile spreading on his face.

I smile back but I am not sure how it looks on me. Usually people don’t like it when I smile at them. Usually it happens right before something very bad is about to happen to them. My ex-boyfriends all used to say my smiles creeped them out, made them feel like I was a wolf on his path to devour them whole or something. Well, don’t go to the wolf’s den if you don’t want to be eaten up. That’s one of my truths in life.

“Did they give you hard time?” Bastard asks, brining me back to reality, where I am with him, waiting for my payment and a recap of what happened before discussing the next hit. It’s a routine we have. My services are rarely required but when they are we make sure everything goes to plan. I make sure of it. I don’t like surprises.

“They tried,” I grumble, reaching out to rub at my two-day old stubble. God, this place is hot. Doesn’t help there are no windows here. Or that Bastard is getting attached to higher and higher temperatures the older he gets. Well, it’s not like he’s that old. But he was reaching forty when he fond me twenty years ago and the grey is showing more and more in his hair, the crow feet spreading around his eyes. He’s still as strong as before though and his mind is as sharp. The bastard.

He chuckles at my words and his muddy brown eyes gleam with something that looks a lot like pride. I am not very good at reading emotion though so I am not completely sure if that’s what it is.

“Hope you taught them a good lesson,” Bastard says as he reaches to open the upper drawer of his desk where I know a fat white envelope loaded with cash is waiting for me.

He takes it out and passes it to me. That’s when the phone buzzes again in the pocket of my leather jacket. I take it out and hit the red receiver. Bastard’s eyes narrow at me.

“Some lover boy giving you new trouble, heh?” He asks conversationally and I just shrug.

I don’t like discussing personal business, not to mention I really don’t like pointless small talk. And Bastard knows it perfectly well. That’s why he does it, to irritate the s*hit out of me.

“Dunno,” I grumble as I put the phone and the envelope back in my pocket. “Probably some online seller thinking I care about the bible set he’s got stacked in his trunk.”

“Motherfuckers,” Bastard says spitefully.

I shuffle in my seat. My head is still spinning from the bottle of tequila I devoured last night, I am hungry and everything in me itches for a shower. If he thinks I am going to stay for longer engaging in whatever bullshit of a conversation this is, he’s really wrong.

“Go get some rest, Mutt”, he tells me and I struggle not to snarl at the name. I don’t like it particularly. I am more than my mixed blood. Even as a member of a biker club, which entirely consists of rogue mutts like me, it’s not all we are.

To the rest of the club members I am Slasher, which is also odd, because I like punching people, not slashing them. Too much blood and all that.

Anyway, I don’t comment on how Bastard calls me. He’s the boss, and I am forever indebted to him for giving me a second chance in life. If he says I am Mutt, then I am Mutt to him. If anyone else tries and calls me that way, he’s a dead man walking.

“About the next job?” I have to ask. I need some time away, to get a good rest and find a good f*uck too. That means at least a few days off-grid. Not that I mind the chase, the thrill of it and the control of the situation. But sometimes all I need is lay down and let the world move while I am watch it motionless, indifferent.

Bastard’s lips curl into a snarl and his eyes get this greedy glint to it that makes him the most dangerous person in the world I know. When he’s got his focus on the prise like this, there is nothing that can stop him.

“Well, I think we are gonna get some royal a*ss for ourselves. Heard they tasted splendid this time of year” he says with… is this pride and satisfaction in his voice? There is something else to his tone but I am not sure how to read it. It might be vindictiveness but it might be greed too.

Hiding my confusion, I raise my brows in expectation because what the f*uck is he talking about?

“What the f*uck are you talking about?” I say out loud when almost a minute passes and he looks like he’s waiting on me to catch on but I really, really can’t. Royals? Are we kidnapping the queen of England or something? Wait, didn’t she die?

“Lycans, man,” Bastard says. “The top of the food chain.”

Lycans? I still don’t follow. Usually we don’t care about lycans. Actually, all I know about them is that they live in their big guarded mansions and act like they are better than anyone else in the shifter world. I have barely met any lycans come to think about it. Barely even know how they are different than us werewolves except for the fact they don’t need to be bitten to start turning. Werewolves do. Werewolves have to be bitten in order the wolf spirit living in them to get unlocked. Before that we are just humans with a dormant shifter gene. Usually. I shifted without the bite though…

Uh oh, I am not letting my thoughts go down that spiral again. Not with Bastard here. Not a chance when he usually reads me like an open book. I shift in my seat with a grunt and steal a glance at him but he looks so enthralled with his plan, whatever it is, that for once he doesn’t notice I am getting weird.

“They’ve got money and are loyal to each other,” Bastard goes on now and his voice slowly drops dangerously low.

“Still not following,” I mumble, trying to focus.

He narrows his eyes at me and then leans back in his armchair. “Don’t worry, Mutt. I will deal with it. Just keep it in mind and be on call next week. Cool?”

“Cool,” I shrug indifferently.

As long as it doesn’t require my immediate assistance, I really don’t care. The guys will brief me when I come by later anyway. All I understood from what he said is I get to have an entire week of blissful rest and silence. Maybe some action between the sheets too as long as I manage to find someone easy and willing. Fine by me.

I get up to leave and we shake hands. As I close the door behind me my phone rings again, that annoying number I have never seen again flashing back on my screen for the umpteenth time in the past few days.

This time I pick up. Oh, that f*ucker is going to hear my opinion on his annoying ways.

“Oh, hey man,” a cheerful voice reaches me from the other way of the line. Something about that voice makes my skin crawl with gooseflesh. “I am looking for a Seth Radke?”

My eyes bulge with annoyance. “What the f*uck do you want?”

“I…” he coughs a little as if to clear his throat. Yeah, my tone got him unprepared. “Well, I am a friend of his mom and I would like to…”

My blood stills in my veins. My mom? My f*ucking mom? Some random dude calls to talk about my mom of all people? But I don’t have a mom. I definitely don’t talk to people about my mother.

And now I am rumbling with rage. Who the hell does this moron think he is calling me, bother me about that f*ucking b***h? I haven’t seen her or talked to her in twenty years. I don’t want to, I forgot she even existed. Yeah, not really.

I feel so damn angry all of a sudden, I am dangerously quiet as I grip the phone so tight it is a damn miracle it hasn’t snapped in two already. I repeat exactly what I have been thinking. “I don’t have a mom.”

“Yeah, well, listen, man, she… is not fine…”

“Was she ever?” I grumble, unable to stop the snide comment and not even knowing why I continue listening to him. If he was in front of me right now, whoever the hell he is, I would be beating him to a pulp already. I don’t talk to people about Sarah. I don’t let people talk about her to me. She doesn’t exist. If we were face to face, I’d beat him up nicely and then I might stop and ask some questions.

“I mean… she’s not well physically,” the guy continues, clarifying with a tone that a person uses to scold a dumb kid for asking stupid questions. “Your… Sarah wanted to see you one last time before… you know…” his polished voice trails off and for some reason I feel like my skin crawls with gooseflesh. I am angry and can’t stand it but… it’s not necessarily the unpleasant kind of goose flesh his voice entices. That guy’s got a very compelling timbre, I give him that. Teacher-ey, smartass-ey and yet, husky and thick. Go figure.

I start walking down the hall towards the main level of the bar, itching to get out of here and go home to a nice long bath with one of my audio books. The damn day has been exhausting. Not to mention that dragging phone call.

The guy who hasn’t introduced himself yet, so I don’t really know his name, goes on and on about Sarah, whom I don’t give a s**t about even if he says she’s on a death bed. Let her rot for all I care. Now, that horny little voice of his…. It makes me wonder about the face behind it, the man behind it. If he knows Sarah, then he knows what she is and what I am. And that could make things a lot more easier if you know, we happen to get acquainted on a more carnal level.

I am out of the bar and into the scorching hot sun outside, relishing in the heat as I grumble from time to time to what Sarah’s boyfriend has to tell me. Suddenly, I stop in my tracks. I admit, I am not listening to a damn thing he says, I am too tired to focus and the effort to try and decipher only based on his tone if what he says is genuine or sarcastic, or whatever, is not worth it, but wait a damn minute.

“Who did you say you were again?” I interrupt him mid-sentence and I can hear him gasp, like holding his breath impatiently or something.

He swallows audibly and takes a breath and I can imagine it is because he wants to calm down before he speaks again. Yeah, I know that I am a rude boorish dude who happens to irritate people with my lack of social manners. But f*uck him and his posh accent that does things to my insides, while he talks about Sarah of all people, only because… well, it is hot. And I have never heard another person speak in such manner before. It’s so damn foreign to me it feels like he learned it in another country. Or on another continent. Royal. That same word Bastard just dropped back in there comes to mind. Yeah, that’s how Sarah’s friend sounds. Where the f*uck did trash like her manage to snatch a royal boyfriend, huh? Go figure.

“I am Adrien… uhm, Adrien Valentine. I am… well, I help the current alpha settle things back here,” the posh voice tells me, the sound of it bringing another set of gooseflesh over my skin. He sounds… impatient? My lips curl into a smile. “So, do you think you can make it?”

Do I think I can make it? I stop in my tracks just near my Harley, tasting the nice long rest I am going to get. What were we talking about again? Ah, yes. He’s helping the current alpha, I guess Jango Moretti is no longer running things down there, which does’n’t really concern me. Not that I expect the new alpha to be much better than him. Again, it doesn’t concern me. Oh, and Sarah is dying.

“I don’t think so, lover boy,” I reply simply, my tone a teasing rumble.

“Lover boy?” Adrien sounds appalled at the nick name. Well, it’s stupid, I agree to that. I would be appalled if someone called me that, so that’s why I think he is too. Look how easy it is to understand what this guy is thinking, huh?

“Suits you right, lover boy,” I reply just to annoy him more. At least I hope I will. “Listen, I really have no more time for this little chat. I got to go.”

“But… but she is your mother!” He exclaims like the stupid title should mean something to me. “She gave you life, she… she talks about you all the time. She loves you…”

“Too bad for her,” I shrug. “When it mattered she didn’t give a s*hit. So now I don’t give a s**t, too.”

He hisses in the receiver, then curses at something or someone under his breath, and my d*ick suddenly stirs with attention. Well, hello there, Adrien.

“Either.” He says weakly, desperately, like he’s about to give up.

I straddle the bike and reach for my helmet with my free hand. The other one is still holding the phone for some reason. Why the hell am I still talking to him? Why does it seem like all of a sudden I want to hear this dude speak to me all the time? But then what he just said finally registers in my brain. My eyes bulge with irritation. Either? Is he correcting my grammar now? The audacity of this royal asshole.

“Either?” I repeat with a deadly quiet voice. The rage is starting to bubble inside me again and even his hot accent can’t stop me from exploding any second now.

I am about to hang up on him but he somehow intercepts my intentions and speaks out.

“Wait, wait. Listen, dude… do you want me to pay you to come and say goodbye to your own mother? Because I could. I will pay you if I have to, just name your price and drag your ass down to the valley. So, how much?”