Jack Johnson watched the dancers from his spot on the balcony – upper management/VIP section only. He’d built his fortune on shady dealings and odd jobs when he was in his youth. He hadn’t realized how capable of violence he was until he’d been hired by Pierce Chrysanthewaite, the who’s-who of the American werewolf community. Such a sweet, kind, charitable entrepreneur on the outside, a rat bastard on the inside. Jack had yet to meet someone worse than Pierce Chrysanthewaite.
“Excuse me, sir,” one of his bodyguards came to him, holding out a phone. “For you.”
Jack took it from him and shooed the guard away. “Hello,” he answered.
“It’s Cameron,” Cameron answered.
“What now?” Jack Johnson rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had no respect for Pierce’s son.
“The flower shop in Silverton h
