Beneath Her Teeth

Chapter 5: Terms of Shelter

By the time the SUV pulled into the underground garage beneath one of Vincent's buildings, the adrenaline had burned off and Corbin felt everything the night had left behind.

Pain settled into him in layers. His shoulder throbbed where the punch had landed. The wound in his side had already knitted itself shut beneath the blood drying black against his shirt, but that didn't mean he was whole. He was running on fumes now, held together by conditioning, pain, and whatever stubbornness still kept him upright. He shifted, forcing the wolf inside him to settle. It paced anyway, restless and unhappy with the shape he was still wearing.

Then he looked at Kat, and the wolf tightened at once.

Corbin had always known there were others like him. Men like Sal did not survive long without learning what else lived in the dark, and Corbin had learned early that wolves existed beyond his own skin. He just had not expected to find one this close to Greymoor, let alone standing at Vincent's side.

Men knew he was one of Sal's best enforcers, a man who could do things other men could not. But what he really was had been kept buried, guarded inside the family and entrusted to only a very few. No one outside that circle had ever been meant to see the truth of him.

Yet here she was, another wolf, right across the bridge. Under Vincent's hand. That was the kind of fact that changed the shape of a city.

The SUV rolled to a stop between two black sedans in a garage too clean to belong to careless men. Cameras watched from the corners. A steel door opened before the engine fully died, and two guards stepped out, alert and silent.

Kat got out first.

Corbin followed more slowly, one hand closing around the duffel. The brief hitch in his balance drew one guard's attention for half a second, no more. Vincent's people were trained well enough not to stare at blood.

Kat shut her door and studied him a beat too long before looking away. "You always this hard to kill, or am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You can be impressed."

Something faint touched her mouth. "Good. That means you'll stay conscious long enough to answer questions."

Under the clean light, he saw her more clearly. At the bar she had been graceful and deadly, and he was beginning to understand that was simply what she was. As he studied her, he noticed something else he'd managed to miss. He felt it more than he saw it, but it was there. A wolf stirred behind her pale blue eyes—a kindred creature his wolf recognized instantly.

"How long has Vincent known?" he asked.

"Long enough."

"About what you are."

Her gaze stayed on his. "About what matters."

That told him enough. Vincent didn't keep a wolf close without understanding exactly what he had. Ravenport had teeth Corbin had never known were there.

Kat jerked her chin toward the steel door. "Come on."

The elevator opened onto a private floor lined in dark wood and muted light. Corbin noticed the cameras, the distance between doors, the man posted near the elevator who never turned his head enough to seem obvious. Vincent's building carried the same feel as the garage below it: expensive, controlled, and built around the assumption that trouble would eventually come through the door.

Vincent's office overlooked the river and the black spread of Ravenport beyond it. A long table stood near the windows with maps stacked across one end. The rest of the room was restraint made visible—dark leather, polished wood, no clutter.

Vincent Gallo stood near the windows with one hand in his pocket.

He turned when they entered, and Corbin began to understand why men followed him. Vincent was not physically imposing, but his stillness carried weight. He wore control the way some men wore armor, and the room belonged to him before he said a word.

His eyes went first to the blood on Corbin's shirt, then to the duffel, then to his face.

"Kat says Ironsides got lively."

"They made bad choices," Corbin said.

Vincent's gaze shifted to Kat. "How bad?"

"Four lessons in poor judgment."

Vincent looked back at Corbin. "And you were courteous enough not to leave me bodies."

"Trying not to be a bad guest here."

"No," Vincent said. "You understood exactly where you were."

Corbin held his eyes. "That about covers it."

Vincent let the silence settle, then said, "Sal Moretti is dead."

The words landed like a blow. Corbin looked past him to the black river beyond the glass, then forced his gaze back. The wolf inside him wanted blood, wanted the men responsible under its teeth.

"I know," he said. "I was there after."

A single nod was all Vincent gave him. "Three Moretti properties burned. Two more went dark. Men are already circling what's left, which means whoever did this either paid very well or promised something bigger than money."

For a moment, Corbin looked at the floor. Talking about Greymoor at all felt like forcing broken glass down his throat, but he made himself answer anyway. "Probably both."

Vincent watched him a moment longer, then moved to the table and rested two fingers on one of the maps. "Walk me through it. Start with Moretti's call."

Corbin lifted his gaze from the floor. "Sal called from the middle of it. Gunfire over the line. Men shouting. He said they'd already hit Pasquale's place. The docks went dark after that. Said it was coordinated."

Vincent said nothing, just waited.

Corbin looked past him for half a second, then went on. "Then he told me to get Elena out. Said they were looking for me too."

Kat went still by the door.

"I was still on the phone with him when the front of the house blew inward. They were inside fast. Too fast. Not panic. Not freelance muscle. They knew where to push and what they were there for."

Vincent's gaze stayed on him. "And they knew your name."

Corbin nodded once. "Heard it over one of their radios. They weren't guessing."

"And Moretti's daughter?"

"I got her clear."

"Hidden, then," Vincent said.

Corbin said nothing.

Vincent straightened from the table. "And after?"

"I went back," Corbin said. "The house was finished by the time I got there. Not just hit, but swept clean. The other properties too. Fires still burning, safehouses already empty, and men circling what was left before the smoke had even settled."

Silence held for a moment.

"Then this was never just about killing Moretti," Vincent said. "It was about dismantling the family."

"Looks that way," Corbin said.

The black river moved beyond the glass, cold and indifferent beneath the city lights.

Vincent was quiet for a beat. "What matters to me is whether it stops at Greymoor. Because if it comes across that bridge, it becomes my problem."

Vincent's eyes lingered on him for another second, weighing the account against everything else he knew. Then he gave a small nod, as if something had settled in his mind.

"You can sleep here tonight," he said. "My doctor can take a look at the shoulder and the side. Tomorrow you decide whether you're leaving Ravenport or making yourself useful."

Corbin let out a tired breath through his nose. "Hell of a welcome."

"I'm not known for hospitality."

"That's a shame," Corbin said. "I was hoping for chocolates on my pillow."

Something faint touched Kat's mouth before she smoothed it away.

Vincent's eyes shifted once toward her, then back to Corbin. "Get him patched up."

Kat jerked her chin toward the door. "Come on."

— ◆ —

The doctor's room was bright, spare, and built for damage no one wanted discussed in daylight. The physician asked almost nothing. He cut away the ruined shirt, checked the shoulder, pressed carefully at the half-healed wound in Corbin's side, and made a low sound of disapproval.

"You heal fast," he said.

Corbin gave him nothing.

The doctor glanced at Kat. "Fast isn't finished. He tears this open again, he'll regret it."

"He's been collecting regrets all night," Kat said.

The man re-bandaged his ribs, wrapped the shoulder, left a clean black shirt folded on a chair, and walked out without waiting to be thanked.

Corbin pulled the shirt on carefully. "You can stop watching me."

"I could."

"But you won't."

"No."

He fastened the buttons one-handed and looked at her. "Why'd you help me back there?"

"Because you were seconds away from tearing that place apart, and I don't like messes."

"That all?"

She pushed off the wall and came a step closer. Under the hard light she looked even more controlled than she had downstairs, all sharp edges hidden beneath elegance.

"No," she said. "You were bleeding, outnumbered, and still looked like the most dangerous thing in the room. I was curious."

"About what?"

"What kind of wolf walks into Ravenport half-dead and still manages to look inevitable."

Something in him stirred. He took her in more clearly now: the stillness in her, the cold precision, the watchfulness in those pale eyes. Beautiful, but not in any way that invited softness. The wolf behind those eyes shifted, and his answered before he could stop it.

"You still haven't told me why Ravenport," she said.

"Sal sent me."

That seemed to land deeper than it should have.

"And now Vincent's giving you a room and a choice," she said. "He doesn't do that lightly."

Corbin held her gaze. "Good to know."

Her mouth curved, just barely. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow you can decide whether you're just passing through or whether Greymoor is your business again."

She led him to a guest room at the far end of the hall. Dark walls. Heavy curtains. A bed big enough to disappear into. Corbin set the duffel on the chair by the window and checked the locks from habit.

Kat paused in the doorway. "Try not to make me regret arguing for you."

He looked at her. "You argued for me?"

"Enough." Her gaze flicked once over the fresh bandage beneath the shirt. "You still look like hell."

She left before he could answer.

For the first time since Sal's call, there was nothing left to do, and that left room for everything else.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out the black notebook. Sal's handwriting stared up at him from the cover. Numbers. Names. Accounts. Leverage. Men had not torn Greymoor open over gossip. Whatever this was, tonight had only been the first move.

A knock sounded at the door.

Corbin slipped the notebook back inside his coat and crossed the room, his hand closing around the pistol on the nightstand before he opened it.

Kat stood there again.

Something in her face had changed.

"What happened?"

"One of our men at Mercer just called in," she said. "Two strangers were asking questions at the bridge."

The exhaustion inside him turned cold.

"About what?"

"Not what." Her pale eyes locked on his. "Who."

He already knew.

Kat stepped inside and shut the door behind her. "They were asking after the wolf from Greymoor."

The room seemed to narrow around the words.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Kat’s gaze stayed on his. “Then someone talked.”