LAYLA’S POV
Tanya’s folder is spread across the booth between us and Harper hasn’t blinked in twenty minutes.
We’ve moved to the corner booth – furthest from the bar, backs to the wall, voices low. Nina brought coffee without being asked and then hovered until Harper gave her a look that said “not now” in a language Nina understood immediately. She retreated to the bar but she’s been wiping the same glass for ten minutes and I can feel her ears straining from across the room.
“Start from the beginning,” I say. “How did you meet him?”
Tanya wraps her hands around the mug. “I was twenty. Working at a bar in neutral territory – human bar, no pack affiliation. He walked in one night looking like the kind of trouble you tell your friends about the next morning.” The corner of her mouth twit
