“Of course I do, you nitwit,” she says as I tug her along behind me toward the alpha, careful to keep my body between her and the wolf.
“Hey,” I say in a soft voice as we slowly draw closer.
His ears swivel in my direction, but he doesn’t look up. I guess “hey” isn’t the most specific greeting. The alpha needs a name, even if only a temporary one we can use until he’s able to shift back and tell us his actual name.
“Hey, um… Buddy?” No response. “Or, maybe Wolfie?”
The alpha lifts his head and his hazel eyes find mine, the tiniest hint of amusement hiding in their depths.
Wolfie it is then.
“You can understand me, right?” Most shifters have full human awareness in their wolf form, but, as what happened earlier proved, that’s not always true. Sometimes the wolf takes over, so it doesn’t hurt to double-check.
He stares at me for a beat, then dips his chin in what I’m going to consider a nod before tilting his head to the side in question.
“Okay, good.” I shift slightly to the right so he can see Raquel behind me, then hold up the remote in my opposite hand. “I know you probably have plenty of bad memories related to this thing, but Raquel is my friend and she wouldneveruse it to hurt you. The only reason she picked it up was to prevent the others from hurting you.”
Wolfie tilts his head in the other direction, his gaze darting from me to the remote, then over my shoulder to Raquel. He stares at my friend for a while before meeting my gaze and doing that little chin dip again.
Great. That’s definite progress. Some of my tension drains away, the muscles in my shoulders loosening now that I’m fairly certain he’s not going to try to rip out Raquel’s throat if she moves too quickly.
“This remote controls the collar, right?” I ask, holding it up again.
The alpha makes a huffing noise and moves his head from side to side in a motion that I’m going to take as a “sort of.”
“But it won’t allow us to take off the collar?”
The wolf clearly shakes his head back and forth. That sucks, but it was worth checking just in case.
“Do you know what happens if we just destroy it?” I ask. “I don’t like the idea of it falling into someone else’s hands, but I don’t want to make anything worse.”
Wolfie slowly rises to all four legs and pads toward me, closing the distance between us. He noses at my hand that holds the remote. When I don’t do anything, he huffs and paws at my hand until I release the remote, letting it fall to the ground and clatter against the concrete. Apparently satisfied, he turns toward Raquel and then glances pointedly down at her feet.
No. Hershoes.
“How sharp are those heels?” I ask, a slight smile twitching at my lips.
She stares at me for a beat, brows drawn together, then realization washes over her face. “Sharp enough, I’m sure.”
She grins, picks up her foot, and digs the narrow stiletto into the center of the remote, twisting from side to side until the plastic gives way under the pressure with a loud crack.
I instinctively tense as if anticipating a sudden explosion or something, but crushing the remote seems to have no adverse effects, and Wolfie seems downright pleased with Raquel. I guess that means my half-baked “friend not foe” plan was successful.
Which is a good thing since we’re going to need some place to lay low once we get out of here. The cramped apartment I share with four other people is not a good option, so Raquel’s place is going to be our best bet.
Hopefully, Danny the Douche won’t be home. Although… I wouldn’t be too sad if Wolfie decided to take a bite out of Raquel’s boyfriend. I might even encourage it.
“One problem down, a few million to go,” I mutter as I make my way across the floor to the crumpled body of Pole Guy.
Since he seemed to be leading the charge, I’m going to assume he was the boss of this little group and therefore the most likely to have one of those access cards for the elevator—our only escape route unless we want to go back into the ring. I crouch down and carefully pat down the dead guy, smiling with triumph when I hold up the rectangular card that was attached to his belt.
Under most circumstances, I’d probably lift his wallet too, but at this point that seems a bit… uncouth. Plus, anything in his pockets is probably covered in blood and who knows what else. I’m not thrilled we’re walking out of here empty-handed—money-wise anyway—but at least we’re alive to con another day.
For the moment, anyway.
I weigh the option of trying to cobble together a less tattered outfit from the clothes of the casino employees, but just as quickly discard it. What’s left of my suit and Raquel’s dress are the most blood-free pieces of clothing down here, so we’ll just have to make it work. If we walk with our chins high enough, people might think the dusty, wrinkled look is on purpose like some sort of grunge chic.
Our biggest problem is going to be Wolfie here, though. This is Vegas, so people often expect weird, but a huge wolf is still going to stick out. The alpha could never be mistaken for a simple dog, especially not in his current state with blood still decorating his fur.
