Page 43 of Bad Blood Wolf

Brody lucked out, if you wanted to put it like that. His fights were brutal, but not rigged—and he just barely managed to get through them. By the time he got out of the second one, bloody and staggering, the headache was starting up again, and he couldn’t tell if it was from Monster Wolf fighting his way out, or just the White Tornado getting thrown against the side of the cage too many times.

More misery. More money. And for what?

None of this was ever going to fucking end, unless it ended badly. Not unless the drugs he’d been promised actually got here, and turned out to be some kind of miracle.

As if that would ever happen.

He’d already thought he had a tiny little miracle, and it had evaporated like a puff of smoke. One night and one day where it seemed like there might be a little hope, something good in his life.

And now Jasmin wasn’t speaking to him. She had a right to be pissed—he’d begged her to let him into her life, and then he’d shut her down.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. There was something big between them, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Maybe she did have a right to know. Maybe he could trust her.

She felt… important. Way more than a date or a one-night stand, or even a girlfriend.

She felt like a mate.

That knowledge hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Mate.

Nothing else explained this feeling of belonging, this deep attachment in so short a time. When wolves found their mates, they knew. And they’d do anything to keep their mates happy and safe.

Which was why he didn’t want to drag her into his mess. Her crew had been through enough—she’d been through enough. And if this whole thing went sideways and she was in the middle of it…

He’d never forgive himself.

He wished she’d let him try to explain.

He sat in his car, in the barn parking lot, listening to the faint sounds of the last fights, texting her yet again.

At the fights. Tough night, but I won.

Missed you.

No response.

I’m sorry if I hurt you. I don’t know what’s the right thing to do here.

Please talk to me. Then if you still hate me, you can beat the crap out of me.

He waited. Still nothing. By this time, he really didn’t expect there to be.

He leaned his head back on the headrest. This sucked. He should just take the hint and give up, but that wasn’t what he did.

He was the White Tornado. He locked his jaws and didn’t let go. The only way he’d give up was if he was dead. That’s who he was.

One more text. Then he was going over there, and fuck it if Flynn tried to run his ass out of his territory.

I’m not giving up. You’re important to me.

Wait.

He closed his eyes. Damn, everything hurt. What he really wanted was to just go to bed. Preferably with company, but even alone would work, as long as he was horizontal on a soft surface.

The sound of his text alert startled his eyes open. A message from Jasmin.

No words. Just a video link.

He tapped the link, and a YouTube video opened. It was titled, “Dogs Annoying Cats with Friendship.”