Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

He grunts something I take to be a no, and resign myself to half-carrying him through the club. Could this evening go any worse?

Together we make it out of the stall, and then I have to maneuver him so he’s propped against the wall to open the door. The music blasts at my eardrums like a gale as I loop his arm over my shoulders and pull him along, shoving our way through the crowd.

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An elbow catches me in the ribs as I try to drag Shem through a group of yelling, jumping guys, then a foot kicks my shin, and I curse a blue streak.

Motherfucking ow.

Somehow we cross the whole fucking club, and the bouncer obligingly opens the door for us. I haul Shem outside, not one hundred percent sure Angel and Mav and the rest of the gang will be there as promised.

Yet there they are. Alfie and Jacinta break from the group that’s been smoking pot in the dimness of the back alley and take Shem off me. I’m fucking grateful, and I bend over, massaging my knee.

That goddamn old injury will haunt my steps forever.

“Coming, Jarett?” Elena asks over her shoulder. “We’re going to a new place Mav discovered. The night is young, baby.”

Where they go I go, and they know it. I’m about to say yes, when a passing glance over the group tells me Seb isn’t here.

“Where the hell is my brother?”

Angel frowns. “Didn’t see him.”

“Then he’s still inside. I’ll go get him.”

“Boy, how long will you babysit that guy for?” Elena rolls her dark eyes, adjusting her hold on Shem who’s scowling down at his feet. “He’s older than you. He’s a damn menace, and not worth your time.”

“None of your fucking business,” I growl. “Go ahead. I’ll find Seb.”

“When you find him,” Angel says, “take him home. He’s trashed. I doubt he’s in any shape to party or work any longer tonight.”

Disdain drips from his voice, and I find my fists clenching. Sebastian is an asshole, but Angel is a smooth-talking scumbag. He has no fucking right to talk.

Turning on my heel, I march back into the night club. The bouncer lets me in, back into the pounding beat and the swirl of sweaty bodies, and I start to search for my brother.

That’s the only goal I have in my life, the only promise I can keep, and I’ll be damned if I botch it.

What feels like hours later, the music beat hammering on the back of my eyeballs and against the inside of my skull, I’m forced to admit defeat. Sebastian is nowhere to be found.

My jacket is where I left it, on a stool right where he stood, but there’s no sign of him. There’s only one logical explanation: he left the moment I entered the Gents looking for Shem.

I fish my phone out of my pocket, check again in case he sent me a text, replying to my question where he’s gone to, and if he’s okay.

Nothing.

Pocketing the phone, I make my way to the Gents for one last look. If he’s not in there, then I’m outta here.

My thoughts spin in eddies as I check the stalls, déjà vu from earlier. I can’t find Seb anywhere, and I’m about to call it a night. My knee is killing me, and I’ve had enough. Elena is right. Why am I babysitting a guy who doesn’t even have the decency to let me know he’s okay so I can stop searching for him?

Then I see her.

Gigi.

It’s her—but she’s different. Sexier.

Her tiny mini dress is red, her legs are endless, her hair is loose on her shoulders, and her mouth is lush.

The rush of lust hits me like a punch. I’m hard in two seconds flat, and I brace a hand on the wall, light-headed. Am I hallucinating? What is she doing here?