Rebel (Wolfes of Manhattan 1)

Of course. Roy Wolfe.

Why would he be at the Brook Tavern? This was a modest little place, hardly up to Wolfe standards.

Roy was an artist, a loner, a renowned recluse. When he looked up, I smiled at him and waved.

He nodded slightly and then looked back down at his drink.

Was he okay?

Well, not my problem.

I took a drink of my water and tried to listen to what Brent was saying, when—

It became my problem.

Rock Wolfe walked in the Brook Tavern.

Our gazes met, and I glanced peripherally at Roy, who was waving Rock over.

Rock did not look happy.

I turned my attention back to Brent. He was the person who’d invited me, after all. Still, Rock had taken care of me last night when he didn’t have to. He was a good guy. A great guy. Not the douchebag I’d thought he was when we first met.

And man, he was a god in bed.

Why was he meeting his brother at Brook Tavern? They could be having drinks at The Four Seasons or the Marriott Marquis.

I focused again on Brent, forcing myself not to turn around and watch Rock sit down next to Roy. A few seconds later, in walked Reid Wolfe. How long before Riley joined them?

“So what do you think?” Brent asked.

“I’m sorry. Think about what?”

“Dinner. We can get a table. The food’s pretty good here.”

“I…” I hadn’t eaten since the eggs Rock had fixed for me this morning. I opened my mouth to say no, but my stomach growled. I was indeed hungry. “Sure. Why not?”

“Great. I’ll go see the hostess for a table.” He stood and walked away.

I stared at my sparkling water, trying desperately not to look over at Rock. When I could no longer resist, I turned my head as nonchalantly as I could. Rock was engrossed in a conversation with his brothers. He couldn’t care less that I was here with another man.

I shook my head and scoffed.

Good guy? Great guy?

Nope. Douchebag after all.29RockAnother fucking pretty boy. What the hell was she doing with him?

“Rock, would you stay focused, please?” Reid said to me. “This is important.”

Yeah. Important. Roy had gotten a mysterious phone call from someone claiming to have information about our father’s murder.

“Did the caller threaten you?” I asked Roy.

“No. Just said he had information, like I said. Then he hung up.”

“Then why should I focus? Are you worried, Roy?”

“Not worried. Just curious. Why would someone call me and tell me that but then hang up?”

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit.” I was glad the bastard was dead. Right now I was much more concerned with the blond dude who looked like he wanted to undress Lacey.

I tensed when he rose and walked away. Everything in me screamed to go to her, grab her, kiss her.

Before I could, though, he returned and led her to a table.

This place was a dive. I liked it. It was actually classier than most of the biker havens I hung out at home in Montana—places where I could hang my helmet, grab a beer or a bourbon, and unwind a little. Meet a woman, maybe. Go to her place and have some no-strings-attached sex, and then be home before sunup.

“Damn it, Rock. Would you quit staring at that attorney and pay attention?” Roy this time, surprisingly. He didn’t usually raise his voice.

“Why did you want to meet here?” I asked him.

“I didn’t want us to be seen. Plus they make a good burger.”

“You didn’t want us to be seen? Why?”

“Because this is serious, man. The two of you have never taken me seriously. Christ.”

I couldn’t fault Roy’s observation. He was the creative type, his head in the clouds most of the time. Quiet and brooding.

Reid and I—we were doers. Take hold and get it done. That’s why Reid had gone into the family business.

That’s why I had left.

“You just said you weren’t threatened,” I said. “But I’m sorry I said I didn’t give a shit.”

Reid put away his phone. “Sorry.”

I wanted to take Roy seriously, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Lacey. Damn, first that male model in the bar last night and now this? Men flocked to her like flies to honey. Of course they did. She was fucking luscious.

“The call came this afternoon,” he said. “To my personal cell, not my work one, which freaks me out more than a little.”

“Who has that number?”

“Just family and friends,” he said.

“No acquaintances?” I asked.

“I dated a woman a while back,” he said.

I guffawed. “You dated? You? Mr. Loner?”

“This is why I don’t tell you two when I date at all,” Roy said. “Yeah. A year ago I dated a woman for a few months. It was low-key and it didn’t last, but I gave her the number. Other than her, I don’t recall giving it to anyone outside family and close friends.”