Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I can’t hear his tone, but I suspect he’s pissed.
Why is the big boss himself calling me? I grab my phone, ready to message him back right away, but…I’m in the middle of a mission. I informed HR that I was taking a personal day. Wolves don’t need sick days, so I can’t use a doctor's visit as an excuse, but I didn’t think I’d need to justify my absence.
Out of curiosity, I check my messages. There’s one from Brick’s assistant, informing me that Brick wants to meet ASAP.
Whatever’s blowing up at work, I can’t focus on it right now. But just as I’m about to turn off the burner phone, another message comes through from Brick himself.
Is this you?
Attached is a video clip. I play it and curse. It’s a video of my gray and white wolf running through the museum lobby with a dopey, doggie grin on my face.
Shit shit shit shit. Esme monitored the news to see if it got out, but other than some social media posts by some of the sixth graders, it looks like the museum was trying to hush it up. Esme went ahead and commented on a few of the posts, claiming that “No way this happened, must be AI.” But someone–probably Sully–discovered it. A shifter like him would recognize my wolf as another shifter right away. Sully isn’t the head of security for nothing. He’s paid to be paranoid.
It’s also possible that Brick tagged me as a possible threat and is digging into my movements. One of Sully’s spies would’ve noticed I was late to work the same day of the museum heist and put two and two together.
Another text comes through from Brick:
CALL ME
I can practically hear his alpha power vibrating through the phone. Forget firing me, I bet he’s salivating to let his wolf out to rip me apart.
I’m busted, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I power off the burner phone and tuck it away. As soon as I obey Brick’s summons, I’m getting fired and exiled from the city. And that’s the best case. Worst case: Sully locks me up as a pack enemy and throws away the key.
But that’s a problem for future me. I have a pack princess to spy on.
I dare to bring the drone closer to her tower, moving in from the top and slowly lowering at an angle. Is that window open? I inch the drone down a little further. Esme helped me source the best military grade drone–a dark drone that mimics the shape of a bird and the quiet sound of an insect. Still, getting it too close to the window could be a huge mistake.
I risk it, swooping in right against the cylindrical stone wall, then dipping below the top frame of the window.
I jerk in surprise, sending the drone on a wild wobble. Aster’s face fills my phone screen.
She was standing at the open window.
Her hand snaps out, lightning fast, and she must catch the drone because the viewer blurs, then her lovely face comes in close. So close I can examine the exact color of her ice-blue eyes.
I drop the useless controller and simply stare.
She peers at the drone, then turns to look past it out the window.
The viewer blurs again and then clears, but it takes me a moment to figure out what I’m looking at: Aster’s bare feet, kicking and jerking in a fit.
She must’ve dropped the drone and slumped back on a bed or chair.
I don’t think. If I were thinking, I would know that what I’m contemplating is the worst idea I’ve ever had. I hop out of the car and sprint toward the entrance to the Adalwulf property. It’s protected by an electric fence, which I clear in the best high jump of my life, thanking the Harvard track team for the lessons in catapulting my body in human form through space. As I sprint toward the compound, images flash in my mind.
Aster on the floor, clutching her head, her eyes rolling back.
Another image flashes in my mind: the location of the transmitter for an invisible infrared laser that must serve as long-range perimeter security.
Recognizing the nearby stone hut from my drone surveillance, I swerve and head for it without a plan. I don’t know how to disable the alarm system, but I’m trusting in the visions.
When I arrive, I see the guard through the window. He spills his coffee down his front, curses, and gets up to walk to the kitchen. I take it as a sign and clap my hand over the laser transmitter to block it as I slip by.
Another image–some kind of underground tunnel–flashes in my mind at the same moment I trip over something and fall flat on my face. An iron ring protrudes from the earth. I wipe the dirt away to reveal the outline of a trapdoor.