I'm incapable of denying her this chew-toy for her brain. "Two hundred. Fifty bucks to each of the security guys, twenty-five base pay for the bartenders. I'll get your breakfast," I say wryly, since she never got paid.
She rolls her eyes. "I don't care about that. I made a ton in tips, anyway."
"So four hundred after paying staff. Do you pay the fighters?"
I shake my head. "That's a separate business enterprise."
"Financed through illegal betting?"
Of course she's too damn smart to miss what's going on. I give a ghost of a shrug as acknowledgement.
"So four hundred a night. What's the overhead on the building?"
"We own it, so it's just three hundred a month in utilities."
Her brows shoot up. I shouldn't be pleased to see she's impressed, but they are half-million dollar warehouses. I'm not the poor, scrappy kid whose mom works the lowest job in the pack anymore.
"You own it personally?"
"Jared and I own both warehouses on the lot. His mate uses the other one as a dance studio and performance space."
"Really? Wow. I'd like to see it."
"I'm sure Angelina would be happy to show you around." For a brief moment, I ride the high of picturing Angelina and Sheridan hitting it off and the four of us becoming happy couple friends.
That's not happening. Sheridan's going back to Wolf Ridge, where she'll eventually be running the entire show.
I'll be here running Fight Club.
"Anyway, with you owning the building, the opportunity for profit is huge. You just need to maximize the number of shifters who come through that door, and give them good reason to stay-whether it's the fights or other entertainment. And of course, keep the trouble out." She frowns and my gut tightens.
I throw down some cash on the table. "Ready for a ride?"
She nods. "So ready. Where are we going?"
"Gates Pass." At her questioning look, I grin. "You'll love it, come on."
SHERIDAN
RIDING on the back of Trey's motorcycle for the second day in a row has my heart somersaulting. I was too melancholy to get horn-gry riding with him to the restaurant, but now the giant vibrator between my legs and the familiar scent of Trey and his leather have me rocking my hips over the bike seat. My breasts press up against his back, arms loop around his washboard abs.
I still can't believe he remembered.
I mean, I know today marks the anniversary of the day he took my V-card, but I doubt he marked it on a calendar to celebrate every year. Especially considering how easily he was finished with me at the end of senior year.
My brain wants to tear at this puzzle until I have it solved or demolished, but I keep pushing it away. If I think too much about Trey and his actions toward me, I'll end up twelve years in the past with my heart beaten to a bloody pulp.
No, better to just be in the now. Appreciate Trey showing up for me when I needed him. Allow the suffocating heaviness of the day to lift and move off me.
He drives west, toward the Tucson mountain range and takes me up a beautiful mountain pass. The air smells fresh and clean. Saguaro cacti shimmer and glow in the warm autumn sun. Trey drives through the pass and down the other side, then parks at the trailhead for King Canyon. It's Friday-a work day for most of Tucson-so the lot is empty except for Trey's bike.
My wolf starts wagging her tail in anticipation of being out in nature.
Trey takes my hand and we walk up the trail, cutting through the desert. He doesn't speak, and for once, I keep my mouth shut, too. Suddenly, there's nothing to be or prove with Trey. Our silence is companionable. Honoring.
We reach a saddle, an incredible overlook over the city of Tucson. Trey starts kicking off his boots as he pulls his shirt over his head.
For one stupid second, I think he wants to have sex-like he expects it because that's what we did on the last anniversary of my brother's death. But he grins at me. "Last one on four legs is a rotten egg."
"No fair," I holler, because he already has a head start. I scramble out of my clothes and shift, then bound over his wolf as I tear up Wassan Peak.
We run for hours, nipping and playing, sniffing. Hunting.
And then it all ends when I get my nose into a cholla cactus. It's idiotic. The first lesson I learned as a cub growing up in Arizona was to stay away from cholla-also known as jumping cactus because of the way the giant burrs jump from the mother and attach their barbs into passersby.
I yelp at the pain-mostly because it's my tender nose and the face is so personal. Pain there is so intense. In the blink of an eye, Trey shifts and crouches beside me, concern etched in his face.
I whimper, trying to paw the damn thing off, which only gets more burrs stuck in my paws.
"Easy, baby. Let me." Trey-the idiot-grabs the thing with his fingers and pries it off my nose. I yelp again, but it's only partly out of pain, partly out of concern for him, because now he has the burr firmly embedded in his hand, which means he won't be able to shift and run back to where we left our clothes.
He's totally unfazed, though. He just strokes my ear with his good hand. "Are you okay?" He leans close to examine my snout and paws. "Any left?" I lick his face and he laughs and rubs my cheek.
I sit and wait as he pries the cactus ball from his hand with a stick, then uses his teeth to pull out the remaining barbs.
"All better." He holds up his bloodied palm for me to see and I lick it, too.