When the Wolves Cry (Twin Flames Duet #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

TALA

“I went all the way out to your house for a cuddleseshand you weren’t there,” Nadia whines through my phone’s speaker.

“Right, because I just love it when you show up at seven a.m. and try spooning my unconscious body.”

“Yeah-yeah, you say you hate it. But seriously though, who is she? I’ll pull her hair out.”

I look at the dark, hunter eyes across from me. “Babe, I don’t think you’ll reach his hair.”

His brows furrow, and he tilts his head, trying to figure out who I’m talking to.

She gasps dramatically, making me recoil from my phone. “No fucking shit. You fucked him! My little slut fucked him! How was it? Did he split you like a log? Are you walking straight? Give me all you got! I want to know everything!”

I know she’s bouncing around and jumping on her bed in excitement. The heavy breathing and headboard thumping against her wall confirms that.

I scan around the other humans sitting at tables, either waiting for their coffee or working on laptops. “Uh, Nads, I’ll call you back.”

“Noooo,” she pouts.

“Yeahhh,” I mock her.

“Fine,” she growls. “Byeee, I love you.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I love you,byeee.”

I pull my phone from my ear, making it a point to not scroll through the texts she’s already sent me, and shove it into my trench coat pocket.

“She’s not crawling into bed with us when you move in,” Jax says dryly.

I nod in understanding, catching myself too late. He’s already smiling, thinking I agreed to moving in.

“Mrs. Scythe!” a masculine voice calls out behind me.

I fix Jax’s growing smile with a hard stare.

“Go get your coffee, Mrs. Scythe,” he says haughtily, the drop in his tone taunting.

His voice makes my already weak knees tremble as I stand up.

“Sirohi, follow,” he commands, and I look back at him perplexingly. “I want to see how he performs with you.”

Not needing further instruction, Sirohi gets up from his haunches and follows by my side to the outdoor hand off window. I give him a few scratches, letting him know he’s a good boy.

My black iced coffee sits in the window. I grab it, looking in to get someone’s attention.

Green eyes and dirty blonde hair spot me. He offers a beaming smile and strides to the window. “Tala! I didn’t know you got married,” he says happily.

SebastianBettingheim. Class douche that tried sleeping with everyone.

Can’t fucking tell Jax that. He’ll come over here and push his face into a blender for just the image of it.

I laugh awkwardly. “No, I didn’t get married. My… boyfriend was just joking around.” I point to him, holding back a real laugh because he doesnotlook like ajokester.

Needing something to stop the anxiety from ripping my chest open as Sebastian waves to him, I pet Sirohi’s soft head. Sebastian is smiling ear to ear. Jax—is not. He gives a curt nod, but that’s all he offers other than a stone scowl.

“You finally stopped going for polo shirts and found your type. That’s sick. I’m happy for you,” he says genuinely.

The cold wind blows, and I quickly stop my hair from blowing away from the hickey Jax left on me last night. “Yeah,” I draw out. “Could I get a cup of water and one of those tiny things of whipped cream?”

He winks. “Coming right up.”

Something catches Sirohi’s attention, and he pivots under my hand to watch my back. Not thinking much of it, I look back to Sebastian filling a tiny cup with whipped cream. Sirohi growling rings an alarm under my skin, and I check over my shoulder, side-eyeing the random man standing way too close.

He’s waiting for his coffee, paying no mind to me.

Going back to minding my own business, I pan over Jax’s dead eyes that aren’t blinking. Just staring at the stranger.

The only reason he isn’t getting up is because he doesn’t want to interfere with Sirohi’s reaction. I know it’s killing him though. And the second Sebastian sets the cups down, I snatch them up, give him a smile, and get the hell out of dodge.

His eyes don’t leave the man until I’m back at the table. Even then, he volleys him like he wants to pull his knife out and stab him in the forehead.

Holding the water up, I ask, “Do you want a drink of this before your son inhales it?”

A whisper of a grin forms on his scowl. “I’m fine, baby. He can have it. Then, I want to take you somewhere.”

I take a long drink of the rich bitterness before setting my cup down. Popping the lid off the water, I hold it for Sirohi while he violently laps it up.

“I thought we were going to the storage unit?” I ask, bummed because I’ve been putting it off.

Raising the little cup of whipped cream to my mouth, I swirl my tongue through the creamy vanilla.

“We are,” he drones, intently watching the suggestive movement of my tongue. “Stop doing that, Tala.”

I pop my lips. “No.” Ignoring his twitching lip and glower, I languidly swirl my tongue through it again.

He stands up, towering over me like a tree. One hand wraps around my throat, the other smoothing down the back of my head, and he bends down, lightly brushing his lips over mine. “What happens to bad girls?”

I shudder, trying to meet his lips. “Punishment.”

He retreats the tiniest bit every time I inch closer. “Mm-hmm.” He faintly grins at my desperation, straightening his spine and taking the trash from me. Then—just walks the hell away.

Snatching my coffee up, I growl in annoyance and follow behind him and Sirohi like a stray dog.

The metal door rolls up, and my forehead crinkles, taking in the sight of weapons galore and what appears to be a bike hidden under a paisley sheet.

Why would I need this?

I get lost in my own thoughts upon entering the small space. I’m fully aware that my grandparents were once vigilantes against the Federal Assembly. But this stuff looks new. It’s shiny, not a speck of dust collecting on the guns that line the walls.

The metal door clunking closed pulls me out of my head, and the bare light bulb in the center of the unit flicks on.

I flash my eyes over to Jax, wondering if he’s just as confused.

He’s not very expressive though. The most he ever offers is a raised brow, a smile if I’m lucky.

He scratches his scruff, rubbing over his chin as he roams around. “They were still doing it,” he implies.

I weigh my head, recounting the time I watched my grandma throw bows to get a mirror at a flea market. I can’t weigh the scale of, Oh, they were old, that’s not possible. Because it definitely was possible. The shiny metal almost confirms that.

“We’d surely hear about that though, right? It was the Russian fucking parliament they were going after. It’d be on the news if members were dropping like flies,” I say quietly, unsure of possible listening ears.

“Hmm, unless they stopped messing with Russia out of fear and continued hunting down other sick fucks.”

I side-eye a box of grenades in passing, almost missing the piece of paper tucked away on the top shelf of the metro. Even with my platform boots, I can’t reach it. I wobble on my tip toes, stretching as tall as I can and inching my fingers towards it.

Fiery tingles radiate over my back, and he presses into me, easily reaching up and pulling the paper down.

I sink back onto my heels, my ass gliding over what instituted myjankywalk today. “Thanks.”

I swallow, slipping off to the side. Unfolding the messy printer paper, I flip it over and read my grandma’s handwriting.