Savage Seduction: A Dire Wolves Mission (The Devil's Dires Book 3) (7 page)

M
ammon couldn’t tear
his gaze away from Charmeine as she walked away. The woman had shocked him, which was not an easy feat. She’d been so angry, so fierce and proud as she stood there, covered in dirt and far more mussed than she’d been the first time he saw her. Impressive, really. The woman
did not
back down from a fight, and she certainly wasn’t the pampered princess he’d originally thought.

“There’s a lot more to her than her ass,” Finn said, his voice deep and dark in a way that screamed protective. Mammon drank down his whiskey and shrugged.

“It’s not her ass that caught my eye.” Which was mostly true. Her bravery and strength had definitely grabbed his attention, though Mammon couldn’t deny she had a biteable ass. The woman filled out a pair of denim like no other.
Mercy
.

A quiet cough from Finn forced Mammon to refocus on the man beside him. That and the fact he knew Charmeine better than probably anyone else. Might as well take advantage. “Is she always so welcoming?”

Finn chuckled. “Oh, goodness, no. This is quite unusual. Normally, she’s downright cranky.”

Mammon blinked, speechless. Cranky? That
wasn’t
cranky?

Meanwhile, Finn just smiled and nodded in the direction of the study. “How about we have those drinks now?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mammon asked as he followed Finn into the room he called a study. Looked sort of like a library to Mammon, but what did he know.

“Slightly.” Finn grabbed Mammon’s glass and moved to the bar, refilling both. “Charmeine does have her moods, though. Fair warning.”

Mammon settled on a cushy leather chair in the room, nodding his thanks when Finn returned his drink to him. He sipped the amber liquid slowly, taking in the room around him. Bookshelves ran from floor to the vaulted ceilings on three walls, only a few windows taking up real estate otherwise reserved for books. On the fourth wall, the entryway dominated the vertical space, leaving very little room for anything else. Little, but not none. To one side, a picture hung all alone, a long, brass fixture mounted over it to bathe the image in golden light. An oil painting of two adults and two children.

“Your mate?” Mammon asked. The man did look an awful lot like Finn.

“No, actually. Those are my parents.”

Huh. Mammon hadn’t expected that answer. “So the children—”

“Charmeine and me. That was done not long after she came to live with us.” Finn took a sip of his drink, staring at the painting with a small smile on his face. “Charmeine was so angry that day because she had to be dressed up. She wanted to play outside in the woods, but my mother wouldn’t let her for myriad reasons. She threw about twelve separate temper tantrums before she finally settled down and stood as my mother requested. Though, if you notice, she didn’t smile. At all.”

Mammon stared at the pale, unsmiling face. The artist had captured her well, making her look cherubic and thoughtful instead of angry, though there was a definite spark in her eyes. A sort of gleam that screamed of the trouble she could get into.

“She didn’t want to wear the frilly dress?” Mammon remembered the night of the party—the silky material of her dress and the height of her heels. The sparkle of her jewelry under the chandeliers. He remembered every detail well. “That’s surprising.”

“It shouldn’t be. She’s still a shifter, an Omega shewolf at that. Her love of the outdoors rivals even the most wolf-centric shifters out there.” Finn took another sip, finally tearing his eyes away from the painting. “You really should stop trying to put us in a box, Mammon. I’m not just a criminal, and Charmeine isn’t just a rich socialite. She’s a complex woman who happens to keep a particular persona in place for the public.”

But Mammon couldn’t resist one more hit. “So she’s a good actress.”

Finn growled, obviously pushed too far. “No, she’s an amazing person with a huge heart who happens to be afraid of being taken advantage of, so she keeps most people at arm’s length. There’s a difference.”

Mammon nodded, feeling chastised. And rightly so. But this place, this house, didn’t fit with the stories Finn spun. Even with its modern lines, the mansion exuded a sense of wealth. Especially the study, a room filled with books from floor to ceiling. Books Mammon wondered about—did they ever actually get read? Were they beloved tomes with ragged pages and cracked spines or simply there for decoration? Mammon wasn’t a money guy—he preferred relationships to partnerships, talking to spending—but even he knew the possible value of the books on the shelves. The number of libraries that would love to have them, the number of doors good stories opened for children and adults. Yet Finn hoarded them, seemingly as a show of the money he could spend. Something Mammon couldn’t wrap his head around.

The band around Mammon’s wrist vibrated, pulling him away from thoughts of money and waste. He tapped it twice before looking around the room. Seeking inspiration.

“So,” Mammon started, reaching for any subject where he might find common ground with the wealthy crime boss. “Do you watch football?”

“I’m more of a baseball man myself.”

Okay. Not that. “What about hockey?”

Finn’s eyes practically lit up, and he leaned forward in his seat. “Oh, now that’s an amazing sport. What’s your favorite team?”

“The Red Wings.”

“Oh.” Finn frowned and sat back again, his expression hardening. “I’m a Blackhawks fan, myself.”

“Ah.” The silence reigned once more, the air growing thick and uncomfortable. Mammon tugged at his collar and gulped his whiskey, wishing for an escape. Shouldn’t dinner be done already? Hadn’t it been over the twenty minutes Finn had mentioned? And how long could it possibly take Charmeine to shower and change for a casual dinner? Mammon scowled internally—he didn’t think he wanted to know that, to be honest.

“Well, at least we can agree on one thing as hockey fans,” Finn said finally as he grinned over the rim of his glass.

Mammon searched his memory for one thing, one positive attribute linking the Red Wings and the Blackhawks. And then he nodded. “Chris Chelios.”

Finn raised his glass in a toast. “Chris Chelios.”

“What about him?” Charmeine walked into the room as if she owned the world, which she may have for all Mammon knew.

She also sucked all the air right out of it.

Her hair hung in damp ringlets, her dirty jeans and shirt replaced with a light, simple dress that looked like it was made from the same fabric as some of his old T-shirts. His fingers itched to touch, to feel the fabric. To caress the curves underneath it and enjoy every ounce of softness her body and her clothes had to offer.

He stood up instead.

“There you are.” Finn rose to his feet as well, approaching Charmeine to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely. Doesn’t she look lovely, Mammon?”

Words. He needed words. Something agreeable even though he didn’t think she looked lovely. Amazing…sexy…incredible…the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, sure. Lovely…not so much.

Finn stared at him, waiting, the look in his eyes saying he knew exactly what he’d done by putting Mammon on the spot this way. The smiling fucker was going to die.

“Sure. Yes. Of course.”

Charmeine’s eyebrows rose, and her lips turned down. “I appreciate your enthusiastic response.”

Oh, hell. That wasn’t…
shit
. Not wanting her to think he found her lacking in any way, Mammon shot her a wicked smirk as he raised his glass. “You’re stunning. I preferred the jeans is all.”

Bingo.
Charmeine’s body relaxed, her anger apparently breaking. The way she looked at him, all bright eyes and ruddied cheeks, made Mammon want to kiss her. Want to lick the length of her neck and bury his teeth there. To claim her.

And wasn’t that just a fucked-up thought to begin with? He was supposed to hate her, not want to throw her down and slide between those shapely legs. Shit, he was hard…again.

Finn’s quiet chuckle—the one he tried to cover with a throat-clearing cough—cut the tension well, though, and distracted Mammon from the confusing situation happening in his pants. “So. Dinner?”

“Yes.” Charmeine tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking quite possibly just as rattled as Mammon if the deep pink of her neck and cheeks was any indication. “Dinner would be a good idea.”

Finn just chuckled again, the bastard. “Shall we move into the dining room, then?”

Mammon followed the other two through a doorway at the back of the room, feeling quite accomplished when his eyes stayed on Charmeine’s back instead of her ass. Well, for most of the way. At least half. Maybe. Not that anyone could have blamed him. The thin fabric of her dress hugged every delectable curve and dip, showcased the long, lean muscles beneath her skin as the garment moved with her. It was hypnotizing.
Mercy, mercy, mercy
.

When he finally tore his eyes from that ass, Mammon checked out where they’d be eating. The dining room was about what he expected—big, with sleek furniture and cool colors on the walls. Perfectly in style with the rest of the house, even though the décor went against the classic exterior. Not that he was a master at design or anything, but those columns out front seemed to indicate grandeur.

The three moved to the huge table where only three places were set. One on the end—for Finn, he assumed—and one on either side.

How…normal.

Mammon followed Charmeine to her side of the table, leaning in to pull her chair out for her. Finn raised an eyebrow at the move, but Mammon ignored him. He could be a gentleman, for fuck’s sake. As he pushed the chair back in, earning him a lovely smile from his even-more lovely mate, his wristband vibrated again. As soon as he made sure his mate was settled, he tapped the device twice. The signal to Deus that he was still alive and didn’t need the team waiting a few blocks away to infiltrate the house.

That sort of technology was how Dires went in alone without going in alone.

“I hope you enjoy a good steak, Mammon.” Finn smiled and draped his napkin on his lap.

“Yeah. Sure.” Mammon followed the man’s lead, placing his napkin across his lap before resting his forearms against the edge of the table. The few lessons about manners he’d learned over the years repeated in his head—don’t slurp, don’t put your elbows on the table, don’t chew with your mouth open, napkin in lap, silverware used from outside in. So much information, it made his head hurt. How could a simple meal cause that much stress?

Finn, on the other hand, seemed completely calm and relaxed. “So, Charmeine, how was the rescue today? You said the families started moving in, correct?”

Charmeine glanced at Mammon before replying. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time.”

“No, I think this is the perfect time.” Finn gave Mammon an appraising stare. “I think we can trust our friend here with the bare bones of your day.”

That sounded almost ominous. “Trust me with what?”

But even though Mammon addressed Finn, it was Charmeine who answered. “The lives of children.”

Well, that wasn’t expected. Before he could reply, though, a man walked into the room…a waiter, it seemed. At a private residence. He was in a whole new world.

Mammon had to sit back as a plate was slid in front of him. The scent of grilled steak almost made his mouth water, and yet he didn’t make a move to eat it. Couldn’t, no matter how good it smelled or how hungry he suddenly was. His wolf wouldn’t allow it; not until his mate had been served.

A thought that rocked him right to the floor.

Fighting the mating instincts trying to force him to bend to their will, he grabbed his knife and fork and focused back in on the conversation. “You rescue children?”

“Families, really. Those affected by the Apex Hunters.” Charmeine smiled at the server who brought her meal, then looked back to Mammon. Smile gone. Anxiety written across her pretty face. “I won’t tell you where the rescue is.”

“Understood, and I won’t ask for that information.” Mammon cut into his steak, his brow tightening as he frowned. “Are there many of them?”

“Children? No. Very few.” Charmeine huffed an inelegant sort of snort. “The Hunters leave their prey with nothing. They kill anyone in their way, no matter the age. Whole families have been wiped out, entire packs.”

Mammon set his silverware down, still concentrating on the woman across from him. “Entire packs going missing isn’t something easy to hide. How did the NALB not know of this?”

“They’re sneaky,” Finn said, an angry rumble to his voice. “The Hunters don’t hit established, well-known packs. They keep their focus on smaller ones, expansion groups or new packs formed from pack castoffs. Or, if they want to go bigger, they kill one at a time, making the pack suffer over months or even years.”

Finn glanced at Charmeine, who seemed to be staring transfixed at her plate. Not moving. Barely breathing.

“Charmeine’s mother and mine were best friends. Grew up almost as sisters.” Finn cleared his throat, casting a worried look at the shewolf. “The Hunters hit the Byrne family hard. They killed Charmeine’s parents first. Then they went after her cousins. Aunts and uncles. Every extended family member with the Byrne surname. When they were done, they tried coming after Charmeine, the last living Byrne, but she was too protected. They managed to take out my parents, though.”

Charmeine finally raised her head, her eyes red and glassy but still defiant. She reached for Finn’s hand, the two clinging to each other in a way that spoke of friendship and support. A way that clawed at Mammon’s heart. The picture he had of them, his assumptions and ideas, shifted with every bit he learned, leaving him more adrift than ever.

Charmeine coughed and pulled her hand back, returning to her meal with practiced poise. An actress putting on a show. “They decimated my family over the course of two decades. When they came for Finn’s parents, they promised to do the same to his. I won’t stand for that.”

The growl to her voice spoke to Mammon, called to the beast within him. Made him burn with fury and rage at the missed opportunities to help. To save shifters who needed saving.