Motor City Wolf by Cindy Spencer Pape Read Free Book Online Page B

happened to him, full moon or no.
    When Fianna returned from the restroom, fully clothed and with her hair smoothed back into its ponytail, he gathered up his clothes and went inside, washing with ice-cold water, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. All they had available were hand towels, so it took a while to dry off. By the time he was dressed, he had his hormones more or less under control.
    Or so he thought until he stepped back into the storeroom and the scent of sex hit him like a sledgehammer.
    Fee sat on the floor in one corner, legs curled beneath her, her back propped against a shelf, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Even disheveled as she was, her clothes still wrinkled and covered in soot and cleaning products, she was stunning.
    To be on the safe side, Greg sat on the kegs as far from her as he could get.
    “I still wish you’d consider moving out of the building until Beowulf, or whoever is going after werewolves, is taken care of. So far it’s only werewolves being targeted this time around. You’d be safe somewhere else.”
    “I still have to have a job, don’t I?” She shot him a pointed glance. “I don’t recall the queen rescinding the ‘menial labor’ portion of my sentence.”
    “We’ll lie.” What did he care what some elven bitch wanted? “Meagan and Ric would claim you’re working as their housekeeper or something.”
    She lifted one eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to earn a living? They already have a housekeeper.”
    Greg felt a growl start low in his chest. “I’ll keep up your wages until it’s safe for you to come back.”
    “And the other waitstaff, the cooks, the bartenders?” She studied her fingernails. “Are you going to send them away, too, just in case? How about the customers? Will you close the club to make sure they don’t accidentally get caught in the crossfire?”
    “The others don’t live in the building.” And none of them was Fee. What the hell was he supposed to do?
    Out of the blue, footsteps and voices above their heads caught Greg’s attention and he ran up to the locked door.
    “What the fuck?” he muttered. It sounded like Desmond Sutton, a local mage who didn’t think much of werewolves and usually couldn’t be bothered to step foot in the club.
    “Damn, this looks bad.” That voice belonged to Ric Thornhill, who yelled, “Anybody home? Is everyone all right?”
    Greg pounded on the basement door and shouted, “In here.”
    Moments later, the door flew open and Greg and Fianna joined Ric and Desmond in the thoroughly demolished kitchen.
    “Holy shit.” Greg looked around in dismay. About the only thing he could say on the plus side was at least there hadn’t been another fire. This mess looked to have been made with baseball bats or sledgehammers. The stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator and the flat-top grill and fryer were probably salvageable, along with maybe half the pots and pans. The rest would have to go. “Well, the club might open later this week, but it will be with nothing but popcorn and peanuts for food.”
    “There’s more.” Desmond, tall despite his half-Chinese heritage, and all lean, ropy muscle, absently used magic to sweep some broken glass off a counter and sat on the steel surface. “Yours isn’t the only place in town that’s been hit.”
    “A bakery in Hamtramck has been completely wiped out.” Ric frowned. “The family lived above it. Even the kids were killed.”
    “Fuck.” Greg sagged onto a stool by the prep counter, after first knocking debris off the old-fashioned way, with his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fee do the same. “Fire?”
    Des nodded. “You guys probably need to post watch 24/7. I’ve got some friends with a private security company that doesn’t ask any questions when weird shit happens.”
    Greg almost smiled. “In other words, witches and wizards.” Des worked for an elite group of magic users called the Wyndewin League, who essentially policed