Page 23 of Sold to the wrong Alpha
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re working on that.”
Ren clenched his teeth. Brody’s scent reached him on a gentle breeze—raisins, walnuts, warm wood—and relaxed his muscles against his will. He clenched his fists.
“Who is Rocco? Why did he help me?”
“Eat something first. We’ll talk later.”
“No. We’re talking now.”
Brody lowered his chin. He looked down at him with those broken, gray eyes that held too many emotions. Ren waited. The wind ruffled his blond hair across his forehead, and he had to brush it away with a sharp gesture.
“Rocco works for me.” Pause. “That’s all you need to know for now.”
“That’s not all.”
“That’s how it is, Ren.”
His name on Brody’s lips. Deep, rough, with that texture of wet sandpaper that ran down his spine like a finger. Ren took a step back. He swallowed what he was about to say.
Brody watched him for a moment longer. The stiffness in his shoulders eased slightly, and he nodded toward the side door.
“Let’s go inside. You need to eat.”
Ren didn’t move for three long seconds. Then his feet carried him behind Brody as if they had a will of their own, and he hated himself a little more for it.
The kitchen smelled of toast and fresh coffee. Ren sat on a bar stool at the marble island and watched as Rocco—the same man from the casino, though now without his dealer’s uniform—set a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a slice of buttered toast before him.
“Eat. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
Ren looked at him warily. Rocco held his gaze without pressure, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed and that expression of a guy who’s seen too much of the world to be surprised by anything. In the light of day, he was bigger than Ren remembered. Broad shoulders, large hands, a square jaw. But something about him was invisible, as if he could blend into the wall in any setting.
“Why did you help me?”
“Because someone had to.”
Ren poked at the eggs with his fork. He pushed them around the plate.
“That’s not an answer.”
Rocco shrugged.
“It’s the only one I have. Eat.”
Ren ate. The first bite hurt as he swallowed, as if his throat had forgotten how to function. The second was easier. By the third, hunger hit him like a punch in the stomach, and he devoured the entire plate in less than three minutes.
Rocco poured him coffee without asking.
“Thanks,” Ren wrapped both hands around the cup. The heat rose through his fingers. “For the paper. For the address. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Why not?”
Rocco’s smile was brief and slightly crooked.
“Because this isn’t over. Reznov paid seven hundred thousand for you. He will not settle for losing his investment.”
