Wes

Wes stormed into the Painted Wolf an hour late. After the night he had, he was lucky he made it at all. His face was a patchwork of purple and black bruises and his hand hurt like hell. Not to mention the raging hangover he was nursing.

Cali was gone when he’d woken. She’d left him a bottle of water, aspirin and a note on his nightstand. The note thanked him for a fun night and invited him to dinner at her house. He’d sent her a quick text, declining dinner with some excuse about having to work late and then shut his phone off before hopping in the shower.

He knew he was being a dick for avoiding her. It’s not that he thought she was being clingy. She probably really only meant dinner—Cali was a no strings kind of girl, something Wes loved about her. She was also genuinely kind—definitely too kind for a guy like Wes. He still felt shitty about using her as a distraction last night. But in the moment it was exactly what he needed. He was able to shut off the devastating pain in his chest and quiet the angry voice in his head with Cali sprawled before him. But now, alone with his thoughts, guilt plagued him.

Using Cali for sex was becoming a bad habit for Wes. Last night, he’d warned her that’s all it would be. And even though she’d been okay with it, Wes still found himself being uncharacteristically selfless as he pleasured her. Cali was always taking care of others and Wes enjoyed returning the favor. At least he felt a little better knowing they’d both enjoyed themselves last night. His last conscious memory was of Cali laying atop him, shuddering with pleasure before they both drifted to sleep—wrung dry and content.

Wes winced as he shrugged his jacket off, hanging it in the back room of the tattoo parlor. He kept forgetting about his stitches and trying to use his left hand to do things. He opened and closed his hand in discomfort, grateful Cali had been kind enough to stitch him up. She was good at taking care of people—even people that didn’t deserve it. Kindness was in her nature and probably why she ended up becoming a nurse at the shifter clinic. Wes popped a few more aspirin in his mouth and gulped them down before pushing through the saloon style doors to the Painted Wolf’s turquoise lobby.

Marc stuck his head out of his booth when he heard Wes stomping about. “Don’t you look pretty this morning,” the pale-haired tattoo artist purred smirking at the colorful bruises blooming on Wes’s face.

“Not in the mood today, Marc,” Wes warned, plopping down behind the desk to check his schedule for the day.

Marc slipped from his booth and closed the door behind him. “If you’re looking for your first appointment, you’ll find her in my booth.”

“What the hell, dude?”

“You were an hour late,” Marc retorted. “And I know you think you’re the belle of the ball, but purple is not your color, my friend.” He smirked gesturing to Wes’s bruised face.

“Seriously, Marc. If you don’t fuck off I’m gonna give you a face to match,” Wes growled.

He and Marc always spent their days slinging witty banter, but Wes was not in the mood for it at the moment. His rage for what Grey had stolen from him was still simmering just under the surface.

“Jesus, who pissed in your cheerios?” Marc teased.

“Greyson West.”

Marc snorted. “Now what’d he do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okaaay,” Marc drawled, rolling his eyes. “How is Etti?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Marc shrugged and turned to head back to his booth, but called over his shoulder. “Ya know it’s never gonna happen between you two, right?”

Wes exploded, whipping the laptop he’d been scrolling through at Marc’s head. His injured hand threw off his aim and the laptop smashed into the wall a foot from Marc’s head. Marc’s expression was utter terror and shock as the color drained from his already pale complexion. Wes stood, gripping the counter as he tried to fight the rage threatening to shake him apart. He sucked in a breath. He needed air. He needed to clear his head before he did something he couldn’t undo. He stormed through the swinging doors and out of the Painted Wolf, as Marc’s frightened stare burned into the back of Wes’s head.

In all their years of working together, Wes had never lost his temper—never. Etti always teased him, calling him a big teddy bear underneath his hulking frame and burly muscles. But Wes was a wrecking force when he wanted to be. But he never needed to be the asshole that his physique presumed he was. Not when he had Etti. She was the yin to his yang—the steady dam that contained the dangerous force he’d built himself into. But now, without Etti to soothe him, Wes felt like a raging tidal wave had just been released. And he was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to control its destruction.