All but Faust and Knox looked like they didn't believe me. I didn't need them to. I'd figured something out, and it felt good.
I craned my head up to Knox. "So when you said you mostly hunt for your food, you weren't talking about fishing or like shooting an animal."
"Why would we use guns?" Huntley looked positively disgusted by the idea.
"You eat the meat raw?" I asked.
They all shrugged. Apparently, no one here thought that was unusual. I supposed if they were only wolves, living in the woods, they would eat all their food raw. But still…
"Do you test for worms?"
Faust snorted, while the twins made a barking noise that sounded most like laughter.
"We don't get worms, brat," Knox said, though his face didn't match his tone. He growled like usual, but his face looked brighter…lighter somehow. Almost like he was very near to smiling, which would be odd, since I didn't think his lips were elastic enough to stretch into a full smile.
"Do you have special feelings about fire hydrants?" I asked sweetly.
Faust let out a real laugh.
Knox shoved the sandwich in my mouth in reply. I smiled as I chewed. It was a little cold now, but it still tasted good, and Knox had been right earlier. That apple hadn't been enough. As I took the final draw of my milkshake, crackling through the creamy mixture to the bottom of the cup, something very important occurred to me.
We'd been in this room for some time. Despite their earlier irritation at my presence, no one had made mention of my father. No one had looked at me like I was nothing more than a human dollar sign. I didn't know if this had all happened on purpose or if it was accidental. Maybe they'd just been preoccupied with their investigation. This could all mean nothing. Or it could mean everything.
I hoped it meant everything.
Chapter Six
Knox
Rain pelted the windows. The clouds had moved in that morning and were here to stay. But the gloomy weather couldn't dampen Jazz's spirits.
"Pizza!" Jazz shouted for joy.
His happiness was worth the looks I'd get from the other guys. I'd explained my concerns to them in the days since, and they all agreed something fishy was going on between Jazz and his father. But, they weren't all as eager to get involved as I was. Diesel was positive I just needed to get laid.
Jazz used his mitten to fling the pizza lid open. He'd gotten pretty good at using them in place of hands, and when he couldn't do something, me or Faust were around to help. "Double pepperoni, extra cheese!"
I'd known that was his favorite. "It's to share, brat."
Jazz's forehead wrinkled in an expression that bordered on murderous, but it cleared a moment later. "I guess that's okay. If I ate it all, I'd just get a stomachache."
That would be something, seeing a man Jazz's size try to put down a pizza the same size as a truck tire.
Jazz reached for a slice, remembering his dilemma a moment later. His expression fell, torture replacing joy.
"Okay, okay," Jagger mumbled. "You don't have to look like a kicked puppy." He lifted a slice, placed it on one of the paper plates that came with the pizza, and balanced the plate on Jazz's outstretched mitts.
Jazz walked carefully back to where I sat, taking the seat next to me without being told. In the handful of days he'd been here, he seemed to prefer staying close to me. At first, I thought it was fear of the others that drove him into my protection, but, as the days went on, I realized he just liked staying close.
So much of our day was already spent together. After the first time, I allowed Jazz the use of a single hand when he needed to use the restroom so he could handle his business on his own, but everything else, I did for him. Me or one of the others helped him eat, drink, and move anything he couldn't manage with his mitts. At night, he slept with me in my room. I took his mitts off to give his hands time to breathe, but he slept with a thin chain linking him to the headboard. He could roll on his back, front, and both sides, but he couldn't get more than a few feet away from the bed.
I frowned at Jazz sticking his tongue out like a frog trying to coax the slice from the plate to his mouth. Picking it up, I held it out for him to take a bite while the others grabbed their own.
A part of me enjoyed having someone soft to protect again. It was the closest I'd felt to being an Alpha in a long time, and while I didn't hate the feeling, I didn't deserve it either.
I couldn't tell if this new acceptance of Jazz from the others was a truce or something else. As long as I kept everyone fed well, for the time being, we could live in harmony—or at least without constant complaining.
"How many should we save for Diesel?" Jazz asked while he chewed.
We could live in near harmony anyway. After that first day of having Jazz at the hotel, Diesel had made himself scarce. The food he'd bought Jazz had been an apology. The Diesel I knew would never have suggested killing an innocent person to be rid of a problem. But he wasn't entirely the Diesel I knew anymore. His omega was dead. Nothing would bring Quinlan back, and despite that, a part of me had thought that when we started getting answers, the real Diesel would reemerge.
But what if that Diesel—the one with an endless well of patience and kindness—was gone forever?
Jazz skipped across the room, the plate clapped between his mitts. It was empty except for his pizza crust, which Jazz dropped on the ground four feet away from where Dog was sitting. He scooted the crust closer to the dog with his foot. "Here you go, puppy."
He didn't pay attention to the way the puppy growled low with his sharp teeth bared. My hackles rose, the wolf in me rising to the challenge.
Dog wouldn't bite unless Faust allowed him to, and that fact alone allowed me to remain seated.
Dog needn't have bothered growling; nothing could deter Jazz. "There you go, you grumpy pants," he said affectionately before returning to the pizza box.
"His farts are going to be awful," Faust moaned.
This time, Huntley lifted a new slice for Jazz. Instead of setting it on the plate, he held the slice in his hands and moved it toward Jazz's mouth in a jerky motion. "Choo, choo, here comes the train." He kept the slice just out of Jazz's reach.
Jagger and Faust smirked, and I watched Jazz's face. He grinned at the teasing, but irritation made the apples of his cheeks pink. Huntley stood between him and pizza. That wasn't a safe place to stand. Clearly, Huntley didn't know how much Jazz talked about pizza.
"Give it to me!" Jazz barked, launching forward like he meant to tackle Huntley from his chair.
Huntley hadn't expected Jazz to leap at him like a gazelle fleeing a lion and jerked back in his chair, causing the chair legs to groan before snapping beneath the odd angle. The slice of pizza he'd taunted Jazz with fell from his hand and landed toppings down, against his chest.
Faust laughed loudly along with Jagger, but Jazz rushed forward, attempting to offer Huntley his arm.
"I'm sorry! I was only trying to fake you out."
"You succeeded," Jagger bellowed.
Huntley jumped to his feet, wiping at the mess on his shirt. "Serves me right for underestimating my opponent." He sized Jazz up. Hilarious, given their disparate differences. Huntley stood and nearly seven feet of highly-trained muscle, and Jazz was a redheaded wisp of a thing with mittens on his hands.