He didn’t know when she’d come in, but he was glad to see her back and safe, even if she wasn’t in his bed.

Knowing Dee, she probably assumed it was rude to get into his bed without receiving a direct invitation. He’d have to let her know she had a standing invite from now until forever.

Gazing at her stretched out facedown and naked on the bed, he could easily see what she’d been through that night. Bruises and cuts littered her body, the worst bruising on her shoulder. All those angry reds, purples, and blacks against pale white skin suggested that particular area had been through hell and back.

Ric stripped naked and got on the bed with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight against him, making sure to avoid her damaged shoulder. She snarled at him in her sleep anyway, but he kissed her neck and said, “It’s Ric.” Dee settled down then and slept comfortably in his arms while Ric stared at the wall across the room and tried to figure out what he’d do next about his father. Because he honestly had no idea.

Dee-Ann woke up alone, although Ric’s scent still surrounded her. Rubbing her eyes with her fists, she sat up and stretched long and hard. Her body still hurt some, but nothing she couldn’t tolerate.

Especially after those first few minutes of dawn when she’d felt Ric gently kissing her scars and stroking her bruises. The horniest wolf she knew, but she didn’t mind because he always made her feel so damn good.

Leaving the bedroom, she headed to the kitchen. In the stove, she found a plate filled with bacon, ham, eggs, and toast. With a small smile, she reached for it, until she heard a noise coming from the opposite hallway.

Still naked, she followed the sound and ended up in front of Ric’s home office. Head tilting to the side, she watched his brother, Wen- dell, trying to open the safe there. A safe he wouldn’t get open anytime soon, if he knew about safes. Dammont safes were developed and built by wolves out of East Texas. No one was getting into that safe without the combination or a small thermonuclear device.

Whether Wen- dell simply didn’t know safes or he was so desperate he had to try, Dee-Ann simply didn’t care.

All she knew was that he was trying to steal from his own brother and that’s all she had to know.

There were some lines one just didn’t cross with family. At least not with her around.

She stood behind him, watching him fumble with the lock, getting more and more frustrated, for at least five minutes before he finally realized that she—or someone—stood right behind him.

The wolf spun around, fangs and claws unleashed, and Dee punched him in the face. His body slammed back into the safe and she moved in, punching him in the gut and kidneys until he was bent over at the waist. That’s when she kneed him in the jaw.

Once he was out cold, Dee caughthim by the hair and dragged him out of the office, down the hallway, to the front door. It opened while she was reaching for the knob. An older She-wolf stood there, eyes wide in surprise.

“Uh . . . you must be Dee-Ann,” she said.

“Yes’m.”

“I’m Mrs. Marshall. Ulrich’s housekeeper.”

“Mrs. Marshall. Nice to meet you.”

“Um . . . he told me you might be here until you get a place of your own. I’m not . . . uh . . .

interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, ma’am. Just taking out some trash.”

“Ah. Mr. Dell. Yes. You’re right.” She pointed at the end of the hallway beside the elevator. “The garbage chute is right down there. You might have to push a bit to get his shoulders through, but you look strong enough.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Dee walked past the She-wolf and dragged the just-waking wolf down the hallway. By the time his eyes opened fully, Dee had most of his body in the chute.

“Wait—” he began, but Dee slapped her hand against his forehead and gave one last shove, sending him screaming down to the pits of hell—or more likely a Dumpster.

Wiping her hands against each other, she walked back into the apartment, closing the door.

“Clothes, missy,” Mrs. Marshall told her. “You can’t walk around a kitchen naked. It’s tacky.”

“Yes’m.”

“And you better wash those hands, too, before you eat.”

“Yes’m.”

“And you can call me Mrs. M. like Ulrich does.”

Or . . . just ma’am. Whatever worked. “Yes’m.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Move like you have purpose.” Dee ambled off to the bedroom to get a fresh set of clothes.

Lock MacRyrie opened his eyes when he caught the first whiff of coffee. He snarled at the wolf grinning down at him.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Where’s Gwen?”

“Work. I saw her on the way out. She wanted me to give you her love. Would you like the kiss, too?”

Lock turned over and pulled the covers over his head. No matter how many times he changed the locks on his door, getting stronger and more expensive models, nothing seemed to stop the wolves from getting into his apartment when they felt like it.

“Up. Up,” Ric coaxed. “Time to face the day.”

“Go away or I’m killing you.”

“I need advice, old friend. There’s my French toast in it for you.”

“I don’t want French toast. I want sleep.”

“Bacon? Eggs? All fresh and made by loving hands.”