“Ben’s not here,” Trevor said.

“Where the fuck is he?” Austin glanced at the clock over the bar.

Wheeler laughed richly and threw back his head. “That should be on a fucking T-shirt. Front and back.”

“What happened to your eye?” Izzy asked me.

I reached up and touched the sore spot. Then she noticed my broken fingernails, so I quickly lowered my hand.

“You want to tell me why you brought Naya along on your little raid?” Austin asked. “She’s not pack. She’s someone I offered protection, and you threw her into danger?”

“Throw her?” Wheeler exclaimed. “That what you think of her? You should see how she handled those men.” He laughed darkly and I found myself slinking down in my seat. Here come the jokes. “She single-handedly disarmed two of Delgado’s men and took one of them down while fighting the other.”

“Hah!” Lexi blurted out in surprise. “Are you serious?”

Wheeler turned all the way around and leaned back on his elbows. “Your friend is one dangerous woman to mess with. She’s cunning and plays on the weaknesses of her foes.”

Denver chuckled. “What did she do, strip?”

Wheeler hopped off his chair. “Want to say that again?”

Austin pushed him back with one hand. “That’s enough. Both of you. Like I said, on my orders as the Packmaster, no one leaves this house without at least one person with them. And for now, let’s keep the kids at home.”

“That means you, Denver.” Lexi erupted with laughter, and Denver wrinkled his nose in retaliation.

Austin stepped in front of me when I slid off my stool. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” I said.

“I don’t think so.”

I patted his chest. “Normally I like my men big and strong, but I don’t tolerate men who order me around. Lexi is my friend, so I’ll hold my tongue on what I’d really like to say, but step out of my way. I have no desire to be given a verbal lashing in front of your pack just so you can show you’re the dominant wolf.”

He chuckled and touched the talisman around his neck. Austin was a tough alpha in every way. The tribal ink on his shoulders and upper arms marked him as a Packmaster—becoming a recognizable symbol for anyone who might not know him by sight or name. He was over six feet tall, and that was mighty tall in my book when I wasn’t wearing my heels or platforms.

“You’re staying with us,” he said.

“Was.”

“Are. I’m not closing my doors to a family friend.”

I smoothed my right hand along the edge of the bar. “I don’t belong here, and I’ve already ruffled a few feathers.”

“True, but you’re still not leaving. Delgado’s out there, and no offense, but your apartment is a piece of shit. I could kick down that door drunk and on roller skates.”

“I’d pay to watch that,” Denver said with a smirk, rising to his feet.