Max, standing slightly behind Ash, pointed at the back of Ash’s head and mouthed to Mads, Who is this?
Shocked, Mads looked at Nelle, who could only shrug and shake her head in surprise and confusion.
“What do you mean, ‘Who is this?’ ” Mads said out loud.
“Dude!” Max cringed before forcing a smile at Ashley. “I’m sorry, hon. I’m just terrible with names and faces.”
Ashley frowned, also confused. “Max, it’s me. Ashley.”
“Ashley . . . Ashley . . .” Mad scrunched up her nose. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m drawing a blank.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m assuming we’ve met before.”
Now even Streep was staring at Max, eyes wide open and clear.
“Max,” Ashley pushed, “we’ve all known each other for, like, a decade.”
“Oh! Right!” Max nodded. “Ashley from high school!”
Ash briefly closed her eyes. “Yes. Also from high school. But I’m also with Streep.”
“Yes!” Max cheered. “We’re all with you, Streep. Go, Streep! You’ll be fine in no time.”
Streep pushed herself up on her elbows. She couldn’t even be bothered to continue milking the situation anymore. Instead she gazed at Max with her mouth open.
“What?” Max asked, completely clueless. “What’s wrong?”
*
Stevie jumped out of the helicopter and practically army-crawled away from it toward the Hamptons mansion. She was afraid to walk upright. That’s how you got your head cut off by those blades slashing through the air. And she’d kept her eyes closed the entire trip here because she knew exactly how many copters crash-landed around the world. She was terrified she’d be the next victim!
Honestly, she wouldn’t have boarded the fucking thing if it hadn’t been for Shen. He’d gotten really good at putting her in vehicles she didn’t want to be in. He had a lot of patience and always kept things fun. Or as fun as they could be when Stevie was worried about dying painfully.
Right now, she would have army-crawled all the way to the house if Shen hadn’t picked her up by the waist and lifted her into the air. Stevie squealed until he put her on the ground and kissed the top of her head.
“Feeling better?” Shen asked.
“Now that I’m out of that flying death-mobile and have my feet on solid ground . . . yes.”
Walking beside them, Zé asked, “Who are they?”
“By those supermodel looks and the funk of wolf coming off them, I’m guessing those are elder Van Holtzes.”
Stevie silently agreed with Shen. There was something about the males of that family. No matter the age, they stood out in an average crowd of men, and they all shared a resemblance. Once you saw even one of the Van Holtzes, you could recognize all the others no matter where in the world you might spot one.
And the three older males she saw exiting a black SUV and heading toward the mansion were definitely Van Holtzes, although scruffier than she was used to seeing. They looked like they’d just come back from some kind of rough-and-ready backpacking trip in a foreign country.
As the three males neared the mansion, one of them spotted Stevie, Shen, and Zé not too far behind them. He stopped and faced them.
Stevie recognized him. There were two tiers of this generation of Van Holtz brothers. There was the eldest, Edgar, who oversaw the entire pack in the U.S., working closely with the German Van Holtz Pack and the U.S. government when necessary. The second oldest, Alder, who had once run the restaurant business in the U.S. but had been forced out a few years back. The rumor was embezzlement, but Stevie didn’t know how accurate that was. The family never discussed it one way or the other. And then there was the third oldest, Niles, who was also known as Van. He ran the Group, a government organization protecting shifters all over the world, especially hybrids; he was also family negotiator when anyone had to deal with Alder.
But there were three more Van Holtz brothers connected to the first trio. These were the three who had been walking toward the house. In no particular order, since she didn’t know their ages, there was Heller, also called “Hel”; Lothaire, also called “Lot”; and Gerulf, only called “Wolf.” Stevie didn’t blame him for insisting on a ridiculously redundant nickname for a wolf shifter. Because who wanted to be called “Gerulf”？ These three wolf brothers had very Old German names and very little was known about them. While the three oldest were outward facing, seamlessly gliding between the shifter and full-human worlds without problem, Stevie rarely heard about the three younger brothers. She knew they were rich. She knew they were trained chefs . . . and that was about it.
“Gentlemen,” Stevie greeted them as she approached.
“Stevie MacKilligan,” Wolf said, greeting her with a head nod. The fact that he knew her name was a little unnerving. Stevie had never met the three youngest brothers before. She knew of them, of course, because Charlie had showed her pictures once of the family so Stevie could recognize them on sight. Edgar and Niles Van Holtz’s involvement with the government had made that necessary. Still, she hadn’t met these three before now. And yet, Wolf had greeted her as if he’d known her for years. “Not to be impolite, Stevie, but why are you here?”
She shrugged at the question. “We were brought here.”
There was a momentary look of confusion on Wolf’s face but it quickly changed to outright annoyance and anger.
“Dammit!” he barked, spinning around, stomping to the front of the house and throwing open the door to the mansion.
“Tracey!” he bellowed as he stormed into the entryway. “Get your ass down here!”
As Lot stepped inside behind his brother, he sniffed the air. “I think . . .” He sniffed again. “I think someone is baking in our kitchen.”
Realizing it had to be Charlie, Stevie looked at Shen and mouthed, Uh-oh.
*
Charlie looked up when three very handsome wolves entered the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing?” one of them asked.
“Here.” Charlie went around the big counter and pushed a brownie into the male’s hand. “Try this.”
“I don’t want to try your brownie.”
“Eat it. I tried this fancy unsweetened cocoa you had in your pantry. I usually just use Hershey’s, so I’m curious how this one will work in my recipe.”
“Dear God,” one of them gasped. “You used our cocoa?”
“Wench!”
Mads’s aunt burst into the room with her three honey badger friends.
“Wolf! You’re home!”
“She’s baking in our kitchen!”
“Let’s talk outside.”
“You brought them here and let this one bake in our kitchen!”
“Outside.” She forced a smile at Charlie. “Excuse us.”
She grabbed an arm and began dragging. Two of her friends followed suit with the other wolves.
Charlie thought about following, finding out what the problem was. But she knew herself. What would start out as a calm and rational conversation would quickly turn into a nasty fight and, eventually, a mass burial that she simply didn’t want to be involved in.