4: Distractions

Joseph Grind's private jet sliced through the clouds on his way back to New Jersey. He sat alone, scotch in hand, staring blankly at the lights of Kingston disappearing beneath them. Jamaica was beautiful, dangerous, sacred. And now he was connected to something he shouldn't have touched.

Her.

Tasha.

Even her name stirred something primal inside him. A name he shouldn't know on his lips. A life he had no business watching. But he'd made a promise, and Joseph Grind never broke his word.

He turned the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the light.

‘We said we'd look after her,’ he muttered in his mind. ‘That doesn’t mean you should obsess over her.’

‘You're acting like I'm the only one who's obsessed over her. You don't get to lie to yourself,’ Rex snarled in his head, the wolf's voice like gravel and fury. ‘I don't call it obsession when she's already ours.’

‘No, she's not.’

‘You saw the way she looked at us. Her scent. Her energy. You felt it. She's the one. She knows she's ours.’

Joseph clenched his jaw. ‘She's a child.’

‘She's sixteen,’ Rex growled. ‘You were leading a pack at eighteen while running the Mafia. She's not weak. Her wolf will be awakened in a few years and then she will be ours.’

‘What about Penelope?’

‘What about her? She's too perky and annoying for me, and she's only a business deal. I'd never touch her with a ten-foot pole,’ Rex chuckled.

"You think this is a fucking joke?" Joseph slammed the glass on the table, cracking it.

The steward on the plane flinched but wisely said nothing.

Joseph stood and walked to the window, pressing a hand to the cool surface. “I buried Titan three months ago,”he whispered. "The man who helped me survive my own father's death. Who taught me to lead without fear. Who kept my enemies from seeing how young I was when the crown fell on my head."

He closed his eyes.

"Now he's gone... and I'm watching his daughter from the shadows like some cursed fool."

The day Titan died replayed like a looping film in his mind. Blood, fire, and gunfire. That warehouse raid in Chicago where Titan saved his life again, by throwing himself in front of Joseph and catching the silver bullets meant for his heart.

"I'll gladly accept death knowing I protected you," Titan had gasped. "But promise me... promise me you'll protect her. My Tasha."

He'd never even seen the girl up close until that birthday party. For years, she'd just been a file, photos, reports, bank transactions. Titan made sure she was safe, and Joseph made sure Titan had the money and resources to keep her life untouched by blood.

Until now.

Until her eyes met his.

Until her voice, so soft and curious, said goodnight at the gate like she'd known him forever.

"Happy birthday, Tasha," he'd whispered, unable to help himself. And the look she gave him was so sweet, yet so suspicious. He was drawn to he and that caused something old and buried to snap inside him.

‘Claim her,’ Rex had said.

“No, I can’t,” Joseph muttered, teeth grinding. "I made a vow. I won't be like my father."

‘You're nothing like our father,’ Rex snapped. ‘You're worse. You know what she is to us. You feel it. And yet you refuse to do something about it.’

Joseph didn't reply. Because Rex was right.

He did feel it.

A pull. A bond. A gravity between them that was supernatural. Fated.

But Tasha didn't know what she was.

She didn't know what he was.

She didn't know he was the Alpha of the largest werewolf pack in the Western Hemisphere and the head of the American Mafia.

She didn't know his hands were soaked in blood and power and secrets.

And yet... she smiled at him.

And Goddess help him, it lit something inside his cold chest.

"Alpha," came a voice from the other cabin. "We'll be landing in New Jersey in twenty minutes. The Colombians are already at the compound."

Joseph ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back his ponytail. "Good. Make sure security's tight. No surprises."

"Yes, Alpha."

Joseph walked back to his seat and poured himself a fresh drink. He needed to focus. Tonight wasn't about Tasha. Tonight was business.

Cutting ties in Jamaica had been necessary. The Scorpion Cartel had been running guns behind his back. Double-dealings to his enemies in South America. Joseph had flown down personally to send a message.

Two bodies later, the message was clear.

Rex hadn't complained. The wolf liked the blood.

But now Rex wanted something else.

Someone else.

Joseph sat back and let the scotch burn down his throat.

******

The Grind Estate in New Jersey was a fortress masked as luxury. Hidden beneath its marble halls and grand chandeliers were armories, interrogation rooms, and war councils. Joseph entered like a storm, black coat flowing, his lieutenants trailing behind him.

The Colombians were waiting in the cigar room, posturing like peacocks.

"Señor Grind," the eldest said, a man called Vicente. "I heard you've been busy in Jamaica."

Joseph sat across from him, steepling his fingers. "Cleaning house."

"Or burning bridges?"

Joseph's smile was thin and dangerous. "Depends on who's watching."

Vicente chuckled. "You've grown bold since your father died."

"I was bold before. Now I'm just less patient."

The conversation continued, veiled threats tucked between smiles and sips of rum. But Joseph's mind kept slipping back to brown eyes and curls blowing in the wind.

He excused himself early, letting his men handle the rest.

He needed air.

He needed control.

He needed silence.

And in that silence, he decided that he couldn't go to Jamaica to watch Tasha anymore. The mate bond was interfering with his everyday life. He didn't need any distractions right now, not when so much bloodshed was taking place in the Mafia world.

He called his new Beta, Christopher, who Titan had been training to take over his position.

Christopher came in the study with his head bowed.

"You requested my presence, Alpha."

"Yes. I'll need you to be relocated to Jamaica for a few years. I'll need you to keep an eye on someone for me."

"You got it, boss," Christopher nodded.

"I'll need an update on her at the end of every month. Who she sees, what she wears. Who she talks to and how many shits and pisses she takes throughout the day. Got that?"

Christopher nodded his head.

"And Chris, I know you'll be tempted to introduce yourself to her—she's a gorgeous specimen. But if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I will cut your heart out with a butter knife. Do you understand?"

"Yes, boss."

"Now get the fuck outta my sight."