"Groceries?" I blurt out, and I almost can't believe it.

Fresh produce and meat and milk . . . in the Underground. I don't even know how to understand the process of getting it down here, but I stare in amazement through the glass at the array of chilled yogourt.

Tommy nods eagerly. "Yeah, they're heavy, but when I get the shift for grocery carrying, I get to have first pick on whatever's here."

"First pick . . . wait, does stuff run out?"

I imagine it if all the people down here―Wolves and gang lords―run out of food, and the image isn't pretty. But Tommy gives me a puzzled look.

"What? No! I just want first dibs on the pistachio ice cream."

I wrinkle my nose. "Seriously? Out of all the flavours you could pick first?"

Defensively, he says, "What? I guess the Mafia have a thing for pistachio ice cream! It's always gone within the first two days of a new shipment."

"Yeah, right," I mutter. "That's probably the worst―"

"Shh!" Tommy says, glancing around the aisles at the other shoppers. Tattoo-coated, leather-wearing, gun-toting shoppers. "Don't say that too loud. You'll offend them."

"Over pistachio ice cream? Are you making this up?"

Then I hear the sound of a deep male voice. "Tommy Junior!" I look up―right at the man who kissed me only days ago.

As soon as he sees me, he pales.

Jesus. He must be deathly scared of Hunter.

"I'm not a Junior anymore," Tommy grumbles, reminding me of Jeremy. "I'm all grown up. I'm fifteen."

And I'll admit, even if Tommy is fifteen, he does seem grown up―if it weren't for the gangly limbs and the lanky height, I'd think he was closer to twenty. He has the strong jaw and nose and cheekbones that his sisters have, and his blue eyes glitter.

Although, when he speaks, it's easy enough to remember he's still a teenage boy.

"Fifteen, huh?" says the man, eyes flickering to me. He's handsome, too―with black hair and green eyes and white teeth. "Well, you're almost there, man. Speaking of shipments, when was the last one?"

He's a little scary, too―not in the heavy, muscularly defined way, but in a more subtle, fluid manner. His limbs ooze power, and the tattoos that crawl up his thick biceps tell me he definitely has strength. He looks like someone Tommy would idolize.

"The last shipment?" Tommy says. I sense another ramble, and I begin to tune out. "It was just today, man! You've got to see it! You know what came in? Pistachio nut and pistachio chocolate chip! I saw that and I lost it, but my sister never lets me buy . . ."

Until he said my sister, I wasn't paying attention.

"Your sister?" I interrupt.

"Hunter," Tommy agrees. "She never lets me buy more than one tub of ice cream and she says it's because I could get sick, but that was only one time I threw up in the sink, and it was when I was ten, so I think she's over exaggerating. Besides, there was that embarrassing time where she once, like, and don't tell anyone, or she'll kill me―" At this, the colour in the man's face drained away completely. "But I totally know it was her, and she was the one who tried and―"

Before he could finish, the man's eyes land on the ice cream row.

"Pistachio and chocolate chip," he reads. "Shit."

"Reid, I wouldn't . . ." Tommy says, and finally, I have a name for him―this man who had used me to make his girlfriend jealous.

"What? Why not?" I say.

"I know," Reid says, looking pained. He is looking at the aisle, where a tall, slim man is looking at slabs of meat. "But what if . . ."

Tommy is shaking his head. "No, man, it's not worth it."

"Pistachio with chocolate chip . . ."

I am completely lost.

Tommy and Reid are both looking towards the man in the black duster, and I can see there were tattoos even on his face, along with a single teardrop beneath his eye.

Blood warms my skin. I don't know who that is, but the oily, almost serpentine, movement of his walking―his uptilted dark eyes, and that single droplet . . .

My gut pulses. Bad feeling. Wrong―something is wrong.

Tommy catches me staring and says, "Jude, don't stare."

Reid opens the fridge. It feels like the entire market is holding its breath. Reid's fingers pause just inches away from the container of pistachio-chocolate-chip ice cream. Hesitating. As though this is life or death.

"Just take it!" I snap. Too loud.

The man with the black duster looks up. Towards us.

When he smiles, I notice his teeth are silver and gold.

"Put it away," Tommy hisses under his breath.

"I'm trying," Reid hisses back.

"What is going on?" I ask.

The man begins making his way toward us, his cart loaded with raw meat, slithering with red juices. The way he walks―sinuous, agile, reminds me of a tiger. A predator.

Reid quickly closes the fridge, leaving the ice cream untouched.

"Hello, gentlemen," says the man. He nods to me. "My lady."

I try not to shudder. I wonder if I could take him in a fight.

With that unnatural grace and fluidity, he would probably be fast, and underestimating him would be fatal. But if it came down to it . . .

I must be looking at him with a critical expression, because he raises an eyebrow at me. "I haven't seen you around," he says, in that cool rasp of a voice.

"I'm new."

Tommy elbows me. I don't know what he wants―should I be bowing down? Kneeling? Because unless this man is a king, I'm not giving him what he clearly craves: fear.

Who even is this?

"Your name is . . ." It's not a question, and my nerves begin to boil.

But I have a feeling that provoking him . . . not a good idea. Not here. Not now.

So I say, "Jude. Jude Barrow."

"Jude Barrow," he says. "I am Athios Levi."

"Like . . . the clothing company?" I can't resist making the joke, even though I know he won't take it well. And he doesn't.

"I am the Alpha's mate," he says. As though this alone is a threat.

Funny. That's interesting because, just yesterday, I saw the Alpha in a private room with her own personal hookers.

I make a face. "You know, you guys seem to take this 'wolf' thing a little too far."

Tommy goes rigid beside me, and Reid's eyes flare in obvious panic. No, no, no, he mouths, as though I'm an idiot.

Too bad. I'm enjoying this.

It's definitely been a while since anyone has talked back to this asshole. Really, he's overdue.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" Athio Levi growls.

"I mean, the Alpha, I get because she's the leader of the gang," I continue, "but really, you take the mate thing a little far considering the little fact, a minor detail, really―you're not actually wolves."

"Shut up now, Jude," Tommy mumbles.

"What's next?" I say. "Are you going to start naming the Beta and Omega? Is this some kind of packing order, because you know, I'm pretty sure they proved the Alpha wolf thing was a myth―"

I should shut up. I should really shut up.

The man is about to take another step closer, and I'm itching for a fight. Bring it on, I think, although I know this one will get me in serious trouble.

I want to know if I'll win, though.

It's enough to make me open my mouth again, ready for another rant, until I hear her voice: "Athios."

Hunter.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

Her smile is easy, but warning, as she says, "It's a grocery store, Jude. Anyone can go to the market."

"You're the one who told me to go with Tommy―"

Tommy elbows me. Athios narrows his eyes.

"Athios," Hunter continues. "My sister is looking for you."

Athio only smiles gracefully, and it makes me shiver as he walks away, right out of the market without paying.

"Um," I say. "Is he allowed to do that . . . ?"

Hunter rounds on me, her brown eyes flashing. "Are you out of your mind, Jude?"

"Occasionally, yes."

Tommy is shaking, ever so slightly, and Reid bids us goodbye after grabbing the pistachio and chocolate chip ice cream.

"Asshole," Hunter mutters.

"What? Because he kissed me the other day?"

Tommy looks surprised. Hunter's eyes flash dangerously. "No," she says evenly. "He took the last pistachio-chip ice cream."

"It's not even that g―"

"Don't finish that if you value your life," Hunter says, but the danger is gone from her voice. Instead, she looks amused. Teasing.

The tension is sapped from the air, but I still don't get it: why was that man so important? Just because he's dating Anise, he gets the right to be asshole?

I think of the teardrop tattoo. The disturbingly casual way he assumed we would be afraid of him.

The people who are most dangerous are the people who think they have the right to be. My mom always said that―something about how people in power are practically licensed to be bad guys.

She was right. She always is.

"Pistachio ice cream, huh?" I say. "Fine. But I still think it's―"

"Second chances," Hunter says. She takes it out of the fridge, reaching down to add it into our cart. Our fingers brush, and I feel the warm heat of her knuckles. Electricity surges through me, and I look up at the same moment she does. For a moment, the world evaporates, and all I can think of is the dimple in her left cheek and the cocky glint to her smile and the way she looks so beautiful, even without makeup, and―

The words come out of nowhere. Kiss me, I think.

Tommy clears his throat. "So . . . can we watch a movie tonight? I vote for Legally Blonde, but I've heard White Chicks is pretty good because it's supposed to be ahead of its time for―"

I blink, looking away, and the words stay stuck in my throat.

Swallowing, I turn to Tommy. "Legally Blonde sounds good."

"Yeah," Hunter agrees, and her eyes on mine are burning. Unreadable. What is she thinking? "It's definitely a Legally Blonde kind of night."

>>>

Okay, but have you guys seen Legally Blonde or White Chicks? Because those are my go-to comfort movies.

From the moon and back,
Sarai