Bonus Content

Prompt: "How did Wolflet meet in this universe?"
Words: 3,800
Rated: T
Special note: Ran is not related to Wolf in this fic, and has nothing to do with the below story. As you may remember, he was once Iko's date at the dinner where Thorne and Kai had a bit of spat, so to speak.

The air in the basement had a stuffy feel to it from the combination of smoke, sweat and the stench of bad breath that mixed with alcohol. Uncomfortably warm, Ze'ev Kesley shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on the railing of the stairs where he stood watch. The letter P stitched onto the back of it stuck out as if on display for the room.

He resumed his crossed arm stance and leaned against the railing. It was already the third round of poker that night and the newbies playing were showing no sign of tiring.

Jael stood in the corner with Wynn and watched too. Ze'ev knew that the shrew smile on his face was a direct result of the lucrative night they were having.

Their strategy of recruiting freshman at orientation this year had proven useful. Once they'd been initiated into the gang, The Pack had conveniently placed them among those who had presented an interest in the business or even just a tendency for recklessness. The Pack always made sure that the freshman would know to turn to them first. Especially the rich ones.

More than half of those who had been befriended intentionally had shown up tonight. More than half of them were losing.

The booze and white powder on the table kept them happy and numb. The women circulating the room kept them distracted. Jael made sure of it.

The doorbell rang upstairs, forcing Ze'ev out of his stance and putting him on high alert. They had confirmed the whereabouts of the newbies who had declined the invitation earlier that evening, and none of them would make their way to the house without a personal escort anyway. Though The Pack had long since moved off-campus, there was always a possibility that the authorities could make an appearance. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Ze'ev caught Jael's eye across the room and cocked his head meaningfully.

Jael snapped his fingers at him in agreement, so Ze'ev climbed the rickety staircase immediately. Slowing his pace on purpose once upstairs, even though the hallway to the front door was not long, Ze'ev rehearsed what he would say in case it really was the cops. They had all prepared for this scenario, and Jael would know how to initiate protocol downstairs if Ze'ev gave him indication that it was necessary.

The doorbell rang a second time. He realized with a start that his cell phone was in the pocket of his leather jacket, which he had forgotten to bring with him. Growling under his breath, he braced himself for Plan B.

The last person he expected to find at the door was a college-aged girl with crazy red hair billowing out of a matching hood she had tied around her face. She had an impatient look on her face and was holding a gigantic white box with a lacey blue ribbon tied around it like a present.

Ze'ev stared.

"'Bout time," said the girl, shifting on her feet to support the box as an unruly curl flew across her face in the wind. "I've got your cake."

He recovered quickly, though his brain snagged on the absurdity of her words. "I'm sorry?"

"The cake you ordered?" She held out the box to him, like she expected him to take it.

"I definitely didn't order any cake," he said, attempting to hide his sudden amusement when her brown eyes flashed in annoyance.

"It's for someone named Wynn at 12 Old Opera Lane."

The thought of Wynn ordering a cake that size increased his amusement, but he just shook his head apologetically. "I'm not Wynn. Sorry."

Another curl raged against her face but she ignored it, narrowing her eyes instead. "Well, does this Wynn even live here?"

"He does, but I can assure you he didn't order a cake either."

"Of course he didn't," she said. "It's a surprise for his birthday."

"His birthday is in March," he replied automatically.

"Listen, buddy," said the girl, shifting her weight again, "I took the call yesterday myself. The cake even says Happy Birthday, Wynn!. I don't care if it's not his real birthday. Whoever placed that call owes the bakery $170."

Ze'ev couldn't help it; he began to chuckle. Maybe it was because he had prepared himself to lie smoothly to a cop, or maybe it was because the idea of someone getting Wynn a birthday cake at all was absurd, or maybe it was just because the mere thought that anyone would drop $170 on a cake made his forehead crinkle—it didn't matter. The girl did not take well to his response.

$170," she repeated firmly.

A thought occurred to him. Maybe it wasn't really a cake. The elaborate packaging might just be a distraction from what was really inside—something Jael would want. That was why it was so expensive. The girl was just here to deliver it and collect payment. The fact that he hadn't thought it as soon as she'd arrived made him think the smoke-filled room must have slowed down his brain activity tonight. Jael was known to use even the most random of persons for his more shady deals.

He would have to talk to Jael in the future about filling him in beforehand on this sort of shit the next time he was on rotation for door duty.

"Alright," he conceded, and pushed the door back with his heel. Extending his arm in a welcome gesture, he ushered her inside. "You're right. One of my roommates probably ordered it for him."

She followed him into the kitchen, where he made sure the door that led down to the basement was still shut. Setting the box on the table with a big sigh of relief, she immediately held out her palm. "Don't forget the generous tip for rush-delivery," she said snippily.

"I'll need to check the package to make sure it's in order first."

The girl huffed and plopped into a chair, undoing her hood and letting her hair fall to her shoulders. It still looked pretty crazy, but in an attractive kind of way. After all, he had wild hair himself and that didn't stop him from getting appreciative looks now and then.

"I'm sure you'll find it plenty in order," she said. "I'm not the one who makes the cakes, you know. I'm trying to learn, but for important orders like this that have several layers and precise instructions, it's the owner who works on them."

Ze'ev undid the ribbons, finding that they were, in fact, normal ribbons like the kind one would put on a birthday present, only of higher quality. There were no hidden messages or surprises on the outer packaging, just a sticker that said Benoit Bakery and a receipt listing the item and price. Whoever had sent the cake had done an excellent job of disguising it as a real one.

"One day I'll be a great chef too," the girl prattled on as he lifted the lid of the box. "I started working at the bakery because I'm studying abroad in France next semester and needed some spending money. But now that I've been there awhile I've thought about getting a culinary minor. What better place to do that than in France, right? Have you been to France?"

"No," he said absentmindedly, staring curiously at the extensive cake in front of him which did, indeed, read Happy Birthday, Wynn!. "Uh, what is this exactly?"

"It's one of our custom cake specialties, the seven-layer Mocha Caramel Delight. Alternate layers of vanilla and chocolate cake filled with caramel and coffee buttercream. The icing is drizzled with caramel but the salted cashews were removed as per request."

Ze'ev nearly drooled at her description. It certainly looked like a real cake. He almost wished it were, with the intoxicating sweetness of it infiltrating every crevice of his nostrils. "That's a pretty elaborate cover," he said, nodding in approval to her. "How long did it take you to memorize that description?"

"What?"

"What's inside the cake?" he pressed on, deciding not to bother getting details about why she'd chosen that description.

"I just told you."

Frowning, Ze'ev strode to a cabinet drawer for a knife. Finding one that wouldn't disappear inside the immensity of the seven layers, he returned to the table and sized up the cake. How could he cut it without ruining whatever was inside it? He decided to slice off a part of the outer circle—the part that would be considered the crust if it was a pie in front of him rather than a cake.

"Wait! What are you—"

"Shh." The sweet smell intensified, along with his desire to eat, as he took off a small chunk. To his surprise, however, there was only a perfectly layered inside that matched the girl's description.

"You're going to ruin the whole cake for him!" she protested, but Ze'v ignored her and cut gingerly into the middle of the cake, making a triangle. When his knife met no resistance save that of the sponginess he'd gotten from the outer part, he pulled out the triangle messily with his hand.

Was it a pot cake?

He'd never heard of such a thing. Only pot brownies and a few other baked goods. But even that wouldn't be $170. Knife in one hand, cake triangle nearly toppling out of the other one, Ze'ev did the only thing he could think of: he took a bite.

Before he even had a chance to moan at how delicious it was, the girl jumped up from the chair. "That cake took hours to make and you don't even have the decency to use a plate? Or silverware? What's wrong with you?"

"Is'o'gdd," he said, sure that he was embarrassing himself not only by not using proper etiquette but also by the amount of icing that had likely made its way onto his facial hair. Cheeks now hot from her disgusted glare, he walked to the sink and deposited the rest of his cake slice on a discarded napkin and washed his hands and wiped his face.

It was definitely a real cake. He had definitely just taken a chunk out of it and she would definitely want those $170.

But…who had ordered it? A disgruntled recruit who didn't make the cut? An angry client who had lost all of his winnings? A rival gang? The desire for retaliation didn't exactly scream Mocha Caramel Delight, even if they knew how expensive it would be. Had someone simply pranked them?

"I think…there's been a mistake," he said slowly, turning back from the sink and nearly cringing at her face again. "I thought you were here for…nevermind. This cake isn't ours."

"Mistake?" she said, hands fisting at her hips. "There was no mistake. Someone who lives here ordered the cake, we made it, it was delivered, and you ate it. Give me my money and stop wasting my time. I can hear the party going on downstairs so I know you're lying about it not being his birthday."

"Give me a minute," he said. He left her in the kitchen despite her protests, shutting the door behind him firmly as he jogged down the steps.

Jael raised an eyebrow when he saw him, but walked calmly across the room so as to not disturb the guests. Walked was the wrong word, Ze'ev thought, as he waited impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jael prowled in a way that showed everyone just how much in charge he was.

"What the problem, Kesley?" he said, his face souring only when his back was completely turned to the rest of the group. "Cop?"

Ze'ev scratched his chin. "Anyone here…order a cake?" He tried to throw meaning into the word cake so he didn't feel so stupid asking what he already had the answer to.

Jael's lip twitched slightly. "I know we use a lot of code words around here, but I don't follow."

"There's a girl upstairs from a local bakery with a cake. She says someone ordered it for Wynn. She wants to get paid."

Jael waved his hand. "Send her away. Does it look like this is a place where one would eat cake, Kesley?"

"It literally says Happy Birthday, Wynn! on it."

"I don't care if it says we've won a million dollars. Get rid of her."

Ze'ev hesitated. There was no way to not feel stupid. "I need $120. I've only got fifty bucks on me and she won't leave without getting paid."

Jael's gaze flickered from Ze'ev's face down to his jacket which still hung on the railing. Behind him, a woman giggled as she slid onto a red-faced freshman's lap. Ze'ev waited for Jael to get angry, but he remained surprisingly calm. His mouth opened, but so did the door that led to the kitchen. Both of them turned to see the red-haired girl peering down.

Ze'ev ran up the stairs in a flash, shoving the girl back in the kitchen. She nearly punched him in an effort to get his hands off of her, but he backed her into the table. She huffed with rage until he released her just as quickly as he'd grabbed her. Not backing away more than a foot, he tried to make his stance nonthreatening regardless. While she glared up at him, though, he had the strangest urge to reach out and push one of her unruly locks back behind her ear. He also wanted to apologize for being an asshole.

"And who might you be?"

The hairs on the back of Ze'ev's neck prickled at the sound of Jael's voice behind them in the kitchen. Jael needed to go back downstairs. Immediately.

The girl shoved him in the chest and slipped away from him to face Jael, who was looking amused in front of the door, which was once again closed.

"If you don't give me my money in the next minute, I'm going to call the cops and report both of you for conning a business and then I'll also report this one"—she jerked her thumb at Ze'ev—"for assaulting me."

"Now, now, there'll be no need for that. Tell me, young lady, why didn't you take a credit card number from the person who placed the order? It's quite…old-fashioned, don't you think, to expect that amount of money in cash. And if you had done so, we three wouldn't be in this conundrum now, wondering who ordered this cake and all." His smile was a saccharine evil and his voice dripped with superciliousness, which made Ze'ev expect the girl to back down.

She did nothing of the sort, closing the distance between her and Jael instead. "First of all, don't call me young lady. What are you, a recent graduate?" She rolled her eyes. "Second of all, it's my grandmother's business. If she doesn't want to use credit cards, she doesn't have to. Do you have any idea about the fees that small businesses have to incur for making credit card transactions? It's not worth it. And we wouldn't be in a conundrum if people like you wouldn't be scoundrels who try to swindle people out of their money."

Jael crossed his arms. The smile had vanished completely. "Get out of my house or I'll report you for trespassing."

Her mouth dropped open. "I'm not leaving until I get my money!"

"It seems to me that you have no proof that any one of us ordered a cake so I don't think you'll be getting any money. Now get out."

"He ate it!" she yelled, pointing angrily at Ze'ev.

He just barely managed to hide the wince that came to him naturally. He was usually pretty good at acting calm and collected around the other members of the gang and the general public, but something about Jael and this girl was making him edgy.

He shouldn't have eaten that damn cake.

"Kesley," said Jael, opening the door again. "I don't have time for this bullshit. Get rid of the girl." He slammed the door behind him.

The girl turned on her heels, surely ready to shout at him, and he held up his hands. Softening his voice to the best of his ability, he said: "Sorry. I'll figure out a way to get you the money, okay? I don't have more than fifty bucks on me right now."

"If you don't give me all the money, I'm going to march right back down there and—"

He was at her side in an instant, his body blocking the door to the basement. "Please," he said intently. "You can't go down there."

"I—"

"Please."

He hoped that the urgency in his voice conveyed more meaning than he could say outright. Ze'ev knew that he would take a hit later for having eaten the cake, not to mention allowing the girl inside in the first place, even though he would try to explain to Jael what exactly had happened in a less stressful moment. The girl though—if she went down there and saw what was going on…

Ze'ev wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

The thought made his skin crawl.

"Please," he repeated. "This was all just a big misunderstanding. I'm sorry if we've—I've—upset you. How about a payment plan? Or a trade? You take something valuable of mine until I've given you the cash?" Even as he said it, he couldn't think of what he could possibly offer her that was worth approximately $120.

Her brown eyes crinkled in thought. Then she seemed to be sizing him up, searching his body as if he might have something valuable on his person. Her eyes snagged on the square pendant hanging around his neck. "What's that?" she asked. "Dog tags? Were you in the military?"

"No. It's nothing," he said quickly, tucking the pendant under his shirt so only the chain would be visible. Which was exactly the move he shouldn't have made, because a look of understanding dawned on her face. He had given away the fact that it was important to him.

"I want that," she said, her eyes glinting in a challenge. "As leverage until I get the money."

His hand flew back to his neck, as if to check that it was still tucked under his shirt. He hadn't taken it off his person since he'd joined The Pack three years ago. It marked him, much more so than his jacket or his reputation did.

Jael would be pissed if he took if off. But he would be much more pissed if this unrelenting girl tried to force her way downstairs again, or worse, followed through on her threat to call the cops.

The only positive aspect to this entire situation at all was that at least he would be able to eat the damn cake after he got the girl to leave.

Sighing, Ze'ev pulled out the pendent again, running a finger over the engraved letters. He turned his back to her. "You're going to have to take it off. My fingers are too big for the clasp."

He tensed when her hands brushed against the nape of his neck. She had some trouble with the clasp too, and he imagined her scrunching up her face while she stood on her tiptoes to reach it. He was sure his face was red by the time she finally got it off.

"LSOP962," she read. "What's that?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling naked without the chain lying against his skin. "That's a story for another day." He turned around in time to see her stuff the necklace into the pocket of her hoodie. "Uh, are you sure you want to put it in there? It could fall out."

She smiled for the first time since he'd met her, making him notice her freckles more intensely in the light of the kitchen. "Give me the fifty dollar down payment and maybe I'll consider putting it somewhere safer."

Ze'ev scowled and reached for the wallet in his back pocket. If Wynn was in any way behind this, or any member of the gang, he would make their life a living hell for an indefinite amount of time.

After he had emptied his wallet, he reached for his cell phone. "What's your number?" he said. "I'll need it to contact you."

She snorted. "As if I'm going to give you my number. I'll contact you. How many days do you need to get the money together?"

"Can I at least have your name?" he deflected. "I'm Kesley."

A hesitation. "Scarlet." He opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Yes, like the hair."

"I was going to say, like the hoodie."

She grinned, and it actually seemed genuine, which pleased him for some reason. "That too."

"Listen, Scarlet. I know you've had a terrible night and I'm…sorry….for the way you were treated. But you can't come back here, do you understand? Those guys down there are bad news."

"As if you aren't."

"Never said I wasn't."

She considered him, then the ceiling, as if it could give her answers. Finally, when she looked back at him, she said, "I work at Benoit Bakery. You can find me there. If you don't bring me my money in a week, I'll keep your necklace, report you to the cops, and make sure everyone comes back here in droves to see whatever shady stuff is going on downstairs."

He wanted to tell her that she had no right to make such demands, that she had no idea what The Pack could do to her, to her grandmother, to her little small business bakery. They could make sure that no one ever ordered another cake from Benoit Bakery again. But something about her threats exasperated him to the point of respect, and there were few people he respected.

And he wanted her as far away from 12 Old Opera Lane as possible.

"Got it," he said. "I'll bring you the money before the end of the week, don't worry."

"Good."

"So," he said, gesturing to the front door down the hallway, "can I walk you to your car?"

"Fine," she said as she pulled the hood over her hair again. "But don't get any ideas."