Prickly Business (33 page)

“I don’t,” he echoed his earlier denial. “I don’t know anything. Not really. Avery’s been acting strange for a couple of days.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“I just figured he’d talk to me eventually,” Jaden went on. “That’s how it usually happens, but this time he hasn’t mentioned anything. Not even when I asked.”

That’s what Dylan figured.

“Okay. If you hear from him, call me.”

After Jaden agreed, Dylan disconnected and dialed Avery again. No luck.

He screeched to a stop in front of Avery’s building and blasted out of the car. Avery had given him a key and the code to enter the building a week ago since they spent so much time at his place anyway. Dylan had never been so happy to have that piece of metal weighing down his key ring. Though he wasn’t averse to breaking into the building or Avery’s loft.

Flinging open the door, only silence surrounded him. He’d known Avery wouldn’t be there, but he’d hoped. Fear coursed through his body, landing like lead in his belly.

His phone rang, a symphony of bells echoing around the empty loft.

Unknown Caller
.

He almost didn’t answer. He didn’t have time. He needed…. He squeezed his eyes closed to stave off the burn behind them. He needed his mate.

He answered anyway. What if it was Avery?

“D-Dylan?” The man sounded familiar, but Dylan couldn’t place his voice.

“Yeah, listen if it’s not important, I don’t have time for this.” He stormed out of the loft and down the stairs. No patience to wait on the elevator.

“It’s… it’s about Avery.”

Dylan’s steps faltered, but he caught himself on the banister, not losing speed. “What about him? Who is this?”

“It’s Otis. Otis Acker.” His answer sounded watery. “I think Avery’s in trouble. He was supposed to call me at ten, and it’s ten past and he’s not picking up his phone.”

Dylan could practically see the old man trembling as he spoke. He stopped in the lobby, staring out at the pouring rain through the glass doors.

He was going for calm when he said, “You need to tell me everything you know, Mr. Acker,” but he was sure he failed. Calm had fled his vault of emotions back at Wolfhound.

It didn’t matter. Once Otis started talking, Avery’s entire scheme came rushing out. It was stupid and reckless, and—
son of a bitch—
Dylan couldn’t breathe.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Otis continued, tears staining his voice. “But he wouldn’t listen. Said he had to do it. He’s a good boy, but….”

“Hardheaded.” Dylan cringed at the wetness in his own voice. “I know.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Mr. Acker. I’m going to Lake Oswego now to get him. If you hear from him—”

“I’ll call you,” Otis finished before Dylan could get it out.

W
HAT
SHOULD
have been a thirty-minute drive took almost an hour with the downpour, the traffic, and the windy roads and missed turns. He’d phoned Lucas on his way out of the city to let him know what was going on. Lucas had already relayed to the guys Dylan’s running out of Wolfhound like the devil was at his back.

The house—estate, more like—was huge. The stone structure spanned what looked to be half a city block and sat right on the edge of the lake. It was monstrous in the dark. Dylan could only imagine how imposing it was in the daylight, like a minicastle minus the moat and drawbridge. Dylan studied the building closer, trying to figure out why it seemed so… off. Then it came to him. Besides the long-ass driveway being completely free of vehicles—which was odd for any sort of party, unless the guests arrived by way of the water—there were no lights on. Nothing from inside. He didn’t even pick up a sound, and from outside all he smelled were earth and surf with barely a lingering tinge of motor oil.

Undeterred, Dylan crossed the massive yard and walked up to the front door. It was open a crack, like the last occupant forgot to pull the door all the way shut. A chill raced up his spine and fear lanced through him. He knew what he found on the other side of that door wouldn’t be good.

Pushing through the door, Dylan eyed the dark entryway before flipping the light switch. Nothing. He stepped in, thankful for his superior night vision, otherwise he’d have to go back to the car for a flashlight. The interior was pitch-black and empty. Of everything. No people. No power. No furniture. He would have thought he either had the wrong address or Snowflake purposely led him to a dead end had the house not still been warm, from what felt like the heater. And among the fading scents of human and shifter alike, he thought he smelled the fleeting tang of elation and sweat, but before he could place it, it was gone. Intermingled with fear and arousal, he caught the fragrance of singed wood from more than one fireplace as he wandered room after desolate room.

Maybe Avery hadn’t come here. Maybe he’d changed his mind, realized it was a bad plan, and turned around. He could be at a club by himself or his phone could have died. Maybe, just maybe, he was waiting in Dylan’s bed, wondering where the hell Dylan was.

Hope bloomed in his chest. Surely, Avery would have realized his mistake. Then a hint of Avery’s earthy sweet scent drifted around him, and Dylan’s world came to a halt. Like all the air was sucked out of the room, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his heart pounded like a university drumline, and panic, more potent than anything he’d ever felt, crashed down around him.

He needed air. He needed home. He needed his mate.

Frozen in place, Dylan blinked out a picture window facing the lake, and he realized what he was feeling wasn’t entirely him. His chest screamed for air and freedom. Dylan was afraid—of course he was—but what he felt went deeper than his own being. It pulled tight at his connection with his mate. It hummed Avery’s distress. What Dylan felt
was
Avery.

Dylan dropped to his knees and sucked in breath after breath of thick, heavy air. Finding his center and controlling the raging emotions pummeling him from afar, he rubbed a hand over his heart. Awareness returned followed up by a fierce determination to find Avery.

Think, Dylan. What next?

Next? He didn’t have a “next” other than finding his mate and ripping apart anyone who got in the way. But he couldn’t do it alone.

Dylan picked up the phone and dialed without further thought.

When the other line clicked, he didn’t even wait for his friend to say anything.

“Lucas,” he whispered, “I need help.”

W
HEN
A
VERY
woke, it felt like someone had taken a chisel to his forehead. Disoriented, he propped himself up on his elbows and tried to process his surroundings. The area around him was dimly lit and smelled of unwashed bodies and motor oil.

Avery blinked.
Where the hell am I?

For a few minutes he couldn’t recall anything. Why he hurt. Why he was dressed in his most expensive suit. How he’d gotten here… wherever “here” was.

Bit by bit, the events of the day began to trickle back into his consciousness. He remembered making his deliveries, visiting Mr. Otis, dressing and going to that auction. Detective Melnyk. Leaving that lake house in a panicked rush, and then… nothing.

Obviously something had happened between his walking out that front door and ending up in this dank little cell. He struggled to think, seeking the memories, but it was like a blank canvas. Just… empty space.

Avery sat all the way up and groaned when the motion sent a crashing jolt of pain through his skull. He doubled over, heaving as nausea overwhelmed him, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.

When the queasiness eased, he straightened slowly and swiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked around, taking everything in. The overhead lights flickered dully, and the stacked crates Avery could see beyond the bars of his… cage… cast heavy, ominous shadows.

Oh fuck.
Where had he been taken? Was he even in Oregon anymore? Was it still nighttime?

No doubt Mr. Otis had called Dylan by now. He was a responsible wolf. He would’ve alerted Dylan the moment Avery missed his deadline. But how long had it been since then?

Avery searched his pockets for his phone, but both it and his wallet were missing. He furrowed his forehead. Had they been taken by whoever grabbed him? No way of knowing. If they had, now they knew his name and where he lived. Not that Melnyk couldn’t have found that information anyway.

Avery closed his eyes and groaned. God, what had he done? He might’ve put everyone he knew in danger by going to that auction.

A whimper from somewhere nearby drew Avery’s attention. Feeling sluggish and weak, he dragged himself off what he now saw was a filthy, lumpy mattress and crawled toward the front of his cell. And that’s what it was. There were bars like in a prison on all sides. Avery sat in the last one in the row. The cell to his right appeared to be empty, but the one across the aisle…. Yeah, there. He could make out the gleam of auburn hair and the form of a woman cowering on the floor.

“Hello?” Avery called softly. His voice came out as hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in weeks. “Are you okay?”

The woman didn’t stir.

“Are you hurt?”

Her head jerked toward him, and she made a shushing motion, her expression stark with terror.

Avery pressed himself against the bars and tried to get a good look at her. Something about her seemed familiar. He’d seen her recently… but where? “What’s your name?”

She shook her head and turned away, ignoring him.

And like that, Avery recognized her. Frat Boy’s girl. The pretty redhead he’d followed out of Howl and into that alley several weeks ago.

Avery wanted to grill her some more. Wanted to confirm his suspicions that Frat Boy was also the Troy whom Lacey had been dating before she vanished. Wanted to ask if Frat Boy was the reason for the woman being trapped here. But she didn’t seem ready to talk, and she looked so afraid, he couldn’t bring himself to press the issue. Yet.

For the moment he let it go and once again took stock of his location. He seemed to be in a warehouse of some type. If there were windows, they’d been blacked out. He had no sense of whether it was day or night. He could’ve been unconscious for one hour or for ten.

Avery listened hard, straining to hear something beyond the breathing of the people in the other cells nearby. Occasionally, he thought he caught voices from another part of the warehouse, but they were too indistinct to make out words, and he couldn’t tell how far away they might be. Or how many.

Minutes passed.

After a long period of silence, Avery’s anxiety had ramped up to an unbearable level. Fear and uncertainty made for one awful combination. He couldn’t stand to be alone with the thoughts in his head. If he allowed himself to panic, he might shift from the stress. He didn’t want to risk that. Not with the girl awake and right there, and not before he had a better grasp of his surroundings and an idea of what might be waiting for him beyond these cells.

He decided to try with her one more time. The other people weren’t close enough to speak to easily, not without risking being overheard.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Do you know how long you’ve been here? Do you know who brought you?”

She didn’t answer immediately or even acknowledge the question. Then, finally, right when he felt like he was going to snap from the tension, she spoke. “I… I don’t know how long. A day, maybe two.”

Avery pushed closer to the bars. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

The girl sat up and met his gaze through the dimness. “Veronica.”

“Do you know who took you? Do you remember what happened?”

She shook her head. “No, I… I didn’t recognize the guys. But… b-but….” Her voice wavered, and she scrubbed at her cheeks with one hand. “M-my boyfriend. He t-took me to meet them. He said they were his friends.”

“Your boyfriend,” Avery repeated. “His name wouldn’t be Troy, would it? Beefy guy with dark hair and a tan? Hangs out at Howl?”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “No, not Troy. Trey. H-how did you know?”

A shudder ran through Avery at having his worst fears confirmed. Goose bumps broke out on his flesh, and he chafed at his arms through his jacket, chilled despite his layers of clothing. If Troy/Trey/whoever was the reason this girl was here, he was probably responsible for Lacey’s disappearance as well. But if that were true, where was she now? Being forced to work on the streets? Sold off to some high bidder at an auction like the one Avery had attended? Somewhere worse, like an unmarked grave in the woods?

Avery couldn’t stress about it right then, even if worrying about Lacey was what had landed him in this situation in the first place. Before he could help her—or anyone—he had to escape and alert the authorities.

“Did the same guys who brought you in bring me here?” Avery asked instead of answering Veronica’s question.

She brushed her hair out of her face with a trembling hand. “One of them, yeah.”

“Were they talking? Did you hear them say anything?”

Veronica blanched and looked away from him. “They… I heard one say they should’ve k-killed you.” She swallowed hard enough Avery’s sensitive ears picked up the click in her throat from across the aisle. “The other guy, he… he said they couldn’t afford to waste such a pretty face. Said you’d probably bring in a lot of money, even if you are kind of old for their normal customers.”

Under any other circumstances, Avery would’ve been offended. How the hell was he
old
at twenty-three? This girl couldn’t be much younger. Maybe twenty-one, unless she was using a fake ID like Lacey had been. That seemed possible.

Then again, these people apparently catered to men who wanted children or teenagers. Of course Avery would be “old” by comparison. The thought disgusted him.