Prickly Business (37 page)

This was it. A better man would have held his stare, not blinked in the face of death. But the last face he wanted to see was Avery’s so he closed his eyes and filed through the images of Avery’s smiling face, his glowing hazel eyes, and the warmth that infused every part of his being.

Sadness, regret, and love overwhelmed him. God, most of all love. Love he had yet to voice, because if he did, it would be too real and he wouldn’t be able to take it back. Dylan mourned missing the chance to tell Avery how he felt, to show him by surrendering completely to their bond.

A whimper tangled in his throat. Dylan’s heart thundered in a panic he hadn’t expected, hadn’t been ready for. Then a battle cry forced Dylan’s eyes open wide. It took him a moment to piece together what he was seeing. It didn’t make sense—until all at once, it did.

Like an avenging angel, Avery flew out of nowhere—all ivory skin and rage—and crashed into Melnyk’s back, throwing him off-balance. A shot hit the concrete floor inches from Dylan’s head, so close that shutting his eyes was the only way to avoid the spray of particles. He blinked them open just in time to see Avery down the red-faced detective with a choke hold that brought Melnyk to his knees before Avery slammed his head into a crate and released him to fall to the ground.

Dylan wanted to laugh when Avery stood over a dazed-but-not-unconscious Melnyk and kicked him once, then twice. The detective grunted weakly through the second wave of Avery’s attack.

“And stay down,” Avery huffed before he leaned over and pulled the gun from Melnyk’s slack fingers.

Looking back, there were probably a few things Dylan could have done differently, but they’d still end with the same result. Hopefully. Except for getting shot. Dylan hated that shit. He smiled up at Avery through the haze of pain threatening to pull him under. It was then that he realized his mate was bare-assed in the middle of a warehouse. The thoughts of what and why and how ran through his head, but he couldn’t voice them. Not in shifted form.

Searing heat and throbbing pain forced a whine out of his muzzle instead, and Avery knelt down beside him in a flash, still aiming the gun at the groaning detective.

Dylan wanted to smile. Whoever thought he would see his mate like this? Fearless and naked and taking down a dirty cop with his bare hands.

Before tonight, if someone had asked Dylan if he’d ever thought Avery would best a man twice his size while his mate lay injured, Dylan would have laughed. Avery was a lover not a fighter.

Pride welled in his chest before the fucking burn and pain in his shoulder came roaring back to life.

Another whimper twisted his chest.
No
. The journey to this point hadn’t been perfect, but the outcome was beyond his expectations. He had Avery back.

A
VERY
KEPT
the gun trained on Melnyk with one hand and pressed the other to Dylan’s blood-soaked fur. He found the wound and applied pressure, feeling his heart clench when Dylan whined softly and licked his wrist.

With the adrenaline still streaming through his system, Avery’s mind raced. He was glad Dylan’s crew was keeping the other guards occupied, because he couldn’t focus on more than Dylan and Melnyk right then.

The detective seemed to be coming to. He shook his head and started to sit up.

“Stay down,” Avery warned.

Melnyk’s eyes met his, and the detective sneered. Avery wanted to shoot him for half a dozen reasons, not in the least of which was the fact the fucker had put a bullet in Dylan. He’d never shot a gun before, but it couldn’t be that complicated. The safety wasn’t on, as evidenced by his bleeding mate.

Avery tightened his finger on the trigger. “I mean it, asshole.”

Melnyk kept right on moving. “You’re not going to shoot a cop, faggot.”

Dylan snarled and jumped to his paws. Heedless of his bleeding shoulder and the pain he must be in, he went for Melnyk’s throat. Avery sat stunned while Dylan lunged and took Melnyk to the ground.

Melnyk screamed, his fingers clutching at Dylan’s scruff. Dylan growled and shook his head, his teeth piercing the tender flesh of Melnyk’s neck. Blood flowed, but it was obvious Dylan was simply trying to hold him in place.

“Get your hands off him,” Avery ordered, approaching where Dylan had Melnyk pinned. “And stop moving unless you want him to tear out your throat.”

Melnyk dropped his arms. His eyes were wide, the whites showing as he sucked in a wheezy breath.

The fight around them seemed to be dying down. In the distance, Avery heard sirens approaching. This might be his one chance to question Melnyk. Maybe the timing wasn’t ideal, but he had to know. He had to ask about Lacey. She was the reason this had started, after all.

Avery aimed the gun at Melnyk’s forehead. “Tell me. The girl, Lacey Acker. The redhead I showed you a picture of at the precinct. Do you remember her?”

Melnyk sneered with bloody lips. “Fuck. You.”

Dylan tightened his grip on Melnyk’s throat and loosed a growl so fierce Avery smelled the ammonia of urine as Melnyk pissed himself.

“One more time,” Avery said. “Do you remember Lacey Acker? Was she taken by your people?”

Melnyk grimaced, pale-faced. “Yes.”

Avery tried to keep the gun steady as fury coursed through him. “Where is she, you bastard? Where do you have her?”

“Sh-she was sold.”

“To who?”

Melnyk groaned.

Avery kicked him in the side, not caring if he hurt his foot in the process. “To
who
?”

“Don’t know,” Melnyk gritted out.

Furious, Avery kicked him again, this time to the side of the head. It was apparently one hit too many because Melnyk went limp. Avery was half-tempted to shoot him anyway, maybe in the kneecap just because, but before he could decide whether or not to act on the urge, a hand landed on his arm.

Avery turned to find a winded Lucas, who was naked save for smudges of dirt and blood. Aside from some bruises, he appeared relatively unscathed.

“We need to get out of here.” Lucas gestured to their surroundings. “The cops are coming. How the hell would we explain this?”

He had a point. Unconscious men littered the ground and their wounds had clearly been caused by animals. No way to pretend those injuries were anything but bite marks and scratches. But Avery couldn’t leave until he knew the girls in the cages would be rescued.

Fuck.

Beside him, Dylan began to shift. “You go,” Dylan said as soon as his snout had shrunk enough for him to speak. “We’ll stay here, come up with something.”

Lucas hesitated, looking torn. “I don’t like it.”

“Do it anyway.” Dylan knelt upright and pressed a hand to his oozing shoulder. “Take the guys and go.”

After a moment, Lucas nodded curtly and took off.

The sirens were getting closer. Avery looked at Dylan. How in the hell would they explain this? There was no way, and they didn’t even have time to try to get their stories straight.

Avery realized then both he and Dylan were standing there without a shred of clothing on. Just another crazy element to make excuses for.
Oh God.
The cops were never going to believe them. They’d probably be hauled off to jail like everyone else.

Most of the men lying around were knocked out, but a couple of them were sitting up groggily. They’d have tales of being attacked by a group of random wolves. This was a clusterfuck and a half.

Suddenly the sirens were right there, outside the loading bay, surrounding the building.

Avery swallowed hard and reached for Dylan’s hand. Dylan’s fingers twined with his and he tried for a smile. It didn’t work. Avery couldn’t seem to manage the expression, so he tightened his hold, clinging to Dylan like he was a buoy in the middle of a raging sea.

When a couple of cops burst in, the tension fled Dylan’s shoulders and he muttered, “Thank fuck,” under his breath.

“Dylan,” one of the cops said. As he got closer, Avery saw the name “Wallace” on his uniform. He and the other officer smelled like pack. Like wolves.

Avery’s head spun. “Thank fuck” was right.

“Alpha Odell sent us,” Wallace said. “We don’t have much time before the other officers get here. Someone from one of the other warehouses called in to report gunfire. What happened here?”

Between the two of them, Avery and Dylan gave Wallace a quick rundown of the situation. They skipped a hell of a lot of information, but Dylan said they could provide those details later. For now, Avery made sure to mention the girls in the back, and Dylan pointed out that Harris, Melnyk’s partner, was also involved, though he wasn’t currently at the warehouse.

It was clear from Wallace and the other cop—Garza’s—face they’d had no idea Melnyk or Harris were dirty.

Wallace swallowed and shook his head. More sirens approached. “You guys need to get out of here.”

Dylan nodded. “We’re going.”

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Garza asked.

Dylan’s hand tightened on Avery’s. “No. My car’s nearby.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Wallace said. “Now get going. We’ll handle it from here.”

Avery didn’t know how exactly they would “handle it,” but he didn’t have to be told again. He tugged Dylan’s hand to get him moving.

They were a few feet away when Avery remembered his missing possessions. He stopped and turned back to Wallace. “My phone and wallet were gone when I woke up in the cell. I don’t know if they have them or what. And,
fuck
, I have no idea what happened to my car.”

“I’ll see if I can find anything. Just go.
Now.
”

Avery nodded and followed as Dylan took the lead. They rushed down the stairs beside the loading dock and started across the lot. Wallace and Garza’s vehicle sat with the lights still flashing. Avery’s heart thundered as he stuck close to Dylan’s heels. There was blood trickling from Dylan’s arm, mingling with the rainfall. The wound had to be throbbing, but Dylan had apparently put the pain aside for now.

When they reached Dylan’s Firebird a few warehouses away, Dylan pulled open the driver side door and leaned inside to grab something from the backseat. He tossed Avery a T-shirt. “You drive. Keys are in the sun visor.”

“Okay.” Avery pulled on the shirt. He was soaked, and it was huge on him but a step up from being naked.

Dylan’s expression spoke of his agony as he pulled on some jeans. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice rough.

Avery settled behind the wheel and started the engine while Dylan walked around to the passenger seat. As soon as Dylan was inside, he put it into drive and floored the gas pedal. “Your place or mine?”

Dylan groaned. “Mine.”

Avery nodded. “Okay. But you have to help me. I’m not sure where I am.”

Dylan directed him until they reached an area Avery recognized. They made the rest of the drive in silence, with Avery occasionally sneaking peeks at Dylan. His eyes were closed and blood seeped sluggishly from his wound, but he was alive, and he was breathing. They both were. Avery clung to that knowledge. It kept him from falling apart.

Later, they could talk to the shifter cops, make sure they understood about Lacey and everything else. And in time, they would find Lacey too. Avery wouldn’t rest until it happened. But for now, they needed to get back to Dylan’s place and get that bullet out of his shoulder so he could start the healing process. Everything else could wait.

D
YLAN
INHALED
sharply through gritted teeth.
Motherfucker that hurt.

If he thought getting shot was bad, it was nothing compared to the excruciating pain of having his mate dig a deformed bullet out of his shoulder. That shit was beyond words. And still none of it mattered in the face of nearly having Avery taken from him. Dylan would go through it all again and do it the same way, no regrets, to have Avery by his side.

He grunted and jerked his shoulder back then wished he’d kept his pansy mouth closed when Avery’s teary eyes met his.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and Dylan knew he was apologizing for more than the physical pain.

The flames of hell and a billion fucking needles raced down his arm, stealing his breath and his words.

Avery tore his gaze away to focus on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan didn’t look. Couldn’t. He was having enough trouble hanging on to consciousness as it was without adding the sight of his own blood painting Avery’s hands to the mix.

When he could breathe again, he ground out, “Not your fault.” Then he dragged in heaving gulps of air over and over until he didn’t feel so light-headed.

A sound somewhere between victory and misery tumbled from between Avery’s lips and then the fire in Dylan’s arm turned into a blazing inferno as Avery grasped hold of the contorted bullet and slowly extracted it. A tortured cry crept up the back of his throat. Dylan did good to hold it to a whimpering gasp. Lights flashed around the fading edges of his blurry vision, but he was still able to see tears, welling in Avery’s eyes and streaming down his flushed cheeks. Anguish flooded those hazel depths. And even in his suffering, Dylan felt a need to comfort his mate. If only he could think past the red haze of torment threatening to pull him under.

“It
is
my fault,” Avery sobbed, blinking tears away. His Southern drawl seeped in underneath his self-berating. “If I hadn’t gone, if I’d only talked to you, we could have figured something else out and, and….” Avery’s breathing stuttered on an inhale as he shouldered away the wetness pouring down his face. “You wouldn’t have got
shot.
”

Without Avery digging around in his shoulder, the burn eased. It throbbed, keeping time with his pounding pulse, and his vision began fading at the edges, closing in quickly.

With the last of his waning strength, he lifted his uninjured arm and cupped Avery’s jaw, forcing him to meet Dylan’s eyes.

“You did what you did because you care about Otis and Lacey and those kids.” His voice felt strained and thin. “And look at what you’ve done. You’re a hero.”