Prickly By Nature (24 page)

Mason laughed softly. “Thanks. There’s no need, though. Wrench has been escorting me to my car every night. If Reid’s on the other side, I think I’ll be fine.”

“All right. Well, I’ll be taking off, then. You have both our numbers, so don’t hesitate to call either of us if something comes up, okay?”

Mason gave him a grateful smile. “Yeah. Will do. I need to get this makeup off. See you later.”

“Later.” Avery dipped his head and made his way out of the dressing room. He still sensed Dylan in the club. No surprise; he hadn’t thought Dylan would actually leave him. Smirking to himself, Avery headed back to their table—only to find Chance there, all up in Dylan’s personal space. Chance even had a familiar hand resting on Dylan’s bicep. The smirk fell from Avery’s face.

He approached slowly, making every effort to incinerate Chance with his glare. It didn’t work. Chance just stood there looking hot and tempting and wearing next to nothing. The asshole.

Chance glanced at Avery when he reached the table. Recognition lit his eyes, and he gave Avery a tentative smile. “Hey there.”

Avery tried to smile back but couldn’t manage more than a tight quirk of his lips. He met Dylan’s gaze and lifted his brows. “You ready to go?”

Dylan nodded and got to his feet. He still looked amused, and he didn’t protest when Chance moved in to offer him a hug.

Avery dug his nails into his palms, wanting to claw both their faces off.

“I’ll see you around,” Dylan told Chance.

Oh,
really
? Making plans to hang out, were they? Dylan was going to be one sorry wolf when they got home.

Dylan said his good-byes to Chance. Rude or not, Avery stormed away without a word. That or give in to the urge to rip Chance’s pretty platinum hair out.

On the way out of the club, they ran into Sawyer. Dylan’s friend looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him.

Dylan clapped him on the back. “What are you doing here?”

Sawyer, who’d always struck Avery as unreadable and gruff, flushed. “I’m here for Chance. Some of the dancers are freaked because of what’s happening with Mason. I’ve been dropping him off and giving him a ride home. Just to keep an eye on things.”

It was the most Avery had ever heard the big wolf say. Dylan’s curiosity was palpable through their bond, but all he did was tip his head at Sawyer. “Sounds like a good idea. See you at the shop.”

Sawyer nodded and went into the club.

Avery peered up at Dylan, puzzled. “That was weird.”

“It was,” Dylan said, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve never seen Sawyer show interest in anyone. Chance must’ve made an impression.”

Of course he had. Avery rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

The ride home went faster than the trip downtown. Avery seethed quietly as his mind tormented him with pictures of Dylan and nubile Chance with his big doe eyes and stupid attractive face. Had they been together in the same bed he and Dylan shared? The thought twisted his guts. Chance hadn’t gotten Dylan’s knot or his claiming bite, but in that moment, those things seemed inconsequential. Why, Avery couldn’t say. It didn’t make sense. If he and Chance were in competition, he’d be the obvious victor. Yet it taunted him, the idea of Dylan being with someone else.

Avery hadn’t anticipated he’d react so poorly to running into one of Dylan’s exes. Then again, jealousy wasn’t rational—and whether he’d admit it to Dylan or not, he was jealous enough to see green. Though he couldn’t imagine Dylan reacting much better if they’d met up with one of the guys Avery had slept with instead. Nope, not at all. Dylan was too possessive, maybe to a fault—which was why Avery didn’t appreciate being laughed at.

When they got into the house, Avery stalked toward the bedroom, leaving Dylan to lock the door. He’d just kicked off his boots and tossed aside his blazer when Dylan’s arms wrapped around him from behind.

Avery went stiff as a board. Dylan chuckled and pressed a kiss to his nape, prompting Avery to hiss and try to break free of his hold. “It’s not funny!”

“Av.” Dylan turned him around and tipped up his chin, subduing Avery as easily as a child. “Do you seriously think I want him?”

“You looked like you did.” Avery couldn’t help his pout. He kept his gaze on Dylan’s chin. “You were staring at him.”

“I was surprised. That’s all. I don’t want him. I never had sex with him.”

Avery met his eyes then. “No?”

“Never. We didn’t even get close.” Dylan’s scent broadcasted his sincerity. He ground his stiffening cock against Avery’s belly. “This is yours. No one gets me hard like you do. My gorgeous, sexy mate. You were meant for me, and I was meant for you. You can’t honestly believe I’d stray.”

Avery shook his head. No, he didn’t believe Dylan would cheat or that he wanted anyone else. Not really. But he said, “Show me,” because he felt sensitive and exposed, and he needed the reassurance anyway. “Prove it.”

Dylan dipped his head and brought their mouths together in a sweet, slow taking. There was a tug on the hem of Avery’s tank top and then Dylan’s strong fingers splayed across the small of his back, drawing him near. “Gladly.”

Avery tossed his arms around Dylan’s neck and kissed him again.

“THIS IS
it?” Dylan asked. From their position on the street, he studied the house. It wasn’t much. A shack, more like. Small and overgrown, the yard was in dire need of pampering. Dylan assumed the home had once been painted white, but from all the chipped paint and fading, it resembled more of a dirt color.

“It’s the address Heath sent,” Avery answered, slinging his leg over the back end of the bike like a pro and hopping down.

They’d exhausted nearly the entire list with no luck. Of the girls who’d been home, most didn’t remember anything. The others were too afraid to talk. Marybeth Vogel was the next-to-last name listed. Veronica—the girl Avery had questioned while being held in the warehouse last fall—was the final name on the list, and Dylan knew Avery was hoping not to have to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to the one person most likely to remember his face. Neither Dylan nor Avery knew what trouble, if any, it would bring. So they didn’t intend on finding out. If at all possible.

Without looking back, Avery zipped off for the front door and trotted up the steps without a backward glance. He knocked. The curtain fluttered to Dylan’s left and a moment later the door cracked open a sliver of an inch.

“Who are you?” The girl’s voice wobbled and sounded young, but then again, the others had ranged in ages between seventeen and twenty-one.

“Hi.” Avery gave her a small wave. “Are you Marybeth Vogel?”

Dylan had been amazed earlier when Avery, usually confident and outspoken, hunched his shoulders and spoke soft-toned to the first few girls. Then he saw the way it projected Avery’s harmlessness. With each girl, Avery had found a way to soothe them before they became frantic.

Dylan clearly remembered a time when his mate had distanced himself from people, from Dylan. Remembered the wall Avery had built up to keep people out and to keep from getting hurt. Dylan often thought maybe Avery had been trying to protect others from himself as well. His prickly hedgehog could aim a barb with stealth accuracy, but on the inside, his heart was huge. Dylan loved seeing that tenderness and care blossom when Avery was with other people and not only when he was alone with Dylan.

The girl didn’t say anything but opened the door a little wider, revealing a pale line of her face. She nodded.

Marybeth appeared to be in her early twenties, though the shadows in her eyes aged her by at least five years. He thought he remembered Avery telling him she was twenty-one or close to it.

“I’m Avery Babineaux, and, well, can we talk? About what happened?”

Her eyebrows shot up, she gasped, then stepped away from the door. When she went to shut it, Avery’s hand shot out to stop her. “Please,” he said. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m just….” He turned, his eyes asking Dylan to give him space. So he did.

Dylan stepped a couple paces away from the stairs that led directly to the front door. It would have to be enough. Avery nodded and faced the girl again.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice stronger than before, though it still shook. She opened the door wider and glared at Avery. “You don’t look like a cop. Are you a reporter? You want to be famous? Are you one of those pervs that gets off on all the dirty shit you think was done to me?” The sneer she pinned Avery with distorted her pixie features and was a little frightening in itself. Add to that the way her eyes blazed and her flaming mop of red hair, and Dylan wasn’t so sure she couldn’t set objects on fire with her mind. She looked like she was trying to do that very thing to Avery.

“No,” Avery quickly spat out. He lifted his hands out in front of him. “I’m not a cop, and I’m not a reporter. And I am definitely not a pervert. I’m a private investigator. I just want to help.”

Marybeth’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Help?”

When Avery sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, Dylan had to fight the urge to go and wrap Avery in his arms.

The tension holding Avery taut was palpable. Avery was battling his own decisions. That was obvious to Dylan in his stance and the way his eyes shifted slightly. Avery had decided to keep his own captivity secret as long as possible. It was obviously difficult on him to hide it from them, especially since it would probably help them open up. But the fewer people who knew Avery was the mystery blond at the warehouse that night, the better.

So instead, Avery said, “I’ve been through what you’re going through.” Then he shrugged. “Something similar anyway.”

An ache twisted deep and sharply in Dylan’s gut each time he heard it. That time would forever be etched in Dylan’s mind as the most scared he’d ever been. He shook himself to dispel the thought and focused his attention on his mate.

“I just want to talk,” Avery went on. “Something bad is going on out here, and you and the other girls might not still be in danger, but who knows how many tens and hundreds of girls are on these guys’ radar.” His voice sounded strained. Dylan’s heart thudded in his chest like a bass drum, an echo of Avery’s pleading and fear.

She stared at him, unmoving, and when Dylan thought they were about to be rejected again, her shoulders drooped and she sighed. “Okay,” she said, then turned and walked into the house.

Avery obviously took it as an invitation to follow, so he did. Dylan trailed them both.

For as much of a mess as the place was on the outside, the inside of the house was clean and neat, decorated sparsely but still homey. Dylan took a seat at the small kitchen table, able to still see Avery but far enough away to give the perception of privacy.

“I’ve got to get ready for work, so you’ll have to hurry.” Marybeth crossed to the bathroom door in the back, Avery behind her. “Who’s the brute?” She pointed at Dylan with a black-handled curling iron.

Avery laughed. “He’s big, but he’s not a brute,” he told her. “That’s Dylan. My m—boyfriend.” He leaned in and whispered loudly, “He’s a bit overprotective. Today’s the day I chose to indulge him.”

The look of appreciation she gave Dylan was unexpected. She smiled shyly and nodded, then went back to staring in the mirror and fiddling with her hair. “I get that,” she said. “My boyfriend can’t be around as much as he’d like, but he’s kind of protective too. He doesn’t like me to leave the house.”

It was a weird thing to say and made Dylan want to know more.

“So the other girls I’ve talked to all told me that one guy picked them up at a bar or restaurant or someplace,” Avery started. “He even took a couple of them out on dates before saying he wanted to introduce them to some of his friends. This guy—sometimes he goes by the name Troy, sometimes Trey. They’ve said he’s charming and a perfect gentleman until he’s not.”

Marybeth gave an unsettling laugh and shook her head. “You mean Trav?” she said softly.

“Is that his name?” Avery jumped in smoothly and just as quietly. “Is he the guy who handed you over?”

She laid down the curling iron and squinted at Avery, bringing trembling hands to her hips. “No. That’s not what happened. I think you should go now.”

Just like her nervousness, Dylan could scent the lie—sour and briny. It was big—Dylan knew it, and he could tell Avery did too. Marybeth was damaged, fragile, even though she was keeping something from them. Dylan had a feeling that if they walked away now, they might never get answers, especially from her.

Just when Dylan was about to open his mouth and say something—and, God help him, because Avery might have killed him for potentially screwing everything up—Avery said, “Nice boat.” He pointed to a picture on the wall.

Marybeth peeked her head around the door to look. Her gaze dropped to the floor when she ducked back into the bathroom. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“Is it a Meridian? Daddy bought Mama a yacht for their twenty-fifth anniversary. It was more for him than it was for her,” he told her conversationally, lifting the framed photograph from the hook. “Daddy’s is bigger than this one, but my father likes his flashy things.”

An eerie calmness radiated from Avery as he studied the picture. Meanwhile, Dylan noticed Marybeth had gone silent, her face ashen. Avery glanced up.

“You know what’s funny about this picture, Marybeth?” Avery held up the frame for her to see. She didn’t even look. “What’s funny is that guy you’re wrapped around in it? That’s Troy.”

Oh no.
Dylan jumped to his feet and darted forward. When he reached Avery, Dylan grasped his shoulder. He didn’t think Avery would do anything rash, but in his heart, he knew Avery needed the contact. Dylan did too.

Tears filled Marybeth’s eyes, and she shook her head wildly. “No,” she said, her words diluted. “No. You’re mistaken. How would you even know? He’s not who you’re looking for.”

“This”—Avery pointed to the photo—“is Troy, aka Trey, aka Trav, aka probably a hundred other names that begin with the letter T. I know what he looks like. He may have blond hair here, but I never forget a face.”