Prickly Business

by Piper Vaughn

  The guy licked his lips and shot a quick, anxious look around before dipping his head close to Avery’s ear. “I think something sketchy is going on. I’ve heard some rumors. Some seriously disturbing shit, man.”

  Avery kept his smile warm and inviting. Flirtatious. Come on. Give in to the harmless, little Southern boy. You know you want to. “What kind of rumors?”

  The guy looked even shiftier. “I… I dunno if I should say.”

  “Oh, honey, but think of Lacey’s poor father. The man is simply beside himself.” Avery pressed a hand to the guy’s chest and gave him his most beseeching expression. “Take pity on the old man. With his wife gone, Lacey’s all he has.”

  The guy dropped his gaze to Avery’s hand. He mumbled something Avery didn’t catch.

  Avery leaned closer, despite the alcohol reeking from the guy’s breath and the flop sweat leaking from his pores. Something was making this guy nervous as hell.

  The guy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard. He darted another quick glance around, then muttered, “Human trafficking.”

  Avery was so stunned his smile fell apart. He dropped the flirty act, blinking up at the guy. “Excuse me?”

  The guy shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. He looked like a skittish horse, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. I gotta go.” He took a step back, and Avery was too shocked to make a grab at him.

  Before he could collect himself, the guy slipped off into the crowd.

  “Wait!” Avery called.

  If the guy heard him above the pounding music, he didn’t pause. His pale blond head vanished into the sea of bodies lined up to order drinks.

  Avery fought his way through the mob of drunken clubbers, elbowing and outright shoving when he had to. By the time he made it to the edge of the dance floor, the guy was nowhere to be seen. Tracking him by scent in a crowd this large would be next to impossible, but Avery made a valiant effort anyway. He searched every level of the club, every restroom and balcony, to no avail. The guy was long gone, and Avery had been so focused on trying to get the information about Lacey from him, he hadn’t asked for a name.

  Dammit. Some investigator he was. At least he’d gotten a picture this time, and he’d been close enough to describe this guy in detail—and recognize his smell—should they cross paths again.

  He left Intrepid not feeling like a total failure. Only a partial one. His mind raced a hundred miles an hour on the cab ride home.

  Human trafficking.

  The subject hadn’t even crossed his mind in relation to Lacey’s disappearance. Why would it? Although he’d heard once Portland was something like the second worst city in the nation when it came to trafficking, it was easy to forget when surrounded by eco-conscious cars, fair-trade coffee shops, breweries, mustachioed hipsters, and food trucks.

  Could that be what happened to Lacey? Was Frat Boy—Troy—involved somehow? The guy at Intrepid had seemed fearful when he said Troy’s name.

  Avery angsted for a few minutes. Should he bring this up to Mr. Otis as a possibility?

  No. No way. What father would want to hear his daughter might’ve been taken by an underground sex ring? Besides, the only information Avery had so far was hearsay. He needed solid evidence before he so much as breathed a word about human trafficking to Mr. Otis.

  The problem was, how would he go about finding proof? He wasn’t a professional, as established by his complete lack of foresight when it came to getting names and taking pictures. What would a real detective do?

  Avery paid the cabbie at the curb and took the elevator up to his loft. He kicked off his shoes by the door, then dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. Making his way to his bedroom, he stripped out of his jean jacket and the tweed vest underneath. Next came his red tie and white button-down.

  Despite wanting to toss it all into a pile and bury himself beneath his blankets, he threw the shirt into the hamper and carefully hung the rest of the clothes in the closet. He debated taking a bath, but then shrugged off the idea and changed into his warmest lounge pants and a chunky sweater.

  After, he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A hot cup of tea, then bed. He’d consider his next step in the morning. But just as he was about to wander back to his bedroom with his steaming mug of organic Earl Grey, he spotted his MacBook sitting unopened on the dining table.

  Changing course, Avery went to his laptop. There had to be information online about Portland’s missing persons. That probably should’ve been his starting point to begin with.

  Avery shook his head. How typical of him to make things harder than they needed to be. No matter. He’d thought of it now.

  He pulled up Google and typed in a search. The list of results went on for pages. It would take hours to sort through, if he visited every site.

  Avery grabbed his mug of tea and took a sip. There probably wouldn’t be any sleep for him tonight. Ah, well. No rest for the wicked. Or apparently for hedgehogs trying to stop the wicked either.

  DYLAN FELT stir-crazy. Maybe just plain crazy.

  With a sigh, he flipped through the channels again. Two hundred fifty-eight of them and nothing on. He wanted to throw the remote. Hard. Hear it shatter against the wall. But he put a muzzle on that urge. Barely. Instead he leaned against the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

  This was Avery’s fault. He was driving Dylan insane by holding him at arm’s length.

  Of course, Dylan didn’t have any proof other than the short, distracted answers he got from Avery when they talked on the phone. That was only if Avery picked up.

  Three days. That’s how long it had been since the talk that clued Dylan in to the fact Avery might be keeping something from him. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Then the call and the shopping adventure with Jaden. And an overall general lack of communication on the verge of radio silence. Had Dylan not called Avery in the first place, he had a feeling he wouldn’t have heard from his mate at all.

  It was clear something was bothering Avery, and it was driving Dylan mad.

  He glanced down at his phone. To call or not to call. Three days wasn’t that much time, so no, calling again wasn’t an option. And why did he care so damned much? Dylan was the hunter not the hunted. He got what he wanted when he wanted it.

  So why was he sitting at home pining over the errant hedgehog?

  He wasn’t. That was his answer. Not any longer. In his life, if he’d ever learned one thing, it was that if he wanted something, he had to take it.

  Decision made. No more waiting around for Avery to come to him. Dylan was going to his mate.

  After throwing on his coat, he snatched up his keys and helmet. Time to find out what was up with Avery.

  If nothing else, the ride through the city soothed him. Cathartic—that was the only way to describe the relationship between a man and his bike. The rumbling of the engine, the metal beast that vibrated beneath him, and the open roads—it was everything he loved. Everything he’d ever wanted. It was freedom.

  By the time he pulled up in front of Avery’s building, Dylan’s earlier frustration seemed a thing of the past. That was until he looked up at the loft itself and thought about what—or rather, who—waited up there. And fuck if Dylan wasn’t mad at himself for not believing in Avery, but it wasn’t like he could contain the doubts.

  Since when did Dylan need to be reassured of anything?

  Then again, they’d only been on talking terms—without throwing carefully aimed barbs at each other—for a few weeks.

  At the front door, Dylan debated buzzing Avery, but as luck would have it, a man opened the door right before he pressed Avery’s button. Dylan caught the handle and held it open for him. The guy winked at Dylan, and…. Nothing. Not even the tiniest of sparks. He was just Dylan’s type too. Tall, dark, and scruffy. As lean as the day is long. And when the guy trotted away, obviously taking Dylan’s nonresponse as a lack of interest, Dylan wondered if his type had changed.


  Chasing after blond, sassy hedgehogs seemed to be his MO these days.

  It was something he’d ponder another day. Right now he was on a mission.

  Slipping into the building was simple (if any of the residents in the lobby noticed him stealing into the building, none spoke up), and the elevator ride up was quick. Soon he was in front of Avery’s door and knocking.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when Avery opened the door—clothes disheveled, hair sticking out in all directions, and dark circles painted in the caverns beneath his eyes. The surprise in Avery’s eyes was only overshadowed by his exhaustion. Still, it couldn’t hide his beauty.

  Even worn out, Avery was gorgeous—all long, lean, and luscious. Dylan had to admit the way a chunk of hair flopped into Avery’s face was adorable too.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Dylan pushed his way into the loft, forcing Avery to back up until he was pressed against the wall. Dylan didn’t stop at Avery’s gasp. After kicking the door closed, he crowded Avery, drawn to him like a magnet. Avery planted his hands on Dylan’s chest—to push him away or pull him closer. All he could see was Avery, his mate, tired, vulnerable, and needing… him. Dylan didn’t know how he knew, but something inside him told him Avery needed him. His comfort. His strength. His warmth.

  Avery shivered and the openness in his big eyes teased at Dylan’s restraint. He was there for a reason, and he wasn’t letting that go, but it had been days that felt like weeks since he’d last seen his mate, felt him, tasted him. It wasn’t reassurance he was looking for. It was that connection. The link that reinforced the bond between them every single day.

  “You haven’t called,” Dylan rasped.

  Then Avery whimpered and Dylan broke. He laced his fingers through Avery’s hair and tugged lightly, drawing a gasp from Avery’s slack mouth. Taking in his mate—his scent, his elegance even in his drained state—he watched Avery’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. Dylan wanted to know—needed to know—that Avery was there. With him. That the past few days hadn’t created an irrevocable, gaping chasm between them. But first he needed to touch Avery, hear him moan.

  Dylan pressed his mouth to Avery’s and pushed his tongue into Avery’s mouth. Avery’s hands grappled for purchase, sliding from Dylan’s waist, over his chest, and finally clutching at his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

  The kiss was brutal and punishing. As if awakened from his haze, Avery returned the passion, sucking on Dylan’s bottom lip, then slipping his tongue between Dylan’s lips to join the play. One of them groaned low and dirty, and Dylan didn’t know if it was him or Avery. It didn’t matter.

  When the need for air was too much, Dylan pulled away but only long enough to catch his breath. He slid one hand down and curled it around Avery’s hip, drawing him closer. With the one hand remaining in Avery’s hair, he tugged once more, exposing his long, graceful neck. Dylan dove back in, scraped his teeth over Avery’s jaw, down the column of his neck and to the junction at his shoulder. Everything in him yearned for this link, demanded he take Avery and make him his. It would be so easy to bite, to cement everything between them so Avery couldn’t get away.

  “Dylan.” Avery’s fingers dug harder into Dylan’s shoulders. He’d have bruises later and that idea set him on fire. Being marked, ever so slightly, by his mate.

  Avery’s breathy plea and the stretch of his neck that gave Dylan more access to that creamy, silky skin left no doubt in Dylan’s mind what his mate wanted, but at the same time it knocked some sense into him.

  Everything in Dylan cried out with the need to mark Avery. It beat in him like a compulsion. With a rumble, Dylan dipped his nose into the juncture of Avery’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the scent of his mate. Except something deep inside Dylan craved more, needed Avery’s scent to meld with his own. Rubbing his face and neck into Avery, Dylan prayed his wolf would be satisfied with scent marking for now. Avery’s moan spurred him on as he licked a path from neck to collarbone, tracing his way to the opposite side so he could mark Avery thoroughly.

  Avery let out a breathy laugh. “If you pee on me next, I’m leaving and not coming back.”

  Dylan froze. What was he doing? They’d only begun getting to know each other for the past few weeks. Hell, Dylan was having trouble getting a lock on his mate as it was. Avery was all over the place, hot one second and cold the next. Why was Dylan even giving thought to forming a bond that Avery likely didn’t want? It was the heat of the moment. They hadn’t even broached the subject of them being mates in the first place. No, it was probably lust speaking for Avery.

  That thought at the forefront of his mind, Dylan’s ardor cooled. Panting, he pulled his mouth away and turned his cheek against Avery’s shoulder. It grounded him, as did the sounds of Avery’s harsh breaths slowing as well. Dropping a kiss to the place that would quite possibly display his bite one day, Dylan straightened but didn’t move away. Instead he stood captivated by Avery and the insecurity, vulnerability, and no small amount of hurt filling his hazel depths. Dylan’s first order of business was to fix that.

  He touched his forehead to Avery’s and with their lips only breaths apart, whispered, “When it’s time, we’ll both know.”

  Avery squeezed his eyes closed and nodded slowly.

  When Dylan finally stepped back, Avery’s hands fell from his shoulders. He missed the weight of Avery’s touch, missed the way Avery gave everything over to him. It was almost enough to forget all the reasons he shouldn’t and dive back in.

  Almost.

  He held out his hand and smiled when Avery didn’t hesitate to grasp it.

  “Come on. We need to talk,” he said solemnly

  The openness he’d witnessed in Avery immediately shuttered, replaced with wariness and resignation.

  Dylan should have known, although it didn’t stop him from moving them through the kitchen and into the living room. He situated himself in the corner of the couch and pulled Avery down beside him. Without a sound, Avery tucked himself against Dylan’s side and rested his head on Dylan’s shoulder. Apprehension filled the silence between them, but still Dylan didn’t speak. He took a moment to ponder his mate and survey their surroundings.

  The place wasn’t messy, per se, but it was obvious things were out of order. A few records littered the coffee table and a jean jacket hung precariously over the opposite arm of the couch. On the small dining room table, papers were scattered about and his laptop was open to a missing persons’ website. The closer Dylan looked at the things around him, including Avery, the less sense it all made.

  “What’s going on, Avery?”

  Another beat of silence. Dylan glanced down at his mate. He could just about see the thoughts flit through Avery’s mind, but not lies. Somehow Dylan knew whatever was going through Avery’s head, whatever he was hiding would all come out here and if not now, then soon.

  All of his protective instincts roared to life, and Dylan wanted nothing more than to shelter Avery from this thing he was dealing with. Alone. He’s trying to do it alone. Without help. Dylan wanted to rail at the thought of Avery doing this (no matter what this was) by himself. He’d known Avery wasn’t the type of man who asked for help. Whether it was pride or fear or a combination of both, it was obvious his mate wouldn’t come out and ask. Dylan would have to offer.

  “Come on, brat.” Dylan kept his voice soft and absent of teasing, even as the nickname slipped out. It wasn’t a moment of humor, yet the name on his lips felt more like an endearment than an insult. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I want to help. I… I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me in.”

  Chapter Twelve

  NESTLED CLOSE to Dylan’s side on the couch, Avery hesitated to answer his question. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share with Dylan. He did. Avery had realized over the last few days that he couldn’t handle the Lacey situation without someone to talk to, and he wanted to unburden himself on his mate. But something told him Dylan wo
uldn’t react well to what he’d been doing.

  Slowly the warmth and security of Dylan’s embrace eased Avery’s tension. He went limp against Dylan, nuzzling his face into Dylan’s shirt, inhaling his scent. The dam inside him broke as his mate’s presence soothed him, and the story of Mr. Otis and Lacey spilled out of Avery in a flood. He told Dylan the reason for the invitation to Howl, where he’d been on Saturday night, and what he’d been doing since then.

  When he wasn’t making deliveries, he’d been online, searching tirelessly, poring over websites about missing persons in Oregon and the surrounding states. So many people just disappeared every year, never to be seen or heard from again. A lot of them were women—pretty teenagers whose lives had barely started. He even found a few interviews with girls who worked in the sex trade where they described how it all began and discussed the young men and women who seduced and lured them into selling themselves.

  Depressing couldn’t begin to describe it. That afternoon, when Avery had returned to his loft after his deliveries, he’d filled his tub with warm water, shifted into his hedgehog form, and spent some indeterminate amount of time curled up into a ball, just floating on his back in lazy circles, trying not to think. Of course, he couldn’t shut his brain off.

  If Lacey had been taken or sold off as a sex slave, how would he ever find her? Where would he even begin to look? The most obvious path was to try to find Troy and figure out his involvement, if any. But for that, he’d have to loiter at Howl every night, hoping Troy showed up again, and that if he did, he’d actually be willing to talk. Though if Troy was involved, what reason would he have to admit as much to Avery? No man would simply confess to being a sex trafficker, except maybe under the threat of death or a prison sentence.

  Avery wasn’t exactly intimidating. But Dylan…. Dylan sure as hell could be. Maybe he’d be willing to help.