by Lynn Hagen
Nash grabbed Layne’s hand and stormed from the bathroom. Layne had a hard time keeping up with his mate’s longs strides. His mom must’ve seen the murderous look on Nash’s face, because she came running over.
“What’s wrong?”
Nash stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Hartley needs to be banned from here.”
“Why, what did he do?” she asked as Nash’s gaze snapped to the bathroom, where Hartley was coming out.
Nash glared at him as Hartley walked out of the restaurant, shoving at the door like it had killed his family. How on earth had Stanton slept with that guy? How had he gotten past Hartley’s huge ego?
Layne pulled away from Nash as his mate talked with his mom and went over to where Stanton and Horace were watching them.
“What happened? Stanton asked.
“Hartley’s an asshole.” Layne told them what had taken place in the bathroom and what Hartley had said.
“Are you for real?” Horace looked horrified. “Do I have to go in there and clean anything up?”
Horace’s OCD at its finest.
“He actually said those things to you?” Stanton looked at the back door where Hartley had stormed out. Was that hurt in Stanton’s green eyes? “I can’t believe he said those things to you.”
Lord Baby Jesus, please don’t tell me Stanton is in love with that jerk. Hartley had nothing to offer Stanton. The guy still lived with his mother, for crying out loud. He didn’t even have a job, and his truck was on its last legs.
Layne had a sneaking suspicion that Hartley was using Stanton just for sex. He wanted to hug his friend and smack some sense into him at the same time.
“Do I need to go clean the bathroom?” Horace repeated.
“No.” He turned and looked at Nash, who was still talking to his mom but watching Layne. Behind those mysterious eyes was someone with a big heart. Nash could’ve believed whatever he wanted in the bathroom, could’ve accused Layne of wanting Hartley.
But he’d taken Layne at his word. Trusted him. Had put his faith and future in Layne’s hands. Nash was already messed up in the head from his guilt, his time in the military. Just looking into his eyes told anyone that. Yet he’d leaned on Layne with the decision about the pub. He could only assume Nash didn’t let too many people in.
Layne was one of those people that had slid past his defenses.
“Look at you blushing,” Horace teased then sighed. “Must be nice to be in love.”
“I have to tend to my tables.” Stanton walked away.
“He’s totally dating Hartley,” Horace whispered. “He made me promise not to tell, but after what happened in the bathroom, I thought you should know.”
Layne’s heart broke for Stanton. A person couldn’t pick who they fell in love with, and Stanton had gotten the losing end of that deal. Layne also felt guilty because Hartley was an asshole and wouldn’t leave him alone.
“He knows you’re not leading Hartley on.”
Layne shrugged. “It still has to hurt, though.”
Stanton deserved a big, fat hug from Layne, but his friend’s body language said it wouldn’t be welcome. Stanton was shutting himself down, like he always did when life was stressing him out. Neither Stevie nor Stanton handled stress very well, but Stevie handled it the worst.
He also knew that Stanton was a shy introvert who rarely stuck up for himself. That was why he never confronted his parents about always taking off and leaving him behind.
Tracking Hartley down and beating his ass sounded good to him. Layne hated that Hartley was throwing away the love Stanton had to offer.
“You ready, babe?” Nash smiled at Horace then grabbed Layne’s hand.
“You two lovebirds run along,” Horace said. “I have to get back to work, and you’re distracting me.”
He gave Horace a quick peck on the cheek and headed out, looking Stanton’s way and wishing he could change how Hartley felt about him. Layne didn’t understand it, either. Stanton was damn good-looking. Tall, sleek, with green eyes and blond hair. He was better looking than Layne was. His friend also had a huge heart, which Hartley was trampling all over.
When they walked outside, a hand clamped over Layne’s mouth and Nash was whacked over the back of his head.
Chapter Eleven
“Get your filthy hands off me.” Layne was horrified as he watched some stranger drag Nash to Hartley’s beat-up red truck and toss him in the bed.
“Shut the fuck up.” Hartley yanked Layne toward the driver’s side and shoved him into the truck. Layne was put in the middle as the stranger slid into the passenger seat and Hartley took off.
“Have you lost your mind?” Layne slapped at Hartley’s arm and was backhanded for his efforts. He swallowed the cry as his cheek exploded in pain.
The stranger on Layne’s right didn’t say a word. He sat there staring out the window with his jaw clenched. Layne’s gaze lowered to the stranger’s arm, and he saw an army tattoo. Was this Rawlings? Was this the guy who’d shot him?
Oh crap. He was in serious trouble. They’d snatched Layne and Nash so fast that Layne doubted anyone had seen what they’d done. His parents would’ve thought Nash and Layne had just left, ignorant of the fact that they’d just been kidnapped.
“We could’ve just done this the easy way,” Hartley said. “But you had to make things difficult.”
“And where are you gonna take us, to your mom’s house?” Layne sassed.
Hartley slapped the wheel as his face flushed. His lips were thin, and his nostrils flared. “You’re gonna learn when to shut up.”
“And what about Stanton?” Layne asked.
“What about him?” Hartley asked. “He’s just a piece of ass. I can drop him now that I have you.”
Layne wanted to throw up and beat the daylights out of Hartley. How had he never seen the jerk’s insanity before? Sure, Hartley had been a pain in his ass, but Layne never thought the guy would take things this far.
When Layne twisted around to look at Nash in the back, no one stopped him. His mate was still out cold, swaying with the truck’s movements. Layne kept willing him to wake up, but Nash didn’t. His eyes were firmly closed, and Layne’s heart traveled up to his throat when he saw a trickle of blood in Nash’s hair.
Had Rawlings killed Nash? He’d used a tire iron, and that had to have hurt. But it was a powerful enough weapon that it could’ve killed Nash, too.
Layne sank back down into his seat as tears sprang to his eyes. This was a complete nightmare, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Either man could easily overpower him, had overpowered him. He didn’t stand a chance if Nash didn’t wake up.
He would wake up because Layne refused to believe he was dead. They were just starting their lives together, had a baby on the way and a new pub to get up and running.
This was the one time Layne wished Nomad were around. Hell, he’d even take Quinn considering he was built like the Hulk. Layne had psychopaths sitting on either side of him, and that scared him to death.
His stomach dropped when they pulled into Mr. Farren’s old farm. It had been abandoned for years. The house was in disrepair, and the barn was barely holding up. The barn leaned heavily at a strange angle, as if a stiff wind would knock it over at any second.
Hartley pulled to the back of the house and cut the motor. He got out, reached in, and grabbed Layne’s arm, yanking him out.
“Let me go!” Layne swung at him again, but Hartley simply curled an arm around him and lifted Layne off his feet, carrying him through the back door like a sack of potatoes.
After they entered the large country kitchen, he dropped Layne on his feet. “Try to run and Nash’ll pay for it.”
That had been exactly what Layne was about to do. But Hartley’s threat stopped him in his tracks. “Where is Nash?”
“My new buddy is taking him to the barn.” Hartley slammed the kitchen door closed. “I caught him spying on you two and struck up a deal. He gets Nash, and I
get you.”
* * * *
Nash’s head was killing him as he came awake. There was something wet trickling down his temple as he tried to open his eyes. The first thing he smelled was moldy hay and rotting wood. He tried his hardest to recall what had happened, why his head was pounding, and why it felt as though his hands were tied behind his back.
“Glad to see you’re back with me. I was beginning to think I’d hit you too hard and scrambled your brains.”
Duke Rawlings.
“Think about shifting and I’ll shoot you in the head before it happens.”
Nash finally lifted his head and looked around. It was the oddest room he’d ever seen. Clearly they were in a barn, but the entire structure leaned heavily to the right, as if they were in some Tim Burton scene.
He feared the barn would collapse on them at any second, and that would be fatal considering all the heavy equipment stored in the loft.
“Why’re you doing this?” Nash snarled. “Why now, after all these years?”
He struggled with the ropes that bound his hands behind him. Unless he shifted, he wouldn’t get free. But Rawlings stood in front of him, a gun in his hand.
Rawlings wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. It was humid as hell in there. Nash would’ve thought it was sweat trickling down his temple, but he smelled blood and his head was aching.
Flashes of memory caught him off guard. He’d been leaving the restaurant when…
“Where is Layne?” Nash struggled to get up, but his ankles were tied, as well. “What the fuck did you do with him?”
“Calm the hell down.” Rawlings walked behind him and pressed the gun against Nash’s head. “I didn’t do anything to the little guy. I’m only interested in you. I can’t say the same for Hartley. He seems to have a real hard-on for your boyfriend.”
Nash had to get to his mate. His stomach rolled at the thought of Hartley touching Layne. He wanted to shift so badly that his bones ached, but Nash would be of no use if he were dead.
“I’m going to rip you apart with my bare hands,” Nash said. “I was hoping to talk you out of this, to help you in any way I could, but all I want now is to kill you like you tried to kill Layne.”
Rawlings moved to Nash’s left and slugged him so hard that Nash’s head snapped around. If only Rawlings didn’t have that gun, Nash would shift and end the bastard’s life.
“Why should you be happy?” Rawlings screamed. “You don’t deserve a happy life! You killed our unit, and now I can’t sleep without hearing their screams and seeing their torn and twisted bodies. Why the fuck do you get to live and they don’t?”
Nash heard the torture in Rawlings’s voice, heard the same kind of agony that Nash felt. “You’re not the only one,” he said. “I see and hear the same thing whenever I close my eyes.”
He didn’t understand how Layne dealt with it. More than once Nash had woken in a cold sweat, screaming, expecting to be surrounded by sand. His mate just held him, talking softly to him, bringing Nash out of his nightmares.
There was no thinking he loved Layne. Nash did with every fiber of his being. He’d bound them together when they’d mated, and it really had started out with Layne having the mark, but Nash couldn’t imagine his life without Layne in it.
“Your suffering is nothing compared to mine.” Rawlings hit Nash again.
The son of a bitch had a powerful punch. Nash felt his face swelling as he still worked the ropes, trying to loosen them.
“I wasn’t aware we were comparing scars,” Nash said. The statement made him think of Layne. Hadn’t Nash said the same thing to his mate?
Please don’t let anything happen to him. Nash had been alone for so goddamn long, lost for so many years. Now that Layne was in his life, he finally felt at peace. If Hartley did anything to rob Layne of his joy, Nash would take his time gutting the guy. He would take pleasure in making Hartley suffer for as long as he could before ending the guy’s life.
The next blow to Nash’s face was so hard that the room dimmed and Nash passed out.
Chapter Twelve
Rawlings was gonna kill Nash, if Nash wasn’t already dead from that blow to the head from the tire iron. Layne had to get to him, but Hartley stood in his way. He wanted to ask Hartley how he planned on keeping him. Was he gonna tie Layne to his bed for the rest of his life? And how would Hartley explain a new baby to his mother?
Clearly the asshole hadn’t thought this through, and Layne wasn’t going to ask those questions so Hartley could come up with a solution. He just had to get out of the room so he could use his cell phone to call for help.
“I have to pee.” Layne held his breath and hoped that his ploy worked.
“Go find the bathroom, but don’t forget my threat. One word from me, and Nash is dead.”
In Rawlings’ hands, Nash was already a dead man. Layne just had to make sure that didn’t happen.
Hartley’s dumb ass let him leave the room. He really wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Layne hurried down the hallway and found the bathroom. He grimaced at the state of the room. There wasn’t even any water in the toilet bowl, and he was thankful he really didn’t have to go.
He dug his phone out of his front pocket and texted his mom. Layne didn’t call because Hartley might’ve heard him talking. Too bad Layne couldn’t call Nomad or Quinn, but he didn’t know their phone numbers.
Layne told his mom to get the sheriff out there and to go over to Nash’s house and tell his brothers what was going on. He didn’t wait for a reply. Not when he heard Hartley’s heavy footsteps heading his way. Layne turned his phone off—so it wouldn’t make any noise if his mom texted him back—and tucked his phone into his pocket. Layne opened the bathroom door just as Hartley appeared.
“This bathroom is disgusting,” Layne said. “I guess I can hold it.”
Hartley looked him over, and Layne’s heart squeezed tight. For a second he thought Hartley would figure out what he’d just done, but he waved for Layne to go back to the kitchen.
“I really didn’t want things to end up this way,” Hartley said as he walked behind Layne. “But it is what it is. Willing or not, you’re with me now.”
Layne bit back all the words that tried to tumble out of his mouth. Giving Hartley a piece of his mind wouldn’t do him any good and might piss him off enough to strike Layne again. His cheek still hurt, and he was willing to bet a bruise was blossoming.
When they got back to the kitchen, Layne took a good look around. There was a table butted up against the wall, one leg missing. One chair sat on the side of it. There were some dishes still in the sink, including a cast-iron skillet. Those things were heavy, but Layne was willing to take a chance just so he could clobber Hartley over the head with it.
Then he spotted it. A knife on the floor, shoved halfway under the fridge. Bile rose to the back of Layne’s throat at the thought of stabbing anyone, but his life, and Nash’s, depended on him taking Hartley down.
Now he just had to come up with a plan to get the knife without the jackass seeing him do it. Layne walked to the back door and looked out the curtainless, dirty window. The barn was in clear view, and his heart sank at what Rawlings might be doing to Nash right now.
His mate suffered from nightmares over his guilt. Nash had woken in a panicked state more than once since they’d been together. Layne just talked to him until Nash fully woke up and knew where he was. It was sad that Layne was getting good at it.
None of what had happened was Nash’s fault. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault other than the person who’d planted the bomb. Why couldn’t Rawlings see that? Why did he want Nash to pay for that?
Layne cringed and held his breath when Hartley walked up behind him. Hartley stood so close that Layne felt the heat from his body.
“I bought this place,” he said. “Got it for a steal.”
With what money? Hartley didn’t have a job. He lived off his mother. Layne couldn’t imagine being that lazy and havin
g his parents take care of him. They’d raised him to be a hardworking man, an independent adult who took pride in working.
“I overheard Nash’s brothers talking in their backyard,” Hartley said. “Do you know they inherited half a million each from their aunt? I plan on getting Nash’s portion. That’ll set us up real nice. I just haven’t figured out how to do that yet.”
If Layne had ever had the tiniest ounce of respect for Hartley, his words killed that. Layne had never met a lower piece of scum. People like Hartley Paine didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as regular folks. He was a drain on society, and Layne wished he would drop dead.
He normally didn’t wish death on anyone, but if anyone deserved to die, it was Hartley.
With his words, Layne turned and glared at him, no longer caring if the bastard struck him again. “You’ll never get your hands on his money. You’ll never have me, either. I’ll fight you every step of the way, making your life a living hell.”
With a snarl, Hartley yanked Layne away from the door and backhanded him. He cried out this time and fell, but he fell on purpose. He landed right by the fridge. When he rolled over, he tucked the knife under his shirt.
Fuck, did the blade have to be that long? If Layne weren’t careful, he’d shove the tip into his neck.
“Get up!” Hartley grabbed Layne by his hair and yanked him to his feet. “You’re gonna stop talking to me like I’m trash. Nash is the worthless piece of shit. He let his buddies die.”
Hartley was directly behind him. Layne let the knife drop into his hand and grabbed the hilt. With as much strength as he could muster, Layne shoved it backward and then spun, letting the knife go when he saw it embedded in Hartley’s gut.
Hartley looked wide-eyed at him. Layne didn’t wait to see what he would do. He grabbed the frying pan and used it like a bat, though the weight didn’t allow his arms to reach as high as Hartley’s head, so he settled for the guy’s upper arm.
When Hartley dropped, howling in pain, Layne snatched the knife from his gut and raced out the door. He would need a weapon to use against Rawlings. Layne wanted to wait for backup, but he needed to get to Nash.