Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

by Dannika Dark

  With a stoic expression, Jericho backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, draping his arms over his bent knees.

  I knelt in front of him and searched his eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  When his eyes lifted, they were remorseful. I felt the pain of decades within them—years of being lost.

  “Are you mated?” he asked.

  I sat back on my legs. “We just met. I’m not mated, but I’m in a relationship. We’ve been living together for a month. You know me—I’m as monogamous as they come. So the touching thing isn’t working for me. I don’t know how serious it is with Hawk after the stunt he pulled, but until we’re officially broken up, I’m off-limits. Thanks for taking care of those guys at the bar. Sometimes customers get touchy-feely, and I always put them in their place, but it doesn’t erase the humiliation I feel when I’m seeing a man.”

  “You didn’t initiate it,” he said in my defense.

  “You’re right. I also didn’t initiate it in this hall when you touched me a minute ago, and you know that was more than a friendly gesture.” I gave him a look of reproach and sighed.

  “I won’t put my hands on you again,” he promised, his voice edged with anger. “Do you want to tell me why you let your boyfriend wrap his fingers around your throat?”

  “We had a fight, but it’s not what you think.”

  “What he did was unconscionable. A real man never puts his mark on a woman.” He paused for a beat and sharpened his gaze. “Has he ever handled you like that before?”

  I averted my eyes. Hawk wasn’t an abusive man, but he could be a little rough. He knew I didn’t like to have my ass slapped in the morning but did it anyway because he thought it was funny. Sometimes he jerked me around by the arm, but there was never any hitting or violent behavior between us, not like there was in the house I grew up in. That was the level of violence I compared everything against, so anything less was manageable.

  Jericho nodded with an intolerant glare, as if I’d given him the answer he wanted. “Did the fight with your boyfriend have to do with the jerk-off who threw you against the bar and knocked you out?” He leaned forward.

  “Someone’s after Hawk, and they think they can find him through me. Hawk’s lying low until the dust settles. I have no idea where he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter to these guys.”

  Jericho rose to his feet and walked around me. “So you have someone after you and no place to stay.”

  I got up and squeezed the ends of my wet hair. “You summed it up very nicely, Jericho.”

  “This isn’t funny, Isabelle. You’re staying here.”

  “No,” I said, moving past him. “That would be a disaster waiting to happen.” I jogged down the stairs with him close behind.

  “You can’t wander around in a city full of Shifters.”

  “Sure I can!”

  “Isabelle…”

  I grabbed my flip-flops and keys before flying out the front door. Jericho tried to grab my shirt, but I picked up speed and jogged across the yard. Oh God, I needed to get away from all this drama.

  “You don’t really want me here,” I yelled out. “And we might end up killing each other. I told Hawk if he doesn’t pay this guy back, then it’s over between us. I’ve given him an ultimatum, and I’m not really a fan of those.”

  When I unlocked the car door, he pressed his arm against the frame and squinted in the bright afternoon sun.

  A butterfly briefly landed on his shoulder before fluttering off. I put my hands on my hips and softened my voice. “Why are you trying to stop me?”

  “I can’t help it, Isabelle. I have a strong instinct to protect you, and damn if I can’t suppress it. You’ve always deserved a good man. I just don’t think I can stand aside while you settle for some sonofabitch who thinks he can put bruises on you. Let’s get one thing straight: if any man ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll end his life. I don’t care if you’re mated to him.”

  I smiled and touched his cheek, feeling his smooth shave and searching his haunted eyes. “Maybe the old Jericho’s still in there after all—the one who cares about people and doesn’t shut them out of his life. I’m not expecting us to be friends again. But there are no other waitress jobs on the Breed side of town, and I need a paycheck. I’m tired of drifting. I’ve been moving around for years, and I want to get rooted somewhere and…”

  “Find a pack?”

  I blinked and tugged at the door.

  “You’re a wolf, Isabelle. It’s natural to feel the need to join up with a pack. Stop living in denial… Stop fighting what comes natural.”

  “I know what I am.”

  He nodded and looked at me slyly. “You sure do. But when are you going to accept it?”

  He knew me too well. I’d always struggled with my upbringing in a house full of cougars and had never known what it felt like to be bonded with anyone.

  Except Jericho. In a strange way, I used to think of him as my pack. Maybe that’s why I still felt a strong connection with him. He was the only one who knew my fear of joining a family. It’s an instinct all Shifter wolves had, including myself, and even Jericho once admitted he’d one day settle down in a pack. I’d always told him it didn’t matter to me.

  I’d lied.

  Chapter 7

  Austin was a big enough city that I knew the odds of running into Handlebars again were slim to none—as long as I stayed out of Hawk’s territory.

  I checked out a few motels, but the prices were outside my budget. With my hair pulled back in a messy knot, I parked my car in front of McDonald’s and called Hawk.

  “Better pick up,” I murmured.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Hawk! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Miss me already?”

  “Are you sitting around waiting for this to go away or doing something about it?”

  “Working on it,” he replied.

  “Does that mean you’re paying him back what you owe? I have a man after me. He’s big and he’s scary, but he’s still a human and my wolf can kick his ass.”

  “You aren’t supposed to shift in front of humans.”

  “And you aren’t supposed to work for drug lords. Hawk, please. Let me know how this is all going to work out so I can make plans.”

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  I shifted in my seat and watched a kid inside the restaurant smearing ketchup on the window. “You know where to find me if you want to talk, but don’t start any trouble and get me fired.”

  “I can protect you, Izzy. Say the word and I’ll come pick you up.”

  No way. I kept wondering why I was giving Hawk a second chance, but I saw the good side in him and believed in redemption. What if my staying made all the difference in turning his life around?

  “Say yes. I want you back.”

  Was I overreacting? No one said relationships were easy. “Where are you hiding out?”

  “Can’t tell you, but I can show you. Come on, Iz. I don’t like the idea of you sleeping God knows where or with who. Help me sort this shit out and we’ll go back to the way it was.”

  I tapped my finger on the steering wheel, feeling the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, each trying to give me sage advice.

  “Who’s watching out for you? Huh? Come back to me and I’ll make it right. You can’t keep running when things don’t go your way.”

  Hypocrite. Although, he had a point. I could have bailed on him, but I was tired of being the girl who always ran out on people. If I left him, he wouldn’t pay off this Delgado guy, and I’d still have that crazy human tackling me every chance he got. Going back to Hawk seemed like the obvious choice to me. I’d be able to talk some sense into him and find out what was really going on. If it didn’t work out, I’d make him call this big-shot dealer and let him know we weren’t an item anymore and to stop chasing me down. I also didn’t have a dime in my pocket.

  And my gas was running lo
w.

  “Do you promise you’ll sit down and tell me everything? Be honest with me from here on out?”

  He chuckled. “A promise is a promise. Where are you?”

  “Pick me up after work. I get off at four.”

  ***

  After Isabelle stormed out of the house, Jericho had let his wolf run loose on the property to release the tension that had built up. Isabelle had a way of working him over like no other woman could. She’d wind him up until he felt constricted by his emotions.

  Jericho didn’t like feeling emotions. It’s why he’d turned to drugs all those years ago. Things got worse when Izzy had walked out and Denver forced him into a human rehab center. Those kinds of places didn’t exist in the Breed world, so he didn’t have a choice. In confinement, he couldn’t let his wolf out, so he was forced to confront the emotions he’d repressed for years. Feelings of inadequacy among his brothers, feelings of solitude when fame hit that had made him feel like nothing more than a used napkin that women wanted to blot their lipstick on.

  Years had passed since then, and every now and again, he still enjoyed a little weed. But never the hard-core stuff. The best numbing agent? Avoiding the things that caused him pain.

  Relationships.

  Love.

  Success.

  And recently, traveling. He’d seen many cities, but the emptiness consumed him, despite the fact he always had someone to warm his bed. So when his younger brother, Austin, called everyone up and said he wanted to form a pack, Jericho had thought, “Why the hell not?”

  By then, he’d already formed a new band, and they’d made a name for themselves at local clubs who were eager to book them. The success wasn’t on the same level as he’d experienced years ago, but he liked the pace.

  The Cole brothers had recently moved to a new house and were a tighter family than ever before. Austin might have been the youngest brother, but an alpha was born to lead and maturity came naturally to them. He made an exceptional Packmaster, and Jericho respected his ability to not only make sound decisions, but to be humble enough to take advice from his brothers. Austin believed in tough love, but sometimes that’s what it took to set someone straight. He looked after his pack above all else.

  So things had been good. Real good.

  But all Jericho could think about lately was Isabelle. She’d always had amazing legs, but it was that sexy hair he loved the most. Her faded freckles reminded him of long summers in California. Man, he loved the way they mirrored her innocent heart. Most girls who were born with those wholesome looks skanked it up, but Isabelle kept it classy. More than that, she’d grown to become a tempting balance of two halves. Confident and timid; angelic with the tongue of the devil; fierce and fragile—a woman who made him feel unworthy of her affection.

  She was his past and present—his heaven and hell.

  After letting his wolf out for a long afternoon run in the woods, Jericho put on his work clothes: jeans shredded above the knee, a studded belt, dark lace-up boots, and a black jacket. No shirt meant a kick-ass, unforgettable show. He slipped on a few thick rings and grabbed his necklace with a pendant in the shape of a razorblade. Jericho put his guitar in its case and swiped the keys from the nail in the wall above the letter J. He stuffed his gear in the back seat of the blue pickup truck. He didn’t have his own car, so he’d claimed the family truck that had once belonged to Austin.

  It was after midnight, and Howlers was packed. He smirked when he saw that Jake had used two orange cones to reserve a spot for him up front.

  Jericho ran over the cones and parked.

  “Hey, man. Where ya been?”

  He glanced at his bass player—a scrawny guy named Chaz with a black goatee and a bad reputation.

  “Had to go for a run. You know how it is.”

  “I hear that. You wanna do a few lines before the show?”

  Jericho lifted his guitar and slammed the door. “You know I don’t touch that stuff.”

  “Don’t act like a virgin to the white lady. I heard about your past.”

  Jericho turned his sharp eyes to Chaz. “Who the hell told you that?”

  Chaz sneered and picked up a small pebble, rolling it around in his hand. “Denver talks a lot when he’s drunk. Come on, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll take the edge off.”

  Words Jericho had heard more times in his life than he cared to remember. Words that tantalized him in a way he hadn’t expected. He thought about how good it would feel to dull the pain and enjoy the show without having to watch Isabelle move around the bar while men leered at her.

  God, how close he’d come earlier to kissing her at the house. Just being in close proximity and smelling her sweet skin, touching the smooth nape of her neck and watching her pupils dilate roused something primal in him. A feeling that had been dead since he’d last seen her.

  Two men stumbled out the front door of Howlers, laughing and singing as they made their way across the parking lot.

  “No thanks, man. Not my scene anymore. Take that shit somewhere else.”

  Chaz leaned against the truck and stroked his goatee. “I forgot—you only do the pussy shit. You think you’re a real rock star, don’t you? Walkin’ around with your little dime bag of weed.”

  Jericho tightened his fist, tempted to turn around and knock the shit out of him. Chaz always acted up before a show and then disappeared. The drugs tapered down his attitude and made it easier to work with him—that man had some serious issues he hadn’t learned to cope with.

  “How about you get your ass onstage in five minutes?” Jericho bit out as he stormed up the steps and yanked open the main door.

  The rock music blared, and on his way to the back of the room, he pointed at Denver. “We’re talking later,” he yelled, watching Denver wipe down the bar with a bewildered expression.

  One of his groupies sauntered up in a white, strapless dress. Most wore the skintight ones, but not Trix. She liked easy access when he’d take her in the back room, or even behind the building. Trix was the kind of girl who had her sights on Jericho because of the slice of fame it gave her. The problem with a girl like Trix was that she had a tendency to crowd his space.

  “Hey, sugar,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “How’s the crowd tonight?”

  She flipped back her blond curls and smiled up at him. “I’m keeping ’em warm for you.”

  He popped her on the ass lightly and winked. “Go on, we’ll catch up later.”

  When he walked through the room, several beautiful women swiveled on their barstools and followed his movement. His brother, Wheeler, looked like an ailing seal hunched over his drink at the bar.

  Jericho sat on the stool to his left. “How’s it going?”

  “Going,” Wheeler replied, looking in his direction but not at him.

  “Where’s Ben?”

  His face tightened. “Do I look like his keeper? You’re his brother too. Why don’t you tell me where the fuck he is?”

  “What happened between you two? You guys used to get along. Then you got all dark and diabolical.”

  Wheeler ran his hand over a tattoo that wrapped around his wrist. “People change.”

  “You got that right. Maybe I don’t like seeing you two at each other’s throats all the time. Dig? Look, I have to get ready for the show. Catch ya later,” he said, slapping Wheeler on the back and heading backstage.

  “Denver! Three pitchers,” a familiar voice called out.

  He turned his head and watched Isabelle serve a tray full of burgers to a table of young men. The women were drawing nearer to the stage, anticipating the show. They caught sight of him walking with his guitar slung over his shoulder and began all that lip-biting and whispering.

  Jake had a private room set up in the back where the band could hang out and get ready. Most Breed clubs offered private rooms to unwind, although this one was pretty damn small. Jericho liked to kick back with a few beers, strum a few chords, and kiss a few girls. When he walked in, it look
ed like Joker, his drummer, had already started. A girl in the tightest leather pants he’d ever seen was straddling him and licking his nose.

  It was enough to make Jericho shudder.

  “Where’s Chaz?”

  Jericho unzipped his case and pulled out his guitar, handling her with experienced hands. “Helping a nun cross the road. But he’ll be back as soon as he saves a drowning puppy.”

  They snorted a few laughs, and Ren tossed a wadded napkin at him.

  Jericho sat down and began tuning his guitar as he listened to Jake on the mic, giving their introduction and warming up the crowd.

  Joker patted his friend on the ass and she gave a wicked laugh and stood up, sauntering over to a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  “Where the hell did you get the name of our band?” Joker asked, tapping his drumstick on his boot. “Because wouldn’t you know it—I ran into a waitress out there by the name of Izzy. Sweet little titties, but not big enough for my mouth. She had a hot ass; I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that. Do you two know each other or something?”

  “Let’s go,” Jericho said, knowing one more word about Isabelle’s hot ass and he was going to pound Joker in the face. “Saddle up, boys. Showtime.” He took his black guitar pick out of his pocket and put it in his mouth as they made their way up the side steps to the stage.