Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

by Dannika Dark

  Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.

  When I glanced up at the screen, Jericho was lying on his back with something tied around his arm and a needle in his hand.

  Convulsing.

  I screamed for him. Screamed his name so loud that it ruptured time and space. I somehow managed to stand on my feet and pull the bed a few inches away from the wall.

  No, no, no were the only words pouring out of my mouth.

  When Hawk burst into the room with a plastic bag in his hand, my eyes went wild with rage.

  He moved toward me like a cyclone. I pulled out the knife and stabbed him in the chest. He stumbled backward, clutching the black handle, eyes wide with surprise. I grabbed the wire and thrashed him with it.

  “You killed him! How could you kill that beautiful man!”

  Red slashes appeared on his skin from where I mercilessly struck him. He gripped his hand around the handle of the knife and pulled it from his chest, holding his hand to the wound. Hawk stepped back and glanced at the television. A sadistic smile stretched across his face as he savored his victory and my anguish.

  “Now you see, Izzy. Our weaknesses define who we are. That’s what makes selling drugs to these addicts so damn easy. Did you really think he’d be able to abstain from the only thing that matters to him? Eventually they all give in, and they’ll pay whatever it takes for just one more trip. I’m glad you enjoyed your meal. I put something extra in there to make you go nighty-night.”

  I screamed like a feral animal, still clawing the air, blinded by my hot tears. I finally collapsed on the floor, pulling at the cuffs so forcefully that blood trickled from my wrist.

  “I’ll be back, Iz. Once I shift and you’re knocked out, we’re going to have a real good time before I hand you over to my buyer,” he promised, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter 13

  Jericho stared vacantly at the ceiling, saliva running down his cheek. Isabelle infiltrated his thoughts. He turned his head to the side, heart racing, the band still tied around his bicep and pinching his skin. The concrete floor felt like a sheet of ice against his back in the stuffy room.

  Jericho could survive without food longer than most people. He had rationed the water and drank as much as he could to stay hydrated and alert.

  He thought about the shrill scream that had almost stopped his heart. The second time, he knew without a doubt it was Isabelle. She was somewhere in this house, and he didn’t want to imagine the kind of torture that animal was inflicting upon her.

  Jericho wanted to crush Hawk’s bones and incinerate his remains. He thought about the drugs in the corner and how that was his ticket out of here. If that sicko wanted to watch Jericho self-destruct on camera, then it was time to put an end to his twisted game.

  So he faked his overdose.

  If Hawk was watching, he’d eventually come into the room to dispose of Jericho’s body. That was the plan, so Jericho stayed absolutely still.

  Not an easy feat when he heard another scream in the distance that sounded animalistic and nothing like the last. His heart pounded so fiercely he could scarcely think.

  Slow breaths.

  Nice and easy.

  Relax.

  The door unlocked, and a sheet of plastic dragged across the floor.

  “Knew it wouldn’t take long for you to drop like a fly,” Hawk murmured. “Damn shame I missed watching it live, but I’ll catch the rerun.” He chuckled darkly and let out a grunt.

  Jericho waited patiently like a skilled predator waiting for his prey to move within striking distance. Hawk approached from behind and hooked his arms beneath Jericho’s, dragging him in front of the door. It was easy for Jericho to fake an overdose, because he’d experienced the real thing.

  Hawk crawled on his right, swinging a large bag around. When the timing was right, Jericho raised a needle he’d been concealing in his right hand and drove it into Hawk’s jugular, pushing the plunger all the way in. Jericho gripped him by the hair and threw him off-balance.

  “How’s that feel, boy?” He kicked the sonofabitch in the gut and noticed blood oozing out of a partially healed wound on his chest. As much as he wanted to go animal on him, Jericho needed to find Isabelle.

  He shut Hawk in the room and locked the door. Maybe punishment would be served if he was left there to rot—to decide if he wanted to go crazy from starvation or end it all with another fix.

  The towel around his waist dropped to the floor as he walked down the hall with a purposeful stride. The bleak hallway looked like a prison, as if Hawk had customized the basement and built rooms. When he reached a set of wooden stairs, he made his ascent. Jericho opened the door, and the sweet bliss of central air cooled his skin. The shutters on the kitchen windows were thick slats of wood that blocked out the light.

  Except it wasn’t light outside.

  “Isabelle?”

  Plush brown carpet whispered beneath his feet as he walked through the living room. He paused behind a striped couch that faced a large television. An old war movie played, and the sounds of explosions filled the room. An object tickled the bottom of his foot, and when he stepped back, he saw a large feather. Just as he’d thought.

  As he approached a dark hallway, light shone from beneath a closed door at the end of the hall. He turned the knob and swung open the door, shocked at the horrific scene before him.

  Jericho crossed the wooden floor and stepped in a puddle of blood. Next to his bare foot was a steak knife stained crimson and a piece of wire. The sheets on the bed were tangled. Isabelle sat on the floor, facing the bed with her left hand extended and cuffed to the rail. Blood trailed down her arm from where she had tried to escape. What a brave little wolf. Her white gown had been ripped in half, and sweet Jesus, a TV sat at the foot of the bed. Hawk had forced her to watch him—she must have seen him overdose.

  “Isabelle!”

  He rushed forward and carefully looked her over. He didn’t see any stab wounds, thank Christ. She must have attacked Hawk and put up a hell of a fight.

  “Oh, baby.” He brushed her lovely red hair away from her face, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

  Rage consumed him, and he shut his eyes.

  “How come every time I see you, you’re naked?” she mumbled groggily.

  His eyes flew open, and he tilted her chin up. She blinked, tears still on her lashes.

  “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get you in the bed.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, her smile sedate.

  Jericho lifted her onto the bed so he could get a closer look at her injuries. Isabelle had always had the best set of legs of any woman he’d ever met. It looked like she had just skinned her knees, so he was certain they’d heal up in no time. It was the ligature marks on her wrists that made his blood boil.

  She began singing a Pink Floyd song, except with numbers.

  “Isabelle?” Something wasn’t right. Hawk must have drugged her, but he didn’t see any track marks on her arms.

  “One hour, Reno said. Denver made me sing it,” she said incoherently.

  When she sang another verse, he realized it was a phone number. Reno knew how to run a trace, and that’s what he must have been setting up.

  Jericho covered her legs with a sheet and leaned close to her ear. “Stay here, Isabelle. I’m going to call for help.”

  That was a promise.

  But first, he had to leave her alone for ten minutes. He had something more important to take care of, and that something was time alone with Hawk—no holds barred. Carnal thirst consumed his wolf, one that wouldn’t be sated if Hawk were given the option of life, even if it were for a few more days in a basement. That animal didn’t deserve an easy death.

  As Jericho arrowed down the hall, he shifted into his wolf and then back into human form. This happened twice as man and animal became one in thought. He dialed the number Isabelle had been singing, and when Reno answered, Jericho dropped the phone and made his w

ay down to the basement.

  Shifters played by a different set of rules than humans did. Wolves avenged those who were abused in their pack, and with the full support of the law. Although Isabelle wasn’t legally part of his family, she was in his heart, and that’s all that counted. Justice would be served, no matter the consequences.

  Jericho entered the basement and moved like a predator into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Hawk’s eyes widened with terror when Jericho’s savage wolf emerged, pink tongue passing over his sharp fangs, promising a brutal death.

  ***

  When I woke up, it wasn’t to a hard slap on the ass and ridicule followed by laughter. It was to the smell of maple bacon and fresh coffee beneath my nose. It soothed me and I stretched, slowly blinking my eyes open.

  The first thing I did was chuckle when I saw a Led Zeppelin poster on the wall. A plate of food on a bedside table tempted me, but I glanced around at my surroundings. There was a door on my left, and as I sat up and pulled the sheet away from my legs, I noticed someone had dressed me in a clean T-shirt.

  “I told them you liked sleeping in big shirts,” Jericho said softly.

  He sat in a beanbag chair to the right of the door, arms draped over his knees. A lava lamp bubbled on a small table to his left. Clean hair fell to his shoulders, and I smirked at the sleeveless shirt he had on—someone had done a terrible job of cutting the sleeves off it. He must have shifted and fed, because he looked fit and healthy again.

  I tucked a pillow against the headboard and moved my sore body to sit up, looking at the marks on my wrists.

  “Austin forced you to shift. Do you remember?”

  I shook my head. “Just bits and pieces. Where am I?”

  “My room.” His voice was flat and deadly as he stared at me with jade eyes. “Isabelle, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly.”

  “Okay.”

  The way he looked at me, with his hands resting on his knees, made me shudder. When he spoke, his lips peeled back, and he quickly relaxed his face. “Did he rape you?”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “No.” When I opened my eyes, I tried to show him a smile. “But I kicked his ass, and if he had tried, I would have made him regret he had ever met me. Nobody messes with Izzy Monroe.”

  He threw his head back, staring at the ceiling with relief in his voice. “You always were a tough girl.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “You look okay, but…”

  “What you saw on that television was a lie. It was a trap to lure him into the room.”

  He always was a smart wolf, I thought to myself.

  The shifting hadn’t happened soon enough. The marks on my wrists would either fade or scar.

  “Lexi’s mom dressed you, by the way. The girls took care of you. Lynn washed you up a little, but she’s going to run you a hot shower when you’re ready. I’ll help you to the bathroom. Eat.”

  I pulled the plate onto my lap and chewed on the crispy bacon. My eyes floated around the room in wonderment. He lived a simple life. A dresser sat at the foot of the bed, and the walls were covered with various rock posters. It felt like home.

  “I can’t believe you still have that,” I said, pointing to a poster of the Stones on my left.

  Below it were two guitars—one an acoustic and the other a Les Paul. He had amplifiers, cords, straps, and a few shirts sitting in piles around the room. Several guitar picks were scattered on the small table to my left. Still as messy as ever.

  “Why don’t you sit up here with me?” I offered, tired of staring down at him on the floor.

  “Because I don’t want to frighten you.”

  I set down my plate. “You don’t frighten me.”

  “After what you’ve been through, you just might be a little scared of a man sitting next to you.”

  “You’re no man, you’re Sexton Cole.” I cracked a pained smile.

  One appeared on his face as well. He leaned forward and stood up, cautiously walking toward the bed. When he reached the edge, he leaned against it a little but kept his distance.

  “You saved my brother,” he said.

  Then I remembered a little of what Hawk had said. “Was he the one who was shot?”

  “We showed up at Hawk’s house looking for you.”

  “How did you know where he lived?”

  Jericho shrugged. “Stole your file at the bar. We rushed him in the hall and he shot Wheeler, then he shot me in the knee.”

  I gasped, and Jericho set the plate on the table and sat down.

  “I was hurt bad so I shifted. Before I could shift back, he put me in a crate. Wheeler was left to die.”

  My hands were shaking and I wrung them together. “What makes you think I saved him? How did he survive?”

  “You called Denver. You called my brothers and gave them the address. Because of your actions, they were able to get there in time, and Wheeler didn’t die. Good thing he’s a stubborn sonofabitch.”

  “Why didn’t he shift?”

  Jericho sighed. “He was shot in the head. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but he might have eventually bled out since the bullet went clean through. I got him to shift once before he fell unconscious, so that helped him hold out a little longer. Austin hauled ass and got there in time to make him shift as many times as he could. Alpha wolves have the power to do that, and thank the fuck it worked.”

  “Is he okay? Any permanent damage?”

  Jericho smiled. “Only to his ego. It’s too early to know if he’ll have any memory loss, but I think getting him to shift right after it happened healed up the tissue. He seems okay.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged your family into this. I had no idea what Hawk was doing—you have to believe me. Some guy started chasing me, and that’s when I found out that Hawk was dealing drugs. I left him because of that, but you can bet I had no idea about all the other stuff he was doing. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.”

  A strand of hair fell in front of my face. Jericho leaned forward and carefully tucked it behind my ear. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “But I do. I gave him a second chance because that’s what I believe we all deserve. I didn’t love him, but I still gave him a shot to prove himself to me. I asked the wrong person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I took Jericho’s hand and thought I saw a blush rise in his cheeks.

  “All this time I thought a second chance was something I’d have to give you, Jericho. But I was wrong. I’m asking you to give me one. I’m sorry for running out on you all those years ago.”

  “I don’t blame you; I was messed up back then. What’s done is done. But I do have one question. What did you do with my guitar?”

  Still holding his hand, I tilted my head to the side. “Huh?”

  “That powder-blue guitar you gave me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes, you know. You stole it.”

  I pulled back my hands. “What? I didn’t steal your guitar.”

  “It’s okay, Isabelle. I’m over it. We were different people back then. I’m just curious.”

  I shook my head and gripped the covers. “I know we were different people, but I’m not a thief. I never stole your guitar.”

  Jericho angrily got off the bed. “Denver said the maid saw you swipe my guitar and empty my wallet. I would have wanted you to have the money because you went out on your own, but my guitar—”

  I gasped and ripped the covers back, standing despite my weak legs. “I don’t know what Denver was smoking with the maid, but I never stole anything from you, Jericho. I came back the next night to apologize and walked in on you and that redhead having sex. She was wearing my Pink Floyd shirt.”

  “Redhead?” Jericho turned around and locked his fingers behind his neck, something he did when he was thinking. “Redhead,” he repeated twice more, searching his memories.

  Then he collapsed on the beanbag, covering his face. “Oh shit. Oh shit.”

  “What?”

  “I’m remembering. I thought she was you.”

  I clutched my chest.

  Jericho lifted his stricken eyes to mine. “I hope you didn’t pick up my bad habit of not locking doors, but you remember how I was. Some woman had followed the band back to the hotel and must have found out which room I was staying in. I don’t know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he remembered. “I just woke up in the dim room with someone kissing my chest… and all this red hair. I thought it was you. I called your name, but you never looked up. So we uh… well, we had sex. But then I wanted to see your face. All I could see was all that red hair and your favorite shirt. Then I lifted your chin, but it wasn’t you. Fuck.” He threw back his head and covered his face with one hand. “It wasn’t you. I threw her off and went to ask my mates if they’d seen you. Jimmy said you took off.”

  “I talked to him going down the stairs,” I remembered.

  “That’s when I knew I’d lost you for good. I went on a binge to numb away the pain, and I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “Oh my God.” I sat on the floor, my eyes downcast.

  Jericho wasn’t the kind of man who would allow a woman to take advantage of him. He’d always chosen his women, not the other way around. Jericho had always been open about his sex life with me and said he’d never let a woman get on top, so I should have realized something was off with that scene. Even worse was knowing the reason he overdosed was because he found out that girl wasn’t me.

  I grimaced and tears slipped down my face. “I’m so sorry, Jericho. I didn’t know I was the reason you almost died.”

  “No!” he shouted, crawling across the floor in front of me. He held my face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe my tears. His eyes blazed with anger. “I should have gotten my ass up and gone to look for you. I took the easy way out, baby. I won’t make that mistake again.” His eyes fell to my lips and lingered. “By the way, you and that asshole are officially broken up.”

  I nodded and knew what he wanted—something I’d been fantasizing about for decades.

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