by JC Holly
This was the kicker, and the reason Ethan had been feigning an injury. If Craig decided to fight, Ethan would have to accept the challenge. He didn’t have to kill him, but he did have to make the win obvious. The question was whether Craig would take the bait of the wound and try it. Ethan hoped he did. He’d love to finish the man, once and for all. To humiliate him in front of those few who still supported him.
Craig’s eyes flitted from those supporters, to Avani, to Ethan, and then finally rested upon Mae. “I withdraw.”
“Very well.” Mae stepped toward Craig and let the nails on one hand turn to claws. “You are hereby stripped of your place in this pack.”
Before Craig could reply, Mae slashed across his face. He staggered back a step, but didn’t cry out. Three long narrow slashes covered his forehead and went down over his right eye. They were superficial, and would heal, but the mark would always be there for any other pack to see.
A gap opened in the ring around them, and Craig turned and walked through it without a word. Before it could close, Ethan held up a hand.
“Those who supported his decision now have a choice. You can remain as members of the pack, or you can leave with the expelled member. Either way, no harm will come upon you from any pack member.”
The four exchanged glances, and three peeled away from the pack and followed after Craig. The ring closed again and Ethan let out a long breath.
“Well now, that was fun.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, the group disbanded, and Ethan stepped out of the mill into the fresh afternoon air. He had half expected Craig to be waiting for him with a baseball bat, or something equally vicious, but his car, and those of the members who had left with him, were gone.
As much as he’d wanted to teach the guy a lesson, he was also glad that Craig hadn’t challenged him. He was reasonably confident that he could have beaten him, but he knew that a fight would have been a fight to the death. Craig hated him, now more than ever, and wouldn’t stand being left alive after a fight. He’d keep coming till Ethan was forced to put him down permanently.
Avani appeared at his side and slapped him on the arm. “Where do you think he’s headed?”
Ethan scratched at his stubble. “Back to his place, either to lay low, or to pack up. I’m hoping for the latter.”
“Lucky break on those photos, by the way.” Avani headed toward her car and Ethan followed. “How did you know he’d talked to them?”
“The scents on my truck. I knew you and I hadn’t slashed my tyres, and despite what Craig had said about missing scents, I knew he’d been there. I may not have had time to scent the area, but if someone else had done the job, my truck would smell of them, too. Also knew that that bar was a hangout for packless wolves, so I put two and two together.”
“Smart.” Avani opened her car door. “Heading home?”
“Not yet, no. Oh, can I borrow your phone? Need to call Conor and tell him the coast is clear.”
He took Avani’s cell and dialled Conor’s number. It rang for a while, then went automatically to voicemail after nobody picked up. After the third attempt, he double-checked the number.
“Weird. He’s not answering.”
“You told him you’d be phoning, right?
“Yeah. He’s waiting for the call.”
He tried one last time. The phone rang several times, and was then picked up. It wasn’t Conor on the other end, though.
“Think you can fuck me over like this? You’re going to pay, boss.”
Chapter Thirteen
Conor came around in the back of someone else’s car. His hands were bound with a thick black zip tie that dug into the flesh of his wrists. From the feel of it, another was holding his ankles together.
The car was in motion, and the driver was talking to someone on Conor’s phone.
“Think you can fuck me over like this? You’re going to pay, boss.”
Conor wriggled for position, and the driver caught the movement in the rearview mirror. A moment later the phone was hitting the car’s floor and a black pistol was pointed at Conor’s head.
“Try anything, and I’ll kill you, human.”
Human. Boss. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that his kidnapper was Craig. The man turned back to the road, and Conor closed his eyes as he tried to piece together what had happened.
After Ethan had left, he’d headed to the house to pick up Tommy, and they’d gone to Rob’s place to lay low. Rob hadn’t been in, though, and so Conor had decided that an even safer place to be was the bar, since Craig would hardly show up there.
“Stupid idea,” he muttered.
“Shut the hell up,” Craig shouted back.
The staff at the bar had let Conor and Tommy wait in the storeroom, and they’d been fine there at first. But after about an hour, Craig had come in the back door with a gun. “There’s a stroke of luck,” he’d said. Everything went black after that.
Tommy. Conor tried to pull himself to a seated position, but he couldn’t with his hands and legs tied.
“Where’s Tommy?”
Craig waved the pistol again. “I said shut the hell up.”
A small trickle of blood ran down his wrist from under his jacket. Conor moved his head to look better and noticed that the jacket had a ragged tear near the elbow. He knew that kind of tear. Tommy had done the same to one of Conor’s jackets when playing once, minus the blood. Tommy must have gotten at least one bite in before Craig either got away, or...or...Conor closed his eyes and lay back again. He didn’t want to think of the alternative.
They drove for at least another fifteen minutes, Craig muttering the whole time about being humiliated, and how he’d show Ethan not to mess with him. All Conor could do was lie there and hope either he’d have chance to run, or Ethan would somehow find them.
They stopped outside a tall apartment complex. From his position, Conor could only see the very top floors of the brown-stoned building. No fancy architecture, no helpful identifying features. They could have been anywhere in the city.
Craig glanced back once, then sighed and started the engine again.
“That would have been a little conspicuous, wouldn’t it?” he asked with a crooked smile. “Carrying a bound man through the front door of my apartment building. Good thing we have underground parking, too.”
Well that explained their location, at least. Not that it mattered, since Craig had snatched Conor’s phone. The guy obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Who the hell took a hostage to their own place?
The underground car park was dark and near silent, once the car’s engine was turned off. A few fluorescents hummed somewhere above them, lighting parking spots and patches of the road between them. Craig unclipped his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. The passenger door by Conor’s feet opened.
“Nice and easy,” Craig said, as he leaned in.
The man tucked the pistol into the back of his pants, where nobody would see it. Now’s my chance. The man was bigger than Conor, physically, and he was also a shifter, which granted him even more speed and power. He was also hunched over, reaching for Conor’s middle, though, to pull him out.
With a grunt, Conor pulled his knees toward himself, then lashed out with both feet, kicking Craig in the balls. Craig grunted and fell backward out of the car, both hands to his crotch. Conor thrashed forward, moving like a snake until his legs stuck out of the car, then bit down on the zip tie that held his wrists together. He had almost chewed through it when Craig smashed him in the temple with the butt of his gun.
* * * *
Ethan slammed the truck into gear and shot out of the mill’s car park, almost colliding with a street light in the process. The engine whined in protest, and the tyres screeched like something out of a horror movie, but the truck kept going. He hadn’t a clue where he was going, but he knew where to start.
He couldn’t believe the situation. He knew that Craig left the mill angry enough to do something stup
id, but kidnapping? Ethan had expected a late-night visit from him with a crowbar. Not this.
He took another turn at too high a speed and almost lost control of the truck. He wrenched hard to correct his oversight and forced himself to slow down. He’d be no use to Conor if he was arrested or hit another car.
Conor.
Shit. He slammed his palm on the steering wheel. How did Craig catch him? By the time he left the mill, Conor would have already picked up Tommy and left. Craig knew where he lived, as the photos had proved, but he wouldn’t know where Conor’s friends lived. Unless he had him followed. He’d used others before, so there was no reason why he wouldn’t now.
As he pulled into the car park behind the bar, he spotted Conor’s car, and what had happened fell into place. Conor had come to the bar to lay low, presumably because his friend wasn’t in, or just because it seemed like a safer bet, and Craig had probably arrived looking to trash the place, or at least make a scene. Craig probably hadn’t believed his luck when he saw Conor waiting.
Ethan braked hard and leapt out of the truck, leaving the engine running, then ran to the fire exit and hammered on the door. One of the relief staff opened it, eyes wide.
“Thank god,” he said. “Craig just came in with a fucking gun and took your friend with him.”
A bark, followed by a blur of fur told Ethan that at least Tommy was safe. He ducked down and grabbed the dog before he shot off into the car park. The dog was obviously distraught. Ears and tail low, his eyes dancing about the car park. There was blood on the white fur beneath his jaw, too.
“He took a bite out of Craig’s arm,” the staff member said. “Craig threw him across the room and knocked him out. He came to just after they left, and I kept him in the storeroom so he wouldn’t run off and hurt himself.”
“You did good,” Ethan said, then nodded toward the road. “Which way?”
“He went left. That’s all I know, though.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“Just something about teaching you a lesson. I uh, I didn’t call the police, since I didn’t know whether you wanted to deal with it yourself.”
Ethan straightened, a hand still on Tommy’s collar. “Yeah, that was probably wise.”
He handed the dog back to the man, then turned to leave. Someone called him from inside the bar.
“Phone call.”
“It can wait.”
“It’s Avani. Says it’s urgent.”
Ethan ran to the woman holding out the phone and took it. “Avani?”
“Yeah. I sent the pack out to all Craig’s known haunts, and we found him. The dumb fuck headed to his apartment.”
Ethan’s heart leapt. “Was he...”
“I don’t know if Conor was there. Christophe asked the doorman, who said he saw Craig head into the underground car park. Didn’t see anyone else, though.”
Heading to his own territory. It made sense on an instinctual level, at least. Ethan rubbed at his stubble. “I’m heading there now.”
“Be careful. He could have friends up there.”
Ethan hung up the phone and tossed it back to someone before heading to his truck. The engine was still running, so he gunned it and made his way to Craig’s apartment.
The bastard was going to pay if it was the last thing Ethan did.
* * * *
Craig’s apartment was bigger than Conor could imagine someone on a barman’s wage could afford. Granted, he’d only seen the front room, but he couldn’t imagine the rest being any less impressive.
Hardwood floors, leather seats, a giant plasma screen television on the wall. It made Conor wonder if the man had fingers in other pies.
He wriggled in the black leather chair he was bound to. His head boomed in time with his rapid pulse. When Craig had knocked him out, he’d meant business. By the time Conor came to again, he was in the apartment, bound with duct tape, and facing the front door.
Craig was sitting in a chair to the side of the front door, his pistol on the overstuffed arm. The second anyone came through the door, they’d get a bullet in their side. Conor hoped it wasn’t Ethan.
There had been no further calls from Ethan since the one in the car, which had Conor worried. He knew Ethan reasonably well by now, and could imagine he was planning on finding Craig, rather than leaving it to the police. Craig was thinking along similar lines, it seemed, and he turned to face Conor, that smirk on his face again.
“As soon as your boyfriend realises where I am, and I’ve no doubt he will, he’ll come through that door.” He ran a finger along his pistol. “And then I’ll kill him.”
“Big pistol.” Conor wriggled again. “Compensating for something?”
Craig laughed. “Cute. Really.”
“What happens if Ethan calls the police instead?”
“He won’t.” He shrugged. “Pack rules. What starts in the pack stays in the pack. We handle our own business.”
Conor didn’t reply. What was the point? If he shouted for help, he’d either be gagged, knocked out, or shot. His only chance was if Ethan arrived before Craig decided to take Conor out of the picture. And even then Ethan would just be walking into an ambush. No, better off if Ethan didn’t show. Maybe Craig would calm down and figure out he’d fucked up royally. And what do you think he’d do with you then?
From somewhere out in the hall, an elevator dinged. Craig heard it, too, and straightened in his chair. Footsteps neared the door and he tightened his grip on his pistol and leant forward. The steps continued on past the door, though, and he sagged back again.
“Won’t be long,” he muttered to himself. “Get my payback, ditch the hostage, head for a new city. One where I can start a real fucking pack.”
The man had lost it. Whatever Ethan had said or done, it had been the last straw in what was obviously a broken mind. Conor shifted in his chair again. There was no position in which he was comfortable. Probably intentional.
“Come on...” Craig stood and began to pace. “Where the fuck is he? I know Christophe came by. I can smell him. He should have scurried back to his boss by now, an—”
The door exploded in a rain of smashed wood and hinges, a large part of it knocking Craig sprawling to the floor, his gun knocked from his grasp. Conor winced as several pieces of wood bounced off his head and shoulders then looked up to see Ethan standing in the door, fire in his eyes.
“Craig, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Craig scurried across the floor and grabbed his gun, but he was too slow to get a shot off. Ethan leapt across the room and smashed his foot into the man’s ribs. Craig howled and rolled to the side, then lashed out with his foot. He got a lucky shot in against Ethan’s leg, who tumbled down beside him.
The pair struggled on the ground, as each tried grabbing the gun, Craig trying to shoot Ethan with it, and Ethan to disarm Craig. At least, that’s what Conor assumed. He doubted Ethan was the kind of man to kill. At least in human form.
They turned over and over on the floor, neither gaining ground, but neither losing any, either. All Conor could do was watch and yank at the duct tape that bound him in place. Craig had tied him well, but Conor was no slouch. At the same time that the gun skidded across the floor and the men separated to scrabble for it, Conor managed to break a hand free.
Craig dived for the pistol, but Ethan kicked out as his leg, knocking him off course and into the couch. As Craig shook off the crash landing, Ethan began to tear off his clothes, his breathing already sounding more like snarls. Craig spotted Ethan beginning to shift into wolf form and made a dash for the gun while he was distracted.
Conor turned away from Ethan’s change and fixed his eyes on Craig.
“Craig, you fucking pussy!” He lunged forward, the duct tape holding him. “You need a gun to fight? Lose your balls on a fence somewhere?”
Craig turned to face Conor for only a second, but it was enough for Ethan to finish his shift. Conor winced as the hulking great wolf collided w
ith a shocked Craig, pinning the man to the floor. Craig wrenched his head to one side to avoid Ethan’s jaw and cried for help. Ethan wasn’t moving, though. He kept his front paws on Craig’s outstretched arms and sat on his chest, panting and sweating.
Sweating? Conor squinted at a wet patch near the wolf’s arm. As he watched, it dripped. Red. It wasn’t sweat, it was blood. In the collision, Craig’s gun must have gone off. Ethan shifted his weight slightly, the motion causing the wound to bleed more. Suddenly it was bleeding a lot more.
“Shit!”
The bullet must have nicked an artery. Ethan needed attention, but if he let Craig up, the man would either run or attempt to finish the job. Conor wrenched again at his bindings again and managed to free his right arm. He reached over and began working his other arm free, but it was slow work.
Steps thumped up the hallway, and Avani appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene quickly, her head whipping from Craig, to Ethan and then to Conor.
“Ethan’s been shot,” Conor said. “He needs help.”
Avani nodded and pulled a long thin knife from the back of her pants and threw it at Conor. For one terrible minute he thought she was on Craig’s side, until the knife landed blade down in the arm of the chair. She winked, then tore a strip from her shirt and tied it tight around Ethan’s wounded leg. The wolf growled as she yanked the knot tight.
Conor was on his feet moments later and ran over to the trio, ignoring the strands of duct tape still stuck to his shirt. Ethan was weak now, his head drooping. Craig was still struggling, though, and he now stood a chance of breaking free.
Conor knelt beside him and pushed the sharp knife against the man’s throat. “Stop struggling, or I swear I’ll give you a new hole to breathe through.”
Craig snarled. “You wouldn’t dare.”