by Cooper Davis
The man leered at Josh. “You queers make me wanna be sick. Here I was worried about what your boyfriend over there saw, and I get the chance to do a little housecleaning for the state of Wyoming. My lucky day, isn’t it?”
The assailant’s companion appeared in the doorway. “They’re the only ones here. Nobody else.”
“Two pretty boys shacking up together, out here in God’s country. Can you believe it?” The man snarled. “We got us a pair of faggots.”
“No, we are not,” Josh said coolly, eyes locked right on the face of the man who held him.
“I can smell his sex all over you, boy.” The stringy-haired man sniffed Josh’s face and Hayden wanted to growl and leap, needed to bare teeth at the man who threatened his mate. Flexing both hands, he sought to summon his wolf’s form, but it remained dormant because he was still too weak to make the change.
“Don’t you touch him,” Hayden seethed, yearning to feel the prickling of fur along his chest.
In answer, the fat man jammed a gun up beneath Josh’s chin. “Like this?” He laughed. “You mean, I shouldn’t get my pistol ready?”
Behind him, Hayden heard the other man—the one who was tall and skinny—chuckle low in his throat. “Yeah,” the skinny man drawled, “something tells me you’d like to use your gun on that fellow, Rawlings.”
Rawlings. A name. Only, having it didn’t give Hayden hope at all, didn’t offer the promise of turning these men into the cops once they’d had their fun. It told him they didn’t plan to let either of them walk away this night.
Hayden dropped his head low and began growling like any wolf would if his mate were threatened. The man with the stringy hair laughed again, the dirty sound he emitted more a drunken gurgle than a mirthful one. “Getting all proprietary, huh?” He taunted as Hayden’s growl grew louder. “You think this boy’s all yours? You think I can’t fuck him, too?”
When Hayden didn’t answer, he received a punishing roundhouse to the right jaw. His eyeglasses went flying against the bookshelf, and fell to the floor with a clatter. The big man stepped on them, grinding them beneath his boot. He stepped closer to Hayden, but kept his gun trained on Joshua. “You think I can’t do whatever the fuck I want with your boy now, you pansy?” The man chuckled, the rolling sound as wet and humorless as before. He gave his pal a disgusted glance, nodding with a sneer. “Yep, faggots for sure.”
Then their captor spat in Josh’s direction, missing his target, yet explaining his intention nonetheless. Josh never so much as flinched, standing naked at gunpoint. “Tie him up good, right on the bed. Use the four posters,” he barked, eyes ratcheted on Josh. “I’ll show ’em what we think of faggots, all right. What we do when they get out of line. By the time I’m done, these boys won’t squeal a word. Not to the police, not to nobody.”
“And you?” The bastard taunted Hayden, his choking grip growing even tighter about Hayden’s throat. “You’re gonna watch the whole goddamned show.”
He nodded toward Josh again, and with his right hand, the assailant began unfastening his own belt. The movement caused Hayden’s own head to bob against his will. With a scowl, as if he disapproved of Hayden’s subtle movement, the assailant grabbed a chunk of Hayden’s hair, yanking his head back with such force, it slammed against the wall. Hayden heard the cracking thud as if it were on delay, a half-second out of sync with the action itself. His eyes filled with bright, descending lights and he felt his body pull downward, too.
No, he told himself. Joshua’s life depends on me. I must protect my mate. Even if I die in the process, I must save him!
Hayden lunged, his wolf’s power surging forth from deep inside—every primal instinct awakened, giving him the supernatural strength required to save his mate. Only…he still couldn’t transform. The power just wasn’t there as he reached for it, but he’d be damned if they’d touch Joshua for another moment. If he’d let them do what they’d threatened to do to his mate. Whatever it took, however possible—if he had to die in the process—he would overpower these men before they harmed Josh.
Hayden spun, kneeing his captor in the groin, then with a twisting maneuver, sprang free, slamming his other attacker against the bedroom wall. The creep grunted, stunned for a moment, his soot-gray eyes widening in surprise. And then he grinned, revealing yellow, gapped teeth; Hayden got a sick feeling as he turned to follow the man’s gaze, realizing he’d had something concealed behind his back.
That something was a thick lead pipe swinging toward Hayden’s head. The club-like weapon cut through the air. Forceful. Erratic. As surgical as a baseball bat about to connect with a fastball.
Hayden’s world went black a millisecond later.
“Fucking faggots. Always causing trouble.” The words were grunted against Josh’s nape, mixed with the scent of beer and stale cigarettes and old sweat. Josh tried turning his head to bite or spit at his assailant, but his face was pressed into the mattress too forcefully.
Hayden. He had to know if Hayden was still alive.
He ignored the ripping pain, the invasion, the filthy feeling of what was being done to him—the shame of those groping, rough hands. He was numb, on another plane, drifting. The only image or physical sensation he allowed to penetrate him belonged to Hayden.
Hayden holding him earlier. Hayden sliding between his legs, so gentle. The long strokes of those graceful, large hands.
The feel of Hayden’s full, sweet mouth against his own.
Darker thoughts swam over those, drowning them. Hayden being bludgeoned…over and over. Hayden crumpling against the bookshelves, lovely blue eyes rolling back in his head, then closing. The heavy pipe cracking into his skull, blood all over the handsome face that Josh now dearly loved.
And then, finally, the pistol—the black-bellied weapon cocked against his mate’s temple. The threats that if Josh fought at all, then the trigger would be pulled. Hayden would die for sure then…if he wasn’t gone already.
“Facedown,” he’d been told. “You do as I say and he won’t die.” Then gritty rude laughter. “You won’t ever say shit, neither, once we’re done. You’ll know what I’m capable of and you’ll keep our secrets. I’m gonna make sure of that, pretty boy.”
His wolf’s nature howled silently, screaming for revenge, yet he remained unable to transform. At least for now…
They can touch me, but they’ll never have me, he told himself, hips slamming into the mattress once again. I am Hayden Garrett’s. They can’t touch me, not really. He kept the mantra going, transporting his thoughts and body to another realm. Leaving the brutal moment’s reality, he tried to remember the sweet taste of whiskey and Hayden’s mouth. He tried to detect his mate’s marking scent in the garish swill of stale cigarettes and sweat.
He tried to believe that Hayden’s heart still beat, that his body and soul still lived.
They forced him to dress afterward, shoving him toward the back steps while hauling Hayden’s unconscious form along with them. Dimly he thought they’d be dumped in the woods somewhere, their pitiful bodies left to freeze. No one would find them until spring thawed the ground to a sodden, dark pulp. Josh was startled when the ringleader shoved something at him. It took a moment for him to realize it was his own set of keys. “Here,” the man ordered, pushing him toward the driver’s side of the truck. “Get in.”
Josh blinked, weaving on his feet unsteadily. His whole body burned and ached. “What…for?” he asked numbly.
“Get the fuck in, that’s what. You do as you’re told,” the man barked with a lascivious grin. “Or hadn’t you figured that part out yet?”
With a stumbling gait, Josh managed to reach his truck and after a couple of tries got the door to the cab open. For a long moment, he braced both palms against the driver’s seat, trying to gather enough strength to climb up into the thing. Finally he managed to crawl inside, even as weak as he was and with as much pain as he currently felt. His stomach roiled and he thought he might retch up the whiskey from earl
ier, but he willed the sensation away, turning the key in the ignition.
The passenger door opened, and he was shocked when one of the men—he couldn’t see which—deposited Hayden in the seat and slammed the door. Hayden crumpled sideways, slumping lifelessly in Josh’s direction. Josh began reaching for his lover, desperate to know if he was alive, but a beefy hand seized his nape.
“No, shithead, you drive. Leave him be.” It was the stringy-haired man who’d raped him, and feeling those hands on him again almost made Josh retch. The man leered at him and continued, “You gonna follow me. Do as I say. One wrong turn, and we’re hunting your ass down. First thing we’ll do, too, is finish off your lover boy. Understand?”
With a barking order, the skinny man searched the glove compartment and the truck’s interior for any cell phone or communication devices. Satisfied that Josh was, in fact, marooned within his own pickup, they locked him inside with one last warning that he do as instructed, and then slammed the door. But not before the stringy-haired one cocked a gun, aiming it at Josh’s mate, just to make his threatening point even more clear.
It wasn’t exactly as if Josh could’ve evaded them or arrived at a brilliant escape strategy, even if he’d tried to. It took all his remaining strength just to keep from passing out cold behind the wheel. He moved the truck into gear and leaned forward in an effort to stay alert, and with his one free hand began feeling for Hayden. He made physical contact and with a frantic patting of his right hand, felt for Hayden’s wrist, still just struggling to stay conscious. At last he had hold of that tender place where his mate’s pulse either would—or wouldn’t—be beating. Pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, Josh held his breath…and began weeping uncontrollably as he felt a weak, faint flutter between his fingertips.
Hayden was alive. Just barely, it seemed, but he was still alive.
They’d pulled to a stop on a remote switchback road, a curving bit of snow-dense highway. The lonely stretch would be treacherous even under much better conditions. It was still dark, although any minute and light would begin to touch the sky beyond the mountains. Their plan, they’d explained to Josh in cold, even tones, was for him to have an “accident” on the road, one that would involve running over the man they’d apparently murdered.
“Your buddy made the mistake of coming upon our clean-up job earlier. That’s why he raced back to you.”
Hayden had shouted something about the men being killers, and now Josh understood as he saw them spread a man’s lifeless form in the middle of the road. They intended to make it look as if Josh had run him over, here on the dark, snowy road. The side door was yanked open by the man who’d raped him, those harsh eyes filled with what looked like amusement as he glanced down at Hayden’s slumped form. “Yeah, he’s almost dead anyway. This little car trip won’t be any big thing, not now.”
The man tossed the bottle of whiskey into the truck, top off, and it splashed across Hayden’s pants and the floorboard. “Like the commercials say, drinking and driving is always a bad thing,” he said with a sneer. “Now drive. Get this done right the first time, and you won’t see me again.”
With that, he slammed the door and then stood to the side, arms folded. Waiting.
Josh blinked, a sticky, thick substance preventing him from opening his eyes. His head felt as if someone had ripped it in half and he couldn’t remember where he was or why his entire body ached. Something warm and soft was tangled up against him, and his feet seemed to be up over his head.
The smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, acrid and threatening. All at once, he jolted to alertness, remembering what had happened. They’d gone over the side of the mountain—he had lost control of the truck after carrying out his attackers’ “orders”.
“Hayden! Oh, God, baby.” He tried to sit up, but the truck had flipped and they were upside down. He reached for Hayden, who was unconscious just as he had been before. Surely he was alive. Surely he was still breathing. With desperate, shaking hands, Josh felt for his lover’s wrist once again, knowing that if he didn’t find a pulse, he would die, too. In his soul.
Hayden’s hand was covered in blood. Where was Hayden bleeding? Josh wondered in a panic, only to realize the blood had come from his own sticky hand. His own injuries were irrelevant, though, because the only thing that mattered was the reedy, thin pulse he felt beneath his fingertips.
“Hayden,” he murmured, beginning to sob. “I’m going to get you out of this. I’m going to save you and protect you. I promise you, baby.” He pressed a kiss to Hayden’s battered temple and murmured the words as a heartfelt pledge. Somehow, despite their remote location—despite all that had been done to them—he would make sure his mate was safe. Not just from the night’s violence, but for all time.
Chapter Eleven
Present day
Hayden approached the small house that Kira shared with her brother. Even though he’d never been back to the place since that fated night five years earlier, he was well aware that she’d moved in with Josh shortly after all the shit came down. And had never moved out. Staying on, he guessed, to make sure Josh ate decent meals between shifts. Thank God he’d had her, Hayden thought, his chest tightening at the thought of how much his mate had suffered in the past five years.
He pulled down the wooded drive that wound to the back of the house, and released a sigh of relief when he spotted Kira’s pickup truck. Inspecting himself in the rearview mirror, he hated how haggard he looked, too thin after the weeks spent in wolf form. Running quick hands over his hair, he smoothed it one more time and, heart jackhammering, stepped out of the SUV.
Slowly he approached the back steps to the house, memories flashing through his mind like strobe lights. A blinding headache began pounding behind his eyes as he saw himself racing up these same steps, remembered the crippling fear he’d experienced as the men had followed him into the driveway. He stopped, unable to walk forward for a moment as he felt their rough hands on him…and saw those same rough hands manhandling Josh.
He pressed a hand to his eyes, moaning low in his throat—then growling as he kept seeing the violent bastards, kept remembering how they’d harmed his mate. “No,” he swore in a guttural tone, burying his face in both hands. “It’s all in the past.”
“But Joshua needs you now.”
Kira’s unexpected words jolted him, making him yelp slightly in surprise. Dropping his hands away from his face, he found her standing inside the door, holding it open for him. Bright, cheery light spilled out from the kitchen behind her, making it hard to read her features, but he’d have sworn she wore a shocked expression.
“How could you stay away like this? For so long?” Kira demanded quietly, still standing in the open kitchen door. “Don’t you know how it’s been killing him?”
Her words were a quiet accusation, and Hayden hung his head. Yes, he was well aware that the past few weeks must have taken a harsh toll on Josh, but they’d been necessary.
She stared down at him. “He’s convinced you’re dead, Hayden. That’s how bad the situation is. How bad of a shape he’s gotten himself into.”
“It killed me, too. Keeping away from him, but I had to reclaim my memories. It was the only way we could have a future together.” Hayden stared past her, into the house’s warm interior. He kept looking up at those welcoming kitchen lights, hating that a simple house could fill him with so much terror and dread—even as it reawakened memories of his mating night, of falling deeply in love.
Kira planted hands on her hips, clearly prepared to confront him. “Are you back for good now, Hayden? Because if you’re not ready to be with Josh—really be with him—then you better stay away,” she persisted. “I don’t think he could handle you showing up and taking off again. I really don’t.”
He swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. “I…I haven’t gone to him yet.”
“He won’t be home for another three hours. He’s still at the station.”
“I know. I drove by there
like…damn, at least ten times trying to get up the nerve to go inside, and that’s when I realized I had to come here.”
“You’re going to wait for him to get back? Because I can call him, and he’d be out of there in a heartbeat.”
“I came to talk to you.”
Kira blinked at him and gave a slow nod. “You have questions.”
“I have to know if what I remember…if it’s…”
“Hayden, it’s all true. It all happened.” She stared at him for a significant, penetrating moment, making it very clear that her brother had confided everything about that night. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “but the past you shared with my brother…the things that happened, they’re harsh. And they’re real. Very real.”
He swallowed hard, staring at the ground. He had to confirm everything, all the terrible memories he’d reclaimed. Clearing his throat, he pressed, “But Josh, did they…” Oh, God, he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, but Kira was just staring, waiting, almost as if she wanted to force the words out of him. Perhaps she did.
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Did they harm him…sexually? Did they do that to my mate?”
Kira met his gaze boldly and said, “You tried to stop it, and they beat you with a lead pipe. Over and over again, while Josh was forced to watch. And when they thought you were dead—when Josh thought so, too—they turned their full attention to him.”