“Fucking idiot.” Harley started digging through the bags, then glared at the door when more racket came from the shared hall. He hoped his new neighbour was a hell of a lot quieter once he or she was moved in.
Tight black pants with silver stitching and a shiny silver long-sleeved shirt would do for tonight. Harley checked himself in the mirror as well as he could. Maybe a full-length mirror was in order. He tousled his hair, not overly concerned with it. He could style it all nice and everything, but ten minutes of dancing and he’d have product running into his eyes, so why bother. His right hand ached slightly and his ribs were tender, but Harley decided to forgo any ibuprofen. He didn’t know what he’d ingested the prior nights and didn’t want to risk having his liver or kidneys shrivel up inside him.
“Stupid to be afraid of that, considering,” he told himself. Harley forced his gaze to look in the mirror. “Tomorrow, you will go get tested somewhere. Tonight, you will not get so stoned you suck any and every guy around. And, no condom, no sucking. Remember that.”
He shouldn’t go out at all, but he was. Harley couldn’t stay in the apartment, and anyway, he was already contaminated by Dobson and his men. No amount of cleaning himself could remove the filth they’d left in him. Harley made sure he had his wallet and keys, then he left, locking his door saying a silent thanks that he didn’t meet the new neighbour in the hallway.
* * * *
It just felt wrong, living apart from the pack. Especially, Val admitted, when it was probably going to be for life, either his or Harley’s. He wished he’d got the picture of Harley from Nathan, but he and Marcus had ended up leaving suddenly. It was okay, though. He had been given his apartment number and knew Harley’s was beside it. He’d see what the man looked like soon enough, he supposed.
The movers had been humans, and noisy ones at that. Val wished he had his full shifter senses back, but like his wolf, they were suppressed, either permanently or temporarily. Would they return full-force once his wolf came out of the dark place it was hiding in him? Val hoped so, though he knew he’d never regain the sight in his left eye. That damage wasn’t just relegating his sight to that of a normal human being’s, he was fucking blind, period. At least his right eye still worked well, even if his wolf’s sharp acuity had dimmed significantly.
Sitting around moping about it all wasn’t going to do him any good either. Val waved off the movers’ offer to help him set up the place—he just wanted them gone. They’d no doubt been paid for their extra efforts, but Val was in no mood to be around people. One of the movers, Hank or Hal or some other H-name, had seemed to be flirting with him, even. It made Val uncomfortable and probably bitchy, or tactless at the very least. He was willing to bet the guy wouldn’t come back around again.
Val looked at the boxes and furniture and sighed as he started rubbing his left thigh. The damn thing ached, and a hot shower sounded ideal, except before he could take a step towards the bathroom, he heard the sound of a door opening and closing in the hallway. As close as it was, Val knew it had to be Harley Johansen. Val turned from where he had his back to the door and instead pressed his face to the warm surface as he peered through the peephole.
Maybe it was just because it’d been a while, or maybe it was because the guy was hot, Val didn’t know, but his dick hardened so fast he wouldn’t have been surprised if it’d drilled through the door. Harley Johansen, if that was really him, was a sexy little stud, and he was obviously going out looking for a fuck, dressed in those tight clothes. His honey-blond hair had a slight wave to it, and fell almost to his shoulders. Val squinted through the hole and thought he caught a glimpse of green eyes, but couldn’t be sure.
Harley—it had to be him, he’d come from the right apartment—turned and strode for the stairs. His tight little butt was a temptation that made Val want to run out of the door and fuck the man right there against the wall.
Val scoffed at the thought. Yeah, that would be keeping himself in the shadows, jumping Harley’s bones. Besides, someone who looked like him would never be of interest to Harley Johansen. Val was big, rough, scarred—and a shifter, he couldn’t forget that. Harley hated them, so Val needed to keep his horny thoughts to himself.
But, he mused as Harley entered the stairwell, he didn’t need to stay there while Harley went out prowling. Who knew what dangers awaited the guy? There could be other shifters wanting to eliminate him as a threat to their species, or some ass just waiting for a small, delicate-looking guy like Harley to fall into his hands. Joshua Dobson wasn’t the only sadistic bastard in the world. Well, hadn’t been was probably the correct terminology since the fucker was dead.
The point was, Val knew there were plenty of mean men who’d get their rocks off on hurting someone like Harley. Even the brief glimpse Val had of the man told him Harley was damaged. Maybe Val was superimposing his own opinion on Harley, because he knew Dobson had hurt the little human. Sure, Val didn’t know the details, but Harley had been abused in some manner. He guessed Harley could be over it and—
“And I gotta stop this shit.” Val patted his pocket, felt the keys there, then he left his place, locking it up before heading to the elevator. He wasn’t quick enough, or quiet enough, probably, to take the stairs. Besides, if Harley hung around and saw him coming out of the stairwell, that’d likely seem suspicious.
The elevator dinged in seconds and Val entered the car, smiling slightly at the elderly woman inside it. No need to scowl and scare his neighbours, or apartment building mates. Val gave himself a mental eye roll at his rambling thoughts. It seemed sometimes like his mind just wouldn’t shut up about the silliest things.
He waited for the lady to disembark, then he did the same. He spotted the stairway door and noted that Harley wasn’t on the ground floor of the building. Had he missed him? Or was Harley still making his way down? Well, hell, for all he knew, Harley could have a thing going with someone in the apartment building. Val scowled and walked to the doors. He stepped outside and moved into the shadows. If Harley didn’t come out in a few minutes, he’d track him up the stairs, see if his sense of smell was at least usable still. Of course, since he hadn’t tried to parse out Harley’s scent on their floor, how would he know what the guy smelt like?
“Idiot,” he muttered just as the doors opened. The man he was certain was Harley Johansen stepped outside and promptly shivered.
“Hey, Harley, need a cab tonight?” a taxi driver called out. Well, he had his answer
about who he was following, didn’t he? Val glared at the driver and silently willed Harley to
say no. There wasn’t another cab out, at least not near that he could see, and Val couldn’t
keep up with a freaking vehicle.
But he could try tracking Harley if he had to, right? Val closed his eyes and
concentrated on smelling, on drawing in one scent out of the many in the area. The bitter
burn of chemicals from the cab’s exhaust fumes made it next to impossible to smell much of
anything else. Val thought he caught a whiff of something delicious, something warm and
sensuous that made his semi-erect dick firm fully again, but then it was gone and he opened
his eyes just in time to see Harley getting in the cab.
“Scoundrels,” he heard Harley say before closing the cab door. The driver pulled away
and Val stared at the tail lights stupidly for a few minutes until the car turned. The visual
loss spurred him into doing his actual job.
Val found the address for a club called Scoundrels on his phone, then he called for a
cab. Belatedly, he glanced at the clothes he had on and groaned. Dirty jeans and sweaty shirt,
scuffed boots… Val slapped at his pants, trying to knock off some of the grunge. It wasn’t too
bad, really, just moving dirt. He hadn’t been rolling in mud or anything, but he had been hot,
and sweaty, and yeah, he probably had that man-scent down too well. Maybe he could ha
ve
the driver stop at a gas station or somewhere he could grab some deodorant— No, he didn’t need to bother. He wasn’t out cruising for cock. Hopefully his appearance
would discourage anyone from coming near him. Val couldn’t imagine having to fight off
horny men, not in the state he was in now. All he needed to do was keep an eye on Harley,
that was it. He moved over to the kerb to wait for the taxi.
After a few minutes, his skin prickled with the creepy sensation of being watched.
Every fine hair on his body was on alert, he’d bet. Val silently cursed his blindness on the left
side. He couldn’t help but turn his head to look that way, which made it obvious that he was
looking.
And he couldn’t see a single suspicious thing! Val growled softly then promptly bit the
sound off. If someone was following Harley, it had to be another shifter, and one with senses
that weren’t fucked up all to hell and back like Val’s. Every sound he made, everything he
felt if he didn’t control himself, could roll off him in scents of anger and fear. Val put his best
acting effort forward and sighed heartily. He rubbed at his left eye, lifting the patch, actually
relishing the cool air on his skin there. He looked left, right, left again, making it obvious,
then he checked the time on his phone and tapped one foot.
Maybe he was overacting, but he was still being watched, he’d bet everything he’d ever
owned on it. Val used his restlessness and irritation over his own limitations, conveying, he
hoped, impatience at the length of the wait for his ride. Whoever was watching him never
moved on, not even when the taxi pulled up finally. Val got in and quickly scanned the dark
area he’d felt his watcher hiding in, off to the front left of the vehicle. The headlights cast
away some of the shadows, but Val saw no one lingering. Whoever it was had most likely
run when the cab showed up, knowing the lights would expose them.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Val leant back in the seat and rubbed his thigh as he gave the address. He hoped
whoever had been out there wasn’t from his pack. Maybe, if they weren’t, they wouldn’t
have caught on to who or what he was. It was the only bit of hope he could dredge up right
then.
Chapter Five
Scoundrels wasn’t the best club in Sedona, but it wasn’t the scuzziest, either. Harley had picked it because he’d once been comfortable here. In fact, more than a few of his hookups had begun here then ended very satisfactorily in his bed. It’d been almost four months since he’d been to Scoundrels, and he was relieved to find it hadn’t changed. Why that relief was so, he hadn’t a clue, except maybe that it seemed as if everything else in his life was altered, so the familiarity of the club was very welcome.
The club was decently packed, and the men filling the place tonight were, for the most part, attractive enough. Harley spotted bears, cubs, chubs and twinks, and every other label people flung around. He didn’t care who was what, as long as he found someone or a few someones to help him not think for the night.
The music pounded through the speakers, and the dance floor was crowded, guys grinding and gyrating—all except one couple, and Harley’s gaze was drawn to them amidst the swaying, sweaty bodies. An older man, his hair sprinkled with white, held another guy who was probably around the same age. Harley would guess mid-to-late forties. They danced as if in their own world, slowly, lost in each other and whatever music they made between them. Harley’s eyes pricked and his chest ached, and he didn’t want to examine either of those sensations, but he couldn’t look away.
Someone bumped into him from behind, a not so subtle grope of his ass followed shortly thereafter, and Harley spun around to see who was copping a feel. A rather handsome man smirked at him, but there was something in the guy’s eyes that gave Harley the willies and brought to mind a weasel, one of his least favourite animals.
“Wanna fuck?” Well, that was certainly blunt, and not in Harley’s plans. He shook his head, not willing to screech over the music like his would-be seducer had done. Harley squeezed between a couple of men then made his way to the bar. Once there, he glanced back and only felt relief when he saw that the weasel hadn’t followed him.
“What’ll you have?” a bartender yelled at him. Harley pointed to the first familiar bottle on the shelf. “Give me a couple shots of that.” He watched as the top-shelf tequila was poured into two shot glasses for him. He didn’t really like tequila, but it made him horny as hell even if he didn’t get a hard-on. Fine, it gave him courage, or demolished his restraint, pride, whatever, so he didn’t have to be alone. The top-dollar stuff wasn’t as awful as the tequila he’d drunk when he’d been poor—which he wasn’t anymore. There’d been a nice stash of cash in that blue duffle bag. Drinking helped alleviate some of his guilt at accepting the money.
The bartender set the drinks in front of him. “Enjoy,” he said before ambling down to the next person wanting a drink.
Harley tossed both shots back quickly, forgoing the salt and lemon routine. He’d forgotten to ask for either of them, anyway, but since his goal was to get shit-faced what did he need props for? The alcohol burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, his nose. Harley wiped his mouth with his hand and turned on the stool, looking for a likely prospect that didn’t give him the creeps. Weasel-man was already occupied with another guy, one who wasn’t put off by him like Harley had been. That was good, he let the last remnant of fear he hadn’t known he was holding in regards to Weasel slip on away.
He caught a glimpse of someone entering the club, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but for some reason his pulse began racing and his stomach felt all fluttery. Possibly he shouldn’t have taken the two shots so quickly, but he’d done it before and hadn’t felt queasy…although, he didn’t exactly feel queasy, more like… He didn’t know what, and couldn’t concentrate on it as he stood, trying to see whoever had come in.
“Fucking have to be short, don’t I?” he grumbled, forgetting that he tried not to talk to himself out in public. He caught glimpses of movement, but with the crowd, the lighting, and him being shrimp-sized, it was hopeless. Harley cursed and climbed onto the stool rungs. He still couldn’t see for shit and decided pursuit was his best option. The bizarre impulse was irresistible, and Harley put the buzzing in his head and body down to the alcohol. Maybe it combined with some liquor remaining in his bloodstream or something from last night.
Harley was halfway across the club when he became aware of a distinctly uncomfortable sensation in his lower region. He stopped, stunned as he realised he had an erection, and, since that hadn’t happened in over a month, he hadn’t exactly packaged himself in the most comfortable manner. His poor dick was being pinched and it hurt like a bitch. Harley flashed back to when he’d woken up, the drying mess he’d found. Was his libido going all bonkers on him? What the hell was happening?
His pulse leapt and he stopped worrying about his cock, searching the crowd for a man he couldn’t have described. An instinct he’d never known he had was driving him, making him turn left and march through the crowd, or try to, anyway. There was an odd sense of familiarity thrumming in his head, which made about as much sense as the whole scenario unfolding for Harley. Fighting it seemed stupid. He needed to find out who’d just come inside as badly as he needed to find some comfort for the night. Harley pushed at guys who ignored his barked ‘excuse me’ and slapped away hands of others who tried to stop him. A small part of his mind asked him what the hell was he doing, and Harley told it to shut the fuck up. He had to go, to follow whatever invisible thread was reeling him in.
Breaking through a wall of bodies, Harley saw a shuffling gait, a tall, form, but details were impossible since he was grabbed and spun around.
; “Looking for me?” Weasel asked, grabbing Harley’s wrists.
Harley made a sound that scared him a bit, an angry, snarling sound that tore from his throat as he dived forward, intent on hurting Weasel for impeding his progress. “Get the fuck away from me,” Harley shouted, the music still too loud and his temper fraying at the seams, letting some of the rage ooze out of him.
He lashed out as soon as he finished speaking, pivoting slightly and kicking. Harley slammed his heel into Weasel’s knee and the man bellowed, reeling backwards and taking Harley with him. Panic seared into Harley, he wasn’t sure why and didn’t pause to examine it, instead jerking and shoving until he was freed. He got up and scrambled back as onlookers finally began to catch on to the fact that something not exactly consensual was going down.
Harley turned and bolted, searching for that shape, that uneven gait he’d spotted moments earlier. He thought he caught a glimpse of the man in the corner, where the shadows played heavily over the person occupying a small table, then he was grabbed again, jerked right off his feet, and no amount of fighting was getting him free.
“Cut it out, you little shit,” a harsh voice barked in his ear. “We don’t tolerate fighting here, no matter how cute you are, so you’re gone, buddy!”
Fuck, the thickly muscled arms around him belonged to one of the freakishly huge bouncers! Harley still struggled and the arms tightened until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even beg not to be tossed out, and he was pretty sure he was fixing to pass out from lack of oxygen when he was set down rather roughly outside. “Don’t bother coming back, dude.”
“I”—Harley gasped, sucking in air—“didn’t—”
“Don’t care who started what,” the bouncer said, walking to stand in front of him. The man had a face like a well-used punching bag, he thought dumbly. “Don’t care, don’t matter, don’t come back. Other guy’s been banned too, but he’s gotta wait for his ride.” He cocked his head just as sirens rent the air. “And that’s probably it. You better run, buddy.”
Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence Page 7