Prickly Business (Portland Pack Chronicles Book 1)

by Piper Vaughn

  Why did seeing Dylan always make those feelings come back? Avery kept expecting the desire, the need, to lessen. And it did, to a point. Until the next time he saw Dylan again. Then he was transported back to that moment when they’d first recognized each other, that instant he’d scented his mate and felt such an overwhelming surge of hope and lust and yearning and home. The knowledge that he’d found his other half had resonated inside him like a gong being struck. There he is. Right there.

  Then it had all gone to shit.

  Granted, that last part might have been partially—well, mostly—Avery’s fault. He didn’t want to think about that, though. No point in dwelling. And really, it wasn’t as if the impression Dylan had gotten from him back then was entirely wrong. Perhaps exaggerated because Avery’s defensiveness had kicked in. But not all wrong.

  Avery pushed those thoughts aside. Unfortunately that left him with nothing but his despondency. He’d figured Dylan hadn’t been abstinent in the time since they’d discovered each other—Avery hadn’t been—but imagining it and having it shoved in his face were two very different things. The tiny part of him that still coveted his mate felt heartsick at the idea of Dylan with someone else, no matter that they had no official claims on each other.

  Suddenly he longed for the comfort of his den, the minimalistic, industrial loft he rented in the Pearl District. He needed to escape to his bedroom, where he could curl up in a nest of blankets and tend to his sore heart in private. By nature, he was a solitary creature—all hedgehog shifters were. Too much social interaction made him grouchy and snappish, and right then, he’d had way more than his recommended daily dose.

  Finding Jaden in the crowd was easy. His red hair blazed fire-bright beneath the swirling lights of the club. Avery signaled to Jaden that he was leaving. At Jaden’s wave and nod of acknowledgment, he made his way to the restroom for a quick pit stop before heading out. Those five tall glasses of ale had officially caught up with him.

  He didn’t bother looking when the door opened while he was fastening his jeans. The men’s room at The Cavern never stayed empty for long. He was surprised there weren’t a few couples locked in the stalls already. Then a familiar scent infiltrated his nostrils beneath the stronger odors of floor cleaner and stale urine. Oh fuck. He knew who that smell belonged to, and the wolf’s presence meant nothing but trouble. He’d probably been following Avery all night, waiting for a moment to catch him alone.

  Damn. He should’ve never gotten out of bed this morning.

  Biting back a sigh, Avery turned slowly and met Josiah’s brown eyes. Josiah leaned back against the door, his massive arms crossed over his beefy chest. From the hallway behind him, Avery scented another wolf. No doubt it was Rory, the Tweedledee to Josiah’s Tweedledum. A couple of stooges, those two. All brawn and no brains. But their general lack of intelligence didn’t mean they couldn’t put Avery in a world of hurt if they wanted to. He knew why they were there. Thanks to what he’d thought was an insider tip, he’d bet on the long shot at the werewolf races almost two weeks back. A bet that had indebted him to Victor Llewellyn for fifteen thousand dollars—money he couldn’t repay until he got his allowance from his parents at the end of the month.

  Now he recalled Victor’s words: “This ain’t Kmart, kid. We don’t do layaway.” As if Avery would ever be caught dead in some big box store that sold everything from bulk packages of underwear to power tools and goldfish. He preferred boutique shopping. His three-hundred-dollar Dior Wayfarer sunglasses and thirteen-hundred-dollar John Lobb boots could attest to that. So maybe those boots and sunglasses were part of what had drained a good chunk of his allowance from last month. That was beside the point. He’d promised to have the money to Victor ASAP. Apparently two weeks was pushing his luck.

  “I’ll have the money at the end of the month,” Avery said when Josiah stood there staring at him.

  Josiah straightened and stalked forward. “Vic told you we don’t do payment plans, hoggie. He wants his money now.”

  Avery swallowed and took an unconscious step back as Josiah loomed over him. He forced himself to still and lifted his chin, bringing his haughtiest mask down over his face. He was Avery Babineaux, of the Mandeville, St. Tammany Parish Babineauxs. His family had roots extending to Great Britain and France. He would not be intimidated by some lowlife werewolf thug. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m good for the money, believe me.”

  Josiah arched a thick dark eyebrow and laughed, standing so close Avery both heard and felt the vibration against his chest. “You are? Or your daddy is? Rich little Louisiana twink, all alone up here in the Northwest. How long would it take them to notice you were missing? One week? Two? Or maybe they don’t even think about you.”

  Heat crawled up Avery’s neck into his cheeks, fury and embarrassment entwined as the words struck too close to home. Aside from the deposit that went into his account every month, he had the rarest contact with his parents. Several times during the last few years, he’d been forced to call them, usually when he was in some sort of financial bind like this one. Every month he got a ten thousand-dollar allowance to cover his rent and expenses. Giving it all to Victor would leave him dead-broke for four weeks. At best he could part with half, maybe two thirds if he starved himself and skimped on everything until the next deposit. But no more.

  “Maybe we’ll dump you in Forest Park,” Josiah murmured. “Plenty of places to hide you there.”

  Avery’s bravado faltered. “I-I can give him half by the end of the month, I swear.”

  Josiah snagged one of his wrists in a meaty fist and crowded even closer. “You’ll have it all for him next Friday.”

  “But I can’t—”

  Josiah squeezed until Avery’s bones ground together. “One week,” he said in a menacing whisper. He snapped his teeth and growled in Avery’s sensitive ear. “Got it, hoggie?”

  Avery only just kept himself from shuddering. Somehow he managed a quick, jerky nod. “Y-Yeah. Got it.”

  He tried to pull away, but Josiah’s grip tightened until something in Avery’s wrist cracked, sending a white-hot streak of agony into his palm and up his arm. He cried out, blinking rapidly to fend off the reflexive tears that flooded his eyes.

  “A reminder.” Josiah released him with a shove, sending Avery stumbling back against the tile wall. “One week, kid.” He turned and left the room.

  Only once he no longer sensed Josiah or Rory did Avery allow himself to sink to the piss-stained floor, cradling his forearm to his stomach. Fear and adrenaline had left him woozy, and the beginnings of a headache throbbed in his temples. Already his wrist was swelling, dark bruises forming beneath the skin. Even the slightest movement came with a bolt of excruciating pain.

  He had to get out of there before Jaden spotted him and got close enough to see his injury. Jaden would never let him leave without an explanation.

  Groaning, Avery hefted himself to his feet. What the hell had he been thinking, getting involved with these sorts of wolves? What would his mama say? No, he didn’t have to wonder. She’d say the same thing she’d been telling him for years: “That fool pride of yours is going to land you in a heap of trouble one day, boy. You mark my words.”

  She was right.

  THE NEXT morning, prepared with a story about a car clipping his bike as he crossed the street, Avery visited one of the two Portland pack doctors to have his wrist examined.

  Dr. Scully eyed him critically when he saw the finger-shaped bruises marring Avery’s fair skin, but he didn’t question him further, for which Avery was grateful. He couldn’t risk telling Dr. Scully what had actually happened. Doctor-patient confidentially didn’t exist within the pack when it came to situations like these. It would be Dr. Scully’s duty to report Josiah’s actions to Alpha Odell, and that would put Avery in a hell of a lot more trouble.

  Alpha Odell didn’t know about the wolf races. Avery hadn’t even shared his knowledge of the underground gambling ring with Jaden, not wanti
ng to put his best friend in the awkward position of keeping secrets from his father. The races weren’t illegal in the strictest sense. Not according to human laws, anyway. But they’d be unpardonable in the eyes of the pack, where it was considered a grievous offense to harm a fellow wolf for any reason outside of a rightful challenge or a blood debt.

  Wolves competing and injuring one another—sometimes irreparably—for sport? For money? Everyone involved would be punished, and Victor likely killed as an example. Especially if Alpha Odell caught wind of his other transgressions. Loan-sharking, drug-dealing, extortion. Gambling wasn’t even the half of it, which was why some people feared Victor more than the alpha. Rules governed the pack, and in turn, Alpha Odell. Any offenses were usually handled within the pack itself, but Victor considered himself above both pack and human laws. If he thought Avery posed a threat to his business, he’d crush Avery without a second thought.

  The sole reason Avery had chanced visiting the doctor was that he wanted to make sure the bones in his wrist were properly aligned before the healing process got too far along. Shifters healed a lot faster than humans, but it wasn’t instantaneous, and it wasn’t perfect. The bones would mend as they were—which meant if they weren’t lined up correctly, they might have to be rebroken later.

  Avery wanted to avoid any additional breaking, thank you very much. Sharp stabs of pain still radiated from his wrist whenever he moved, and he knew from a childhood leg fracture it would continue to ache for days as the bones mended. At least it would be days, not weeks.

  “Everything looks all right,” Dr. Scully told him as he examined the X-ray. “It was a clean break. Should heal without any complications.”

  Avery heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear.”

  Dr. Scully resumed his seat behind his broad oak desk. “Keep it wrapped and wear the sling. And be sure to check both ways before you cross the street from here on out, huh?”

  Avery didn’t miss the sardonic edge to that last sentence. He flushed, but forced a smile to his mouth. “Of course, sir.”

  “If it’s still bothering you after a week, come back and see me.”

  Avery nodded and left the office with a murmured, “Thank you.”

  When he got home, Avery selected one of his favorite albums from his collection of vinyl—Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs—and set it up to play softly as he brewed a mug of strong, organic chai tea. He loved the way vinyl sounded in comparison to digital recordings. It seemed richer, warmer, more immediate—as if he were sitting in the studio while the music was being produced. Nothing quite compared to it, and over the last several years, he’d amassed enough albums to fill the row of bookshelves that lined the wall in his living room.

  Tea in hand, he settled down at his kitchen table to call his parents. Dread gnawed at his stomach as he unlocked his iPhone, pulled up his father’s contact, and dialed. It built into a nauseating frenzy with every unanswered ring, until, finally, right when he feared it would go to voice mail, the call connected.

  “What did you do this time, boy?” his father asked by way of greeting. His Louisiana drawl sounded thicker than ever now that Avery had spent so many years in the Pacific Northwest. He wondered how his own accent sounded to his fellow Portlanders. He didn’t even notice it when he spoke anymore.

  Avery thumbed the handle of his mug. “Hi, Daddy. Can’t I be calling to say hello?”

  “Well, are you?”

  Avery hesitated.

  His father sighed. “Didn’t think so. So, what is it, boy? I don’t have all day.”

  Avery took a fortifying sip of his tea. “I was wondering if you might be willing to send me my allowance for this month and next month early.”

  “Early? Why? It’s been, what, a little over two weeks since the last deposit? Don’t tell me you already ran through that ten grand.”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t used all of it yet, but….”

  “But what?” his father asked, impatient, volume rising. “Spit it out.”

  Avery swallowed nervously. No way could he tell his father why he needed the money now. With as much as his father hated wolves, he’d have Avery’s spines if he found out. “I… I was thinking—”

  “I don’t care what you’ve been thinking,” his father interrupted. “What I want to know is why you can’t ever manage to save a dime. What single man with no responsibilities can’t survive off a hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year? What are you wasting that money on? I shudder to think what you’ll do when you come of age for the trust, I truly do.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts,’ Avery. Not today. You’ll get your money at the end of the month and not a second before.”

  “Daddy—”

  “Good-bye, Avery. I’m meeting François at the golf course in twenty minutes. I’ll tell your mama you said hello.”

  The line went dead in his ear, and for a moment, Avery stared as his father’s number flashed on the screen. Then he dropped the phone on the table and rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand.

  What was he supposed to do now? He considered asking Jaden to front him the money, but he dismissed the thought seconds later. No, he couldn’t risk involving Jaden with Victor. This was a mess of his own creation, and he needed to create himself a way out of it.

  A thought struck Avery, and he straightened in his chair. He peered around the loft, trying to decide what he could sell and what he couldn’t bear to part with. He’d never had cause to set foot in a pawn shop before, but there had to be one in the city. Time for a Google search.

  A WEEK later his time had officially run out—and Avery still hadn’t managed to scrounge up the fifteen grand. He’d thought about trying to sell or take a loan against his Mini Cooper… until he remembered the title was in his father’s name. So instead, he’d pawned his two watches, sold some of his clothes, and even auctioned off a few of his rare, collectible vinyl albums on eBay. Altogether, he’d collected seven thousand dollars. That left him eight shy, and his deadline had whooshed by last night. He was surprised Josiah and Rory weren’t already on his doorstep, but then he paid to live in this building for a reason—the secured entry. They couldn’t get to his loft without him buzzing them in, though they could certainly be lying in wait for him outside.

  Avery glanced down at his newly healed wrist and shuddered at the thought of what else the wolves might break if he ran into them. He’d have to stay inside. There was nothing for it.

  By late afternoon on Sunday, he was going stir-crazy. Normally he didn’t mind solitude. But this wasn’t choosing to be alone. This was imprisonment, like sitting in a cell awaiting a court sentence. He couldn’t stand it. The idea of staying locked in his loft for another week made his skin crawl.

  Finally his sanity was saved by a text from Sven, his yoga instructor and sometimes dinner companion, saying he had an emergency situation he needed to discuss with Avery in person. Desperate for fresh air and sunlight, Avery agreed to meet Sven at a nearby pub instead of inviting Sven to his loft. Surely Josiah and the others wouldn’t do anything in broad daylight. He’d be in public the whole time, and the Pearl District was always bustling. There’d be too many witnesses.

  Avery walked to the brewery from which he often ordered takeout and settled at a table on the back patio to wait for Sven. A couple of hours, he thought. Then I’ll go home.

  When an hour had passed and Sven failed to show, Avery shrugged and ordered a black bean burger with sweet potato fries and a second Irish lager. He enjoyed his meal, checking his phone periodically for an update from Sven and basking in the last vestiges of sunshine.

  By the time he’d finished his food, there was still no word. Maybe the emergency had prevented Sven from coming. Avery shot off one last text: Going home. Everything ok? Call me when you can.

  The sun was setting when he stepped outside and started home. He felt better for having escaped his loft for a while, no matter how briefly, and the sidewalks were still crowded enough he
felt secure.

  He’d almost made it back to his building when a car screeched up to the curb where he stood waiting to cross the street. One of the rear doors flew open, and before Avery could react, two meaty fists had locked onto his arms and forced him into the backseat.

  His shout for help was cut off by a blow to the face that left him stunned. Avery cringed from the pain that exploded in his cheekbone. Then the world went black, and he felt nothing at all.

  WHEN AVERY woke, he was in the woods and the moon shone brightly through the branches of the trees overhead. He sat up groggily. Nausea churned in his belly, and his entire body ached. What had happened? He couldn’t remember much beyond leaving the brewery and the loud squeal of tires. But what had come after?

  “Welcome back,” said a familiar voice. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Avery jerked his head around to find the source, wincing at the pierce of agony in his skull. It felt like someone had driven a red-hot spike into his temple and scrambled up his brains.

  Josiah sneered down at him. “What’s the matter, hoggie? Headache?”

  Fear lanced through Avery. For a second the nausea was so intense he thought he might vomit all over his lap. He swallowed hard, trying to fight the sensation back. “I-I have some of the money. I have seven grand. I can get it for you right now.”

  “Seven grand?” Josiah repeated. “I seem to recall you owing Victor fifteen.” He glanced sideways. “Don’t you remember that, Ror?”

  Rory grunted an affirmative. His head was cocked to the side as he stared at Avery. He was even bigger than Josiah and maybe twice as muscular. Rory wouldn’t be breaking Avery’s wrist—he’d be breaking Avery’s neck. And another wolf stood behind him.