Prickly Business (Portland Pack Chronicles Book 1)

by Piper Vaughn

  After exchanging contact information, Dylan turned to leave.

  “Don’t come here again,” Snowflake growled his warning. “When you get what you want, you forget my name. Feel me?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan answered. “Someone will drop your ride off tomorrow.” He walked out of the room.

  When he was halfway down the hall, following Lucas, Sawyer, and two of Snowflake’s thugs, he heard a loud, “Pleasure doing business with you,” mixed with laughter.

  Outside, Dylan gulped a lungful of air and another. Then he turned to look at the house.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter Fifteen

  ALMOST A week had passed since their meeting with Victor, and to say Avery was antsy was like calling Mt. Everest an anthill. Until they spoke with Victor’s contact, his “investigation,” for lack of a better word, remained at a standstill.

  He hated feeling as if he were sitting around twiddling his thumbs while there were answers waiting to be found. Every time Avery saw Mr. Otis with nothing new to report, guilt streaked through his chest. Mr. Otis appeared to be resigning himself to the fact he might never see his daughter again. Avery couldn’t blame him. They were now into the third month since she’d vanished, and they barely had any information to go on—not about where she might be or even if she still lived.

  It was enough to discourage the most stalwart of men, and if Mr. Otis had ever fallen into that category, he didn’t anymore. He was frail and growing weaker by the day, as if his dwindling hope was slowly draining whatever strength he had left.

  Avery’s sense of helplessness increased every time he saw Mr. Otis. While some of the other wolves on his route had warmed to him, and some even chatted and asked how his day was, Mr. Otis held a special place. He was the only one Avery ever had real conversations with. Avery felt invested in his life, and now in Lacey’s too. Mr. Otis had become a friend of sorts. One of the few Avery had. To a prickly hedgie who’d always been rather solitary even among his own family, that meant something.

  When Dylan walked into Avery’s loft Thursday night, Avery waited long enough for him to shed his jacket before he broached a subject certain to piss off Dylan.

  “I think we should call Victor.”

  Dylan hung his coat in the entryway closet and turned to Avery, his face grim.

  “If it’s about the money, maybe I can pawn some more of my albums.” Avery gestured in the direction of his living room. He’d sold the rarest records when he was collecting money to repay his gambling debt, but there were some he could probably sell for a few hundred dollars. “It isn’t much, but—”

  Dylan shook his head and turned. Avery followed him to the dining area, where Dylan pulled out one of the chairs at his table and dropped into it with a grunt. “It’s not about the money.”

  “Then, what?” Avery moved to stand between Dylan’s parted thighs. “Mr. Otis is…. Dylan, I think he’s dying of sorrow. I’ve heard even though the bond ends with death, some wolves never recover from losing their mate. What if Mr. Otis is one of them? What if he only hung on after his wife died because of Lacey? I’m worried about what’ll happen to him if he loses both a mate and a child.”

  Worry darkened Dylan’s features. “Avery, you have to realize that getting involved with this guy Victor mentioned might be dangerous. I won’t always be around to protect you, and if something happened to you… If something happened, I’d—”

  “Do you want Mr. Otis to give up hope?” Avery set his hands on Dylan’s shoulders and met his mate’s eyes. “Despite what it seems like, I can hold my own. I got in over my head with Victor before, but I’m not totally incompetent, you know?”

  “I know that. I do.”

  “Then let’s get this done.”

  Dylan hesitated.

  Avery sighed, dropping his arms. “Fine. If you won’t call Victor, I will. I’ll find a way to pay him.” He turned and grabbed his phone off the tabletop, but before he could pull up Victor’s contact information, Dylan snatched it from his hand.

  “I already called him.”

  Avery’s spine went rigid. He rounded on Dylan, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

  “I spoke to Victor’s contact already.”

  Avery’s skin prickled, and he sucked in a shaky breath. “When?”

  Dylan looked at him steadily. “Two days ago.”

  Anger flared in Avery’s belly, sudden and sharp. “You paid Victor, and you went without me?”

  Dylan swallowed and his gaze faltered. “Yes.”

  “And I’m guessing this guy asked for money too? How much?”

  Dylan nodded. “Five grand. But I cut a deal. I offered him one of my bikes instead. He’s supposed to text me with the info about the next auction. He said he could get me in.”

  “Get you in?” Avery’s head threatened to explode. “So, what, this is your thing now? You went behind my back, and now you’re taking over?”

  “Avery—”

  “Don’t you dare claim you were trying to protect me,” Avery said at a near shout. The familiar pins-and-needles sensation of an impending stress shift washed over his body in a wave. He tried to fight it off. “When were you planning on telling me? Or were you not going to say anything until after the auction?”

  Guilt flashed across Dylan’s face, and Avery’s temper snapped.

  “You weren’t going to tell me! You gave up one of your motorcycles, and you were going to keep it a secret?”

  Dylan said his name and reached for him, but Avery sidestepped. He didn’t want to be touched. Especially not by a mate who would keep this kind of information from him. They were supposed to be a team. When Dylan had offered to help, Avery hadn’t expected him to take matters into his own hands. Why was Avery even surprised? Wolves tended to be bossy and overbearing. It was part of why Avery’s father hated them. Of course Dylan would try to take charge. That was what wolves did.

  “I promised Mr. Otis.” Avery thumped himself on the chest. “Me. I told him I’d help him find his daughter. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Dylan shot to his feet. “I’m your mate,” he growled. “And, yes, I was trying to fucking protect you. Everything I do lately is for you. I didn’t want you within twenty miles of some scumbag drug-dealing pimp.”

  “You don’t make decisions for me. That’s not how this works.” Avery jabbed Dylan on the pec with his index finger. “You think I’m weak like everyone else does. Useless. Just a dumb little hedgehog.” His eyes and nose burned.

  Dylan loomed over him, his expression thunderous. “I don’t think that. I want you safe. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “You don’t get to run my life because you want to protect me.”

  Dylan grabbed for his arm. Once again, Avery moved out of reach. Dylan sighed in frustration. “I know that, Avery. I—”

  Avery turned away from him. “You need to go. I don’t want to see you right now.” The words came out on a rasp as he forced them past the tightness lodged in his throat. He was trembling, and he knew he couldn’t hold off the shift for much longer. It was instinct, his animal reaching out to defend him. All he wanted was to curl up and hide.

  “Av….”

  “Go. Please.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Avery saw Dylan extend a hand. Right when he would’ve made contact, he pulled it back and balled it into a fist.

  With a vehement “Fuck,” Dylan turned and stalked off. Avery heard him pause at the entryway to collect his jacket, and then his front door opened and closed.

  Avery barely managed to strip himself before the shift took over. Small prickles of pain erupted as his spines grew. His vision went monochromatic, and the world swirled and tilted as his body shrank. As soon as it was finished, he scurried into the quiet, welcoming darkness beneath the couch and curled in on himself, his snout tucked tight against his belly.

  He shivered for a while, too angry to do anything else. When his fury finally faded, al
l that remained was sadness.

  If even his mate found him weak, what chance did Avery have of proving himself to anyone? Yeah, he might not be able to hold his own in a physical fight, but he could be scrappy and crafty in a pinch. It wasn’t as if he’d had a bodyguard at his back his entire childhood.

  Maybe sometimes he acted foolishly. Maybe he made the occasional rash decision. Who didn’t?

  He wasn’t weak. He didn’t need constant protection. He wished Dylan could see that. Then again, what reason had he ever given Dylan to have faith in him? He’d been accepting Dylan’s help since that night in Forest Park. Now Dylan had even given up one of his beloved motorcycles, which made Avery’s gut roil with guilt and shame. Why would Dylan ever think he could stand on his own two feet?

  Still, it hurt not to be given the benefit of the doubt.

  DYLAN STUDIED the red tie draped over the arm of the couch. Avery’s tie. He remembered unknotting it and slipping it from Avery’s collar in an attempt to make him more comfortable. He turned away, trying to push back the memory that burned in his chest. Heartburn. I should probably talk to Dr. Scully about that. Scooping up his phone, he sat back and drew a knee up on the couch, scooting back into the corner. If Avery was here, he’d fit just perfectly. But he wasn’t here. Dylan sighed and swiped open his phone then thumbed through the contacts until he found the one he was looking for.

  Avery’s bright eyes shone back at him, his lips pursed in a kiss and his hair mussed, surrounded by the fluffy white of his pillows and down comforter—a new selfie. Avery seemed to be changing them with every visit. Apparently he’d taken the picture while Dylan got ready for work that last morning. Not that Dylan minded. He rubbed a palm over his chest.

  Dylan sighed. He missed Avery, and it wasn’t about the sex—although, he had to admit, the sex was damn good. He missed being with Avery—his smile, his laughter, the way he gravitated toward Dylan like he was true North. In a few short weeks, Avery had burrowed his way into Dylan’s life, and now Dylan had no idea which way was up without him.

  The pain in his chest bloomed full force. Damn. Maybe he should call. Just to check on his mate. Maybe Avery was feeling the same. Maybe….

  A knock at his front door distracted him before he could dial Avery. Probably better that way.

  With another sigh, he got up from the sofa when the front door swung open and Lucas strutted in like he owned the place.

  Lucas shrugged, his glowing smile tinted with a hint of mischief. “What? I knocked.”

  Kirk and Sawyer strolled in behind him and shut the door. Dylan’s lips twitched. He could only imagine why Loud Mouth, Brainy, and Broody were there. Already, he felt a little better just having his friends around.

  Dylan turned his attention back to Lucas. “You’re supposed to wait for someone to answer the door.”

  “It was open.”

  “Not open. It was unlocked.”

  “Same difference.”

  Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing a losing battle when he saw it. “That’s not an invitation.”

  “Whatever.” Lucas shook his head and motioned to the other guys. “We’re here.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  Lucas shrugged again. “Tired of seeing you pout. Kirk thought it would be a good idea to come talk some sense into you.”

  Wide-eyed, Kirk gaped up at Lucas. “I did no—”

  “I don’t pout,” Dylan groused.

  “You do.” Lucas waved off Kirk’s protest. “Ask Sawyer, he’s the king of broody pouts.”

  “Fuck you, Luc.” Sawyer’s bass rumbled around his living area.

  “See?” Lucas pointed out.

  “I’m seriously not in the mood for this today.” Dylan sat back down and eyed his phone where he’d tossed it on the cushion… near the book… by Avery’s tie. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Dylan wished he could get that fucking tie out of his mind.

  “I see that.” Lucas plopped down on the other end of the couch, the tie disappearing behind him. Thank God. Kirk took the chair near Dylan, and Sawyer dragged one over from the kitchen, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Books and beer. Looks like a regular party around here.”

  “Fuck off, dude.”

  Dylan had been attempting to read, but when the words had started blurring together, he’d realized he didn’t remember much of the previous chapter he’d read. So he put the book down and opted for a beer.

  “Where’s Avery?” God, Lucas could be a persistent asshole sometimes.

  “His place.” Dylan assumed. He glimpsed the time on the entertainment center, then changed his answer. “Probably at work.” He didn’t really know and that pissed him off even more.

  “Yeah? One of the guys that came in today said he saw him out at Howl with the alpha’s son last night.” Lucas’s words cut deep, though Dylan didn’t show it. Christ, he didn’t think he could handle the thought of Avery out clubbing on top of everything else. Or the fact that Avery was going out at all, having a blast while Dylan suffered.

  Fuck. The invisible band contracted around his lungs, choking off his air.

  “He can do whatever he wants,” Dylan mumbled, picking up and drinking the rest of his beer. “I’m not his keeper.” Avery had made that clear enough. The words tasted as bitter in his mouth as the drink felt going down.

  He didn’t want to own Avery. Not really. He liked that Avery was independent and outspoken. He even liked it when Avery disagreed with him. Dylan knew he was a possessive bastard. It was ingrained. Avery had to know that. So why couldn’t he understand….

  No. Dylan wasn’t going there right now.

  “Yeah, he said your boy had that same look on his face.” When Dylan stared at him, Lucas continued. “Like someone kicked his puppy. Or his wolf.”

  It shouldn’t have made Dylan feel better—knowing Avery might be hurting the same way he was—but it did.

  “Want to talk about it?” Lucas’s tone softened, apparently ready to have a conversation Dylan didn’t want to think about.

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe you should apologize.” Kirk’s voice was soft, contemplative, and when he spoke Dylan listened.

  Kirk was quiet and patient, the old soul of their crew. He never said anything without thinking first. Long and hard. But he was no pushover. Sometimes Dylan wondered what had happened to him. He didn’t talk about his past. And Dylan didn’t know much about his family life except the little he’d seen growing up, but it wasn’t like they had ever hung out at Kirk’s house. That had pretty much been reserved for Lucas’s home and, on the rare occasion, Dylan’s. Dylan shook his head and focused on what Kirk had said. “Avery should be the one apologizing. He’s the one running all over creation playing Superman. Why should I be expected to sit by and watch his self-destruction? It’s not about me being overprotective. It’s about him being fuckin’ reckl—”

  Kirk cut him off with a sweep of his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t about who’s right and who’s wrong.”

  A familiar sting burned behind his eyes. Nothing he hadn’t felt during the past two days. Damn.

  Blinking away what was definitely not tears, because Dylan didn’t do that shit, he glanced down, his gaze landing again on his phone, the ache in his chest blooming until he had trouble breathing around it.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled.

  “Sure it does.” Kirk’s shy grin loosened the constriction around Dylan’s chest. “It’s about compromise. Is whatever you disagreed about important enough to lose this thing you have with your mate?”

  “Because I’m telling you right now, you’ve been a nightmare to work with these past two days,” Lucas threw in his two cents, and Dylan glared at him.

  “Nightmare’s the wrong word, Luc,” Kirk scolded. “Quit being an ass.”

  Lucas huffed behind his devilish grin.

  Kirk went on. “Not a nightmare, but we can tell�
� well… is it about finding that guy?”

  Dylan shrugged.

  “You’re right. None of my business,” Kirk said earnestly. “But maybe you should think of sucking it up and taking one for the team.”

  With a snort, Dylan arched an eyebrow at Kirk who lifted a shoulder.

  “It sounded good. You and Avery…. You’re supposed to be a team, you know.”

  Dylan did know that, but the thought of apologizing for protecting his mate—it wasn’t something he wanted to do. But maybe it was something he needed to do.

  “You have to mean it.” Kirk cut though his thoughts again. “The compromise. You have to mean it, because I’ve met Avery, and he’ll smell your bullshit a mile away. Don’t apologize to him if you’re not going to attempt to see his perspective.”

  Dylan bent forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at his phone. He got why Avery felt the way he did. Hell, if it had gone the other way—Avery sneaking around behind his back—Dylan would have probably taken it as a sign that their bond was faulty. He was lucky Avery didn’t think that way. That he knew of.

  Then a thought occurred to him. What if Avery was using this to get away from him? Find a way back into his old life? The air in Dylan’s lungs was suddenly gone. And fuck if he could catch his breath at the thought of losing Avery. Especially over something so stupid.

  “He’s at home,” Sawyer’s voice roused him from his panic. He hadn’t noticed his friends get up, but they all stood by the entryway. Empathy colored Sawyer’s sad smile.

  “What?”

  “Your hedgehog. He’s at home. My sister had to pick up the rest of his route. Apparently he made a few deliveries this morning but left sick.” Sawyer shrugged.

  Another wave of panic swept through him. This one focused solely on his mate. What good was it doing him or Avery, sitting here moping? He might as well call a spade a spade—if only to himself. He was moping.

  He looked to his friends who seemed to know what he needed before he could ask. Kirk smiled. “We’re gonna go.” He gestured over his shoulder to the doorway. “Good luck.”