by Lynn Hagen
“I got it from here.” He tapped the frame of the door. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“You know it’s not a problem. I’ll call the auto shop in the morning just to make sure your SUV was towed there.”
Blake smiled. “You’re a good friend, Arturo.”
Arturo winked. “Don’t I know it.”
He pulled out of the driveway as Blake turned and headed back to Fisher. It was then that he noticed the security lights over his garage hadn’t come on. Blake had had problems with them before but didn’t dismiss the lack of lighting.
“What’s wrong?” Fisher asked.
Blake didn’t want to worry his mate. “Long night.” He went to the front door and let himself in. The entire house was pitch-black. “I think the circuit breaker tripped. Stay by the door while I reset it. I don’t want you getting hurt trying to move around.”
Certain Fisher wouldn’t move, Blake went straight to the circuit breaker in the laundry room. He flipped the lights back on, and then heard Fisher cry out.
Blake left the laundry room and saw why his mate had sounded in distress. The house looked as if someone had torn it apart. Things had been thrown from the bookshelves. The television was lying on the floor. A heavy knickknack had been thrown into the wall, where it was stuck, and potted plants had been overturned.
It looked as though a tornado had whipped through there. Blake went upstairs and found the same wreckage. He ground his teeth when he went into the guest bedroom where Fisher had been sleeping and found the word whore written on the wall in what looked like ketchup.
There was no doubt in his mind that John had been here. If that word hadn’t been on the wall, then Blake would have room for doubt. At first he’d thought his mission of relocating abused victims might’ve caught up with him, that the perp was a pissed-off lover or someone else who had an ax to grind with him.
But that single word put the nail in John’s coffin. Blake was going to hunt the motherfucker down and rip him apart.
He spun when he heard a gasp behind him. Fisher had his hands pressed over his mouth as he stared wide-eyed at the word. He burst out crying as he covered his eyes. “He’s never going to leave me alone.”
Fisher sounded so beside himself that Blake went to him and curled his mate into his arms. He held him close until Fisher started to settle down. “How did he even find me?”
Blake had no clue. He’d parked far enough away from the house when he’d rescued Fisher that there was no possible way John had seen his SUV. He seriously doubted that Fisher had a GPS tracker on him.
Did he? “When did you turn your phone back on?”
Fisher wiped at his eyes and stared up at him. “When you listened to my voice mail and checked my texts. Then when I called Renny for our lunch date.” He frowned. “Then again this morning because I wanted to check my emails.”
“Did John buy you that phone?”
Fisher nodded. “It’s on his plan.”
Blake cursed. “That’s how he found you. I’ll replace it. Give it to me.”
His mate pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it over.
“Is there anything in here you need?”
Fisher shook his head. “I know my dad’s number by heart.”
Blake turned the phone off and smashed it under his boot. He stomped it so hard he was pretty sure some of the plastic embedded into the floor.
“Wow.” Fisher looked at him. “I think you have some aggression you need to work out.”
Blake saw Fisher’s attempt at making light of this. It was his mate’s way of coping with the stress. “I worked a lot of it out with you on that leather couch.”
Fisher’s cheeks turned nuclear. “I’m so sorry he did this to your house.”
“Our house and we’ll get it cleaned up, but first I’m calling Grayson. He needs to know about this.” Blake was also calling Arturo back. He needed someone to keep an eye on things while Blake cleaned up this mess.
He checked the closets, under the beds, and anywhere else someone might hide just to make sure John wasn’t still lingering around. Once he was satisfied that it was just him and Fisher, Blake went downstairs and called Arturo first then the sheriff.
“Are you serious?” Grayson sounded downright pissed. “I’m on my way.”
Arturo got there first. He had been the closest, and when he came inside, a few choice words rumbled from his throat.
“I just need you to do perimeter sweeps while I’m busying putting things back to normal.” The television was trashed. Blake would have to replace it because he loved being on the couch with Fisher.
Thank goodness John hadn’t taken a knife to anything. The couches and beds were still intact, but his mate was no longer sleeping by himself. If John came back, Blake wanted Fisher tucked safely in bed with him.
And if the guy were dumb enough to return, well then, Blake wouldn’t be held responsible for what he planned on doing to the prick.
That was if his body was even found.
Chapter Eight
Blake lifted his head, furrowed his brows, and looked at the empty space next to him in the bed. He remembered Fisher had gone downstairs last night for something to drink, but…Blake racked his brain but wasn’t sure he’d been awake when his mate returned.
He shoved the blanket aside and got up, sitting on the side of the bed and scrubbed his head as he yawned. The clock on his nightstand read 4:27 a.m. It was still dark out, and it looked as though his insomnia was kicking back in. He’d slept for a whole three hours.
Unsure if Fisher had gone back to the guest room last night or was piddling around in the kitchen, Blake got up and went to the bathroom to relieve himself. In nothing but his boxer briefs, he went downstairs.
Everything was dark. That wasn’t right. If Fisher was downstairs, at least one light would be on. He was human and unable to see in the dark like Blake could.
Worry starting to set in, Blake searched the house, but there was no sign of his mate. He cursed the fact that he’d told Arturo to go home after they’d finished cleaning up the house.
Where in the hell was Fisher?
About to leave the kitchen to go upstairs and get his phone, Blake saw a small piece of paper on the kitchen table. He snatched it up and read it, his heart nearly giving out.
Fisher had left him a note saying he was leaving so John would stop harassing Blake. He was sorry he’d caused so much trouble and thanked Blake for rescuing him and taking him in.
Blake crushed the note in his fist as anger and worry settled in his chest. The little fool. Fisher had no idea what Blake would endure for him. Slashed tires and a wrecked house wasn’t shit. Child’s play. And now Fisher was out there somewhere wandering the dark streets with a hundred dollars—certainly less since he’d gone to lunch with Renny—and putting himself in danger.
With a deep snarl Blake raced up the steps and threw some clothes on. He shoved his feet into his boots as his heart thundered at the possibility of John finding Fisher before he did.
He grabbed his cell phone, keys, and wallet before he raced to the garage where his dark green Mustang sat. Blake jumped into it, barely getting the garage door open before he gunned the motor and took off.
He drove the streets, muttering to himself as he searched for any sign of Fisher. Blake had assumed his mate knew how he felt, but he saw now that he’d have to spell it out for Fisher.
Fuck. Blake rubbed his chest, searching, driving slowly and praying he caught a glimpse soon. John was somewhere in town, hiding out, more than likely plotting his next move. If he spotted Fisher, he’d drag Blake’s mate away and Blake would never see him again.
Blake knew that in his heart. John would kill Fisher. There was not a single doubt in his mind. Guys like John were the if-I-can’t-have-you-no-one-can type. He was too narcissist to kill himself, but he’d bury Fisher’s body and never look back, setting his sights on his next victim.
Fisher might never be seen again, a
nd he had no clue how crazy Blake was for him. How much he would take just to be with him. Why hadn’t he told his mate any of that? Why had he kept all that bottled up inside of him?
What was most addictive about Fisher was kissing him. The feeling of Fisher in his arms, his scent, touching him, and looking into those beautiful green eyes. Blake would sell his soul to find Fisher. He needed one more kiss, another brush of his hand over his mate’s back, another slice of heaven, feeling his mate lying in bed next to him, knowing he was right there, all Blake’s.
Blake had no clue what he’d done to deserve Fisher, but he was going to find his mate and tell him everything he felt, even if it was too soon for Fisher. That didn’t matter. His mate needed to know.
He spotted a silhouette crossing the street down by the corner. Blake gunned his motor, speeding up then hitting his brakes until his ass end almost fishtailed. He jumped out of the car and ran to Fisher, ready to pull his mate into his arms until Fisher backed away.
“Why are you out here?”
“Why?” Blake hadn’t meant to shout the question, but his heart was speeding and his pulse was thrashing in his ears. “You walk out on me and you want to know why I’m chasing you down?”
“But I left a note,” Fisher argued. “Didn’t you see it?”
Blake shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled paper. “This?”
“Yeah.” Fisher nodded.
Blake clenched his jaw and rubbed his hand down his face. He needed to calm down because Fisher was backing away even farther.
“Mates don’t walk away from each other, no matter how bad things get. We work our problems out, Fisher. You have no idea what you mean to me, and the thought of never seeing you again…”
He was getting way too emotional. Blake felt as if he’d lose his shit at any second. Not in the way of hurting Fisher but with the crazy feeling in his gut that Fisher would walk out on him, of the fear that clenched his heart.
“But I’m nothing but trouble,” Fisher said. “You saw what he did to your tires and house, Blake. What if he escalates? What if next time he sets fire to your house or shoots you?” Fisher’s voice became clogged with tears. “I can’t let that happen. I have to get away from you before you get hurt.”
A bark of laughter escaped Blake. “I’m a bear shifter. I can handle more than you know.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. That’s my point.”
Blake couldn’t take the distance any longer. He pulled Fisher into his arms and just held him, inhaling his scent. “Absolutely nothing is worth losing you over. Not John, not anything. We fight this together, Fisher. I can’t lose you, because you’re my everything.”
“I am?”
Blake chuckled and pulled back just enough to look down at him. “You have so much to learn. Our souls are bound, Fisher. I’d take a fucking bullet for you.”
“Oh my god! Don’t say that. I’m not worth—”
A hot searing pain shot down Blake’s spine as the report of the gunshot echoed through the empty streets.
“Blake!”
As badly as Blake hurt, and he hurt so damn much that he wanted to collapse, he grabbed Fisher and ran for his Mustang. He practically threw his mate into it before Blake climbed in and slammed the door.
Across the street, he saw someone standing just in front of his car, a gun aimed at him.
“That’s John,” Fisher whispered as if he feared saying the man’s name too loudly.
Snarling, Blake floored it, heading straight for the bastard. He was going to kill the son of a bitch with his car. But John raced away, hauling ass up someone’s driveway.
Everything started going gray. Blake was gonna pass out, and he couldn’t do that with Fisher so close to his ex. He had to get his mate to safety.
Grayson’s house was too far, so Blake drove toward town, barely hanging on. He’d been shot in the back—that fucking coward had shot him in the damn back—and his right arm had already gone numb. His seat felt wet, and Blake knew it was his blood.
Fisher was shouting something, but Blake was too busy concentrating on keeping his eyes open. He lost the battle seconds before he felt his car crash and he blacked out. His last thought was of Fisher’s safety.
* * * *
Fisher groaned as he blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurred, though he could make out swirling lights. Someone was saying something to him, but Fisher couldn’t understand the words. His head was pounding too badly and something wet was in his eyes.
“Just hang on, son,” someone said in a deep voice. “We’re gonna get you out of there, but I need you to remain still. Your head is bleeding pretty badly, and I don’t know if you have any spinal injuries.”
Everything seemed foggy, and all Fisher could make out were shadows. He tried to concentrate, tried to recall what had happened. He heard noises, like a buzzing sound, and it was irritating as hell.
Fisher slapped at his seat belt but couldn’t find the button to release it.
“Don’t move, son. Listen to me. Concentrate on my voice. I’m Chief Monroe, but you can call me Sal. Can you tell me your name?”
Sal. Fisher had known a Sal, and it had been short for Salvador. He’d been a guy Fisher had been sweet on in high school. A jock. Then Salvador had found out that Fisher had a crush on him and proceeded to make his life hell—knocking books out of his hands, stuffing him into his locker, tripping him.
Fisher didn’t like jocks anymore. Why was Sal trying to save him? That didn’t make any sense.
“Go away,” Fisher moaned. “No lockers, you jerk.”
Something slid around his neck. Fisher smacked at the hands that touched him.
“Calm down. It’s a medic,” Sal said. “Jake Crawford is gonna take good care of you.”
“How are you holding up?” It was a different voice, deep and soothing.
“What’s going on?” Fisher wiped at his eyes, and when he did, they stung.
“Keep your hands down, Fisher. You’ve been in a car accident. You hit your head on the windshield pretty badly. It’s real good that you’re awake. What’s your name?”
“You just said it,” Fisher moaned.
“I’d like for you to say it again,” Jake said in that ultra-soothing voice. How could Fisher resist? He wanted the guy to keep talking. Just like he wanted—“Blake!”
Fisher began to struggle. He needed to get to Blake. John had shot him, and Blake had been bleeding. He’d passed out behind the wheel.
“Relax,” Jake said. “Calm yourself. Tell me your name.”
“Where is Blake?”
“The driver has already been removed from the car. Tell me your name.”
“Fisher Allan.” His focus returned with sharp clarity. He saw the fire truck in front of him, parked a few feet away. The ambulance was next to that. People were standing around, looking at Fisher through the cracked windshield. He could also see his blood on the glass.
“You weren’t wearing your seat belt, Fisher,” Jake said.
“We were running from…” Fisher’s breathing became quick and shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut as nausea took over. “I’m gonna be sick.”
“I’m going to move you, Fisher. Try and keep your head as steady as possible. If you get sick, that’s okay. The important thing is not to move.”
“Where’s Blake?”
“Is he your mate?” Jake asked in a lower voice as the people behind him moved closer.
Fisher had no idea how Jake knew that. Was he a shifter, too? Was that even important right now? “Yes, where is he?”
“A friend of his took him to the clinic,” Jake said. “Blake needed to shift to work the bullet out.”
“Friend? What friend?” What if John had posed as Blake’s friend and took him? What if he’d already killed Blake, who was in a fragile state right now?
Fisher’s shallow breathing intensified, and the world started to spin.
“Someone in a dark green Hummer.” Jak
e slid his hand behind Fisher. “I’m going to move you now. We’re going to the clinic, Fisher. You’ll be able to see Blake there.”
Arturo. The bouncer owned a Hummer.
Fisher closed his eyes as he was moved to a gurney, loaded into the ambulance, and whisked away to the clinic. Jake kept messing with him, opening Fisher’s eyes so he could flash a light in them. Poking him, and talking. He didn’t want to talk. All Fisher wanted was Blake.
This was all his fault. If Fisher hadn’t left the house, Blake would’ve never been shot. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to his mate.
This whole debacle was the reason Fisher had wanted to leave in the first place. Now John wouldn’t stop until Blake was dead and he had Fisher back home, punishing him until he probably killed him, too.
When they entered the clinic, Fisher began shouting, “I want Blake. Take me to Blake, now!”
Jake started talking to the doctor in medical terms Fisher didn’t understand. They were ignoring him as if he wasn’t screaming his fool head off.
“Mr. Allan.” Some guy in a lab coat looked Fisher directly in the face. The guy had pale blue eyes and dark hair. He was tall and slim and wore black-rimmed glasses. He was also sexy as hell. “I’m Dr. Bjord. I’m taking you to Blake now, but I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” Fisher said around the hard, burning lump in his throat. He was wheeled into a room and then transferred to a bed.
Jake patted Fisher’s hand. “I hope you get better, Fisher.”
“Thank you.” Fisher couldn’t see Jake’s handsome face because his eyes were filled with tears.
Another guy filled Fisher’s vision, and it wasn’t Blake. This newcomer was tall as hell, with dark hair and a goatee. He had the strangest eyes Fisher had ever seen. The irises swirled with beautiful colors. Could eyes do that?
“I’m Gavril.” The guy smiled. “I’m just gonna check you out real quick.”
“Where’s Blake?” he asked as Gavril placed a hand on Fisher’s chest. What kind of examination was this? The guy wasn’t doing anything but touching him.