by Sadie Moss
When she finished, the murderous look on his face had only deepened. He shook his head. “Travis Sims. That fucking cock. He was convinced I was stealing business from him, but I wasn’t. He was a slimy dirt ball—no one wanted to hire him twice.”
Molly nodded, her bright gaze meeting his. I remembered our conversation about love and wondered if, in this moment, she regretted falling in love with Carl. If she wasn’t part of his life, his world, she would’ve been safe today. It was their relationship that had put her—us—in danger.
But she answered that question for me when she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely. He kissed her back, his hands clutching at her body like he was afraid she might evaporate any second. From the way all of my mates still had their hands on me, and the way they gathered around close, giving me only enough space to breathe, I guessed they felt the same way.
Carl finally broke the kiss, pulling Molly into his embrace again and meeting my gaze over her shoulder. His green eyes glittered intently as he dipped his head.
“Thank you, Alexis. I owe you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Breathing deep, I gave Carl a small smile that probably looked about as sickly as I felt.
Noah hadn’t stopped staring at me, concern filling his expression. “Are you all right, Scrubs?”
I nodded, although even that gesture made me feel a little woozy. The room seemed to keep moving in my periphery even after my head stopped, and I blinked hard.
“I’ll help her get cleaned up.”
Jackson wrapped an arm around my shoulders, which still prickled with goose bumps. I couldn’t seem to get warm, even though the air outside had been hot and dry like always.
He guided me toward the bathroom, and I walked on numb legs. When we reached it, he perched me on the closed lid of the toilet and left, returning a moment later with a change of clothes.
“I got a long-sleeved shirt. It’ll help you warm up.” He tugged me to my feet again, his usually laughing face serious as he gazed at me.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the closed door and blanched. I looked like a horror show. Despite Molly’s attempts to help me clean up, my mouth and face were still stained with streaks of drying blood.
“Nice dress.” Jackson grinned at me, a little of his usual spirit returning. “Is it new?”
A choked laugh bubbled up my throat. “I bought it today. You like it?”
“Yeah.” He cocked his head, considering the bloodstained yellow dress. “It’s like ‘beachy badass.’ Is that a thing?”
I laughed again. The sound was almost manic, but it felt good, as if it opened some kind of release valve on my pressurized emotions.
Jackson stepped around me to turn on the shower, tugging the curtain closed while he waited for the water to heat up. My legs still felt unsteady, so I sat down on the closed toilet again while I watched him test it with a hand under the spray. His focus and concentration were adorable. He was so earnest, so uninhibited. I never had to guess what Jackson was thinking or how he felt.
Unlike some of the other men in my life.
“Jackson?” I asked softly. “Is West mad at me? Does he not trust me anymore?”
He pulled his hand back, shaking the water droplets off as he turned to face me. “No way, Alexis. He’s not mad at you. What makes you think that?”
I swallowed. I wasn’t in a great emotional place to have this conversation, but I’d brought it up, so I forged ahead. “Ever since my wolf came out, he’s been so weird. It’s like he doesn’t trust me—or himself around me. Is it because my wolf keeps losing control?”
He sighed, leaning against the wall near the shower and running a hand through his dark brown hair. “No. It’s not that at all.”
“Then what?” I pressed. “I always thought it was Rhys who hated me, but it’s like he just passed the baton off to West.”
A chuckle rumbled in Jackson’s chest. “Man, they really are grumpy fuckers, aren’t they?”
I almost smiled, but the nerves pitching in my stomach wouldn’t let me. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
He seemed to debate something internally for a moment. Then, having reached a decision, he crouched on the balls of his feet in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. His amber eyes sought mine, a haunted look in them.
“It’s not you, Alexis. It’s him. When we were at the San Diego complex, West was forced into a mate bond—the doctors were running some new ‘experiment’ or other, and decided to play God some more. They managed to force the connection, but it wasn’t a true mate bond. It—it was super fucked up.”
He shook his head, and the expression on his face made me sure that as horrible as what he’d just said sounded, I’d gotten the sugar-coated version.
“It messed him up bad,” Jackson continued. “Even after the docs scrapped the experiment, he wasn’t the same for months. And now, what he has with you—what we all have with you… It’s a real mate bond, I’m sure of it. But he doesn’t trust it. He can’t let himself accept it.”
I bit my lip, wanting to cry at the pain in Jackson’s voice, at the thought of West suffering like that. I hated that the bond between us was opening those old wounds, and as much as I needed West in my life, I wished there was some way I could release him from this. Free him from his torment.
Jackson must’ve read the look in my eyes, because he gave my knees a squeeze. “He’ll come around, Alexis. I promise.”
My chin jerked in a half-nod. It was all I could muster. The weight of the day was finally catching up to me, and I felt shaky and exhausted.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s get you clean, okay?”
He rubbed my legs where new goose bumps broke out, then pulled me gently to my feet. The water had heated up while we talked, and now puffs of steam filled the bathroom.
Jackson’s hands skimmed up to the straps of my sundress, and he looked up, meeting my gaze. “Can I?”
I dipped my chin again, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes. With gentle care, he slipped the straps off my shoulders. The dress was loose and breezy, and without the straps holding it up, the fabric slid easily off my body, baring me completely. His gaze trailed downward, his attention warming my skin like beams of sunlight.
Then he reached a hand over his head, tugging off his own shirt before shucking his pants and shoes, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs. He helped me into the tub then joined me, reaching around me to adjust the temperature slightly.
He positioned me under the spray of water before lathering his hands with soap. Little droplets clung to his broad pecs and shoulders, trailing down through the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. When his hands began to massage my skin gently, working their way down from my face and neck, over the line of my collarbone and across my shoulders, I let out a small sigh.
It felt like I was melting, becoming an entirely new form. As if his touch was changing something fundamental about the makeup of my being.
And I liked this version of me so much better.
My eyelids drooped as I lost myself in the wonderful feeling, letting him take control as the tension drained from my body. His touch was gentle, worshipful, and when my gaze dropped down, I saw that he was hard. A thick bulge pressed against the fabric of his wet boxer briefs, straining toward me. But he ignored it, even as his hands moved down over my breasts, letting pink, soapy water trail over my body as he washed the blood away.
My nipples peaked under his palms, and a dull, throbbing ache began to build in my core. I was as affected by his reaction to me I was by his determination to ignore it so he could take care of me.
This mate bond between us, whatever it was, was more than just attraction or lust. I’d never felt more sure of that than I did this moment.
It was love. Tenderness. Caring.
I bit my lip, overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions. Unbidden, my hands reached out to touch him the same way he was touching me, slidin
g over the smooth skin of his arms, over his shoulders, and across his chest. His movements paused briefly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
The two words were a rough whisper, and I could tell my touch was straining his self-control. But I didn’t care. These men all had way too damn much self-control as far as I was concerned. They were my mates. I should be able to touch them, be close to them, if I wanted to. And the feel of Jackson’s large hands on my body made me feel whole and alive.
I did as he ordered, turning my back to him and letting the spray of the shower pour over my chest and shoulders. He washed my hair, his thick fingers massaging my scalp. Then he urged me forward so the water ran down over my head, washing the suds away.
The bulge of his cock brushed against my low back, and when he moved to pull away, I moved with him, pressing my back to his front as I molded our bodies together. He let out a groan as I shifted against him, and his arms wrapped around me to strengthen the connection between us.
He dipped his head, ghosting his lips over my wet hair, across the shell of my ear. When they trailed over the line of my jaw, an explosion of sensations zapped through me like lightning. I squirmed in his grasp, turning my head to capture his mouth with mine.
Finally.
Perfection.
I had needed this for so long, and it was better than anything I’d imagined. Jackson kissed just like he lived, with open-hearted, passionate abandon. His lips moved against mine, his tongue darting out to caress the seam of my lips, and when I opened to him, he tasted me like a starving man. His hands slid up to cup my breasts, and I gasped into his mouth.
In a quick motion, Jackson broke our kiss and spun me around to face him, backing me up against the side wall of the shower. His big hands framed my face as he looked down at me, his cock pressing into my belly.
“Fuck, Alexis. I really didn’t mean to start anything.”
“I know,” I whispered breathlessly. “I think I started it.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, maybe you did.” He dipped his head to kiss me again, making the world spin as his mouth explored mine.
When we broke apart this time, I grabbed onto his strong shoulders to steady myself. If I’d felt shaky when we first stepped into the shower, my knees were like Jell-O now.
But this kind of shaky, I didn’t mind. In fact, I wanted more of it.
I rose up on tiptoes to kiss him again just as a knock came at the door.
It scared the crap out of me, bursting the little bubble we’d created where nothing existed but quiet groans and hot steam and our warm bodies. I jumped, and I probably would’ve slipped and cracked my head open if Jackson hadn’t steadied me with a strong grip.
His brows furrowed as he raised his voice to call out, “Yeah? We’re a little busy in here!”
I half expected it to be one of his pack mates teasing us about taking too long. But when West’s voice came through the door, there was nothing teasing in his tone. His voice was curt and hard with worry.
“You better get out here. You need to see this.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson’s eyes met mine, worry darkening their amber glow.
“Okay!” he called. “We’ll be right there!”
He must’ve heard the same thing in West’s voice I had, because he didn’t waste any time. The perfect bubble between us burst completely when he reached over and turned the knob, shutting the water off. He helped me out of the tub, handing me a fresh towel before wrapping one around his own waist.
Then he pressed a kiss to my hair, heat returning to his gaze for just a second before he whispered, “Are you okay to get dressed on your own? I’ll throw on dry clothes and meet you out there.”
I nodded, nerves already rising up inside me as he slipped out the door.
What was wrong now? Had Strand found us? Had the bodies of our abductors been discovered? Were more of Carl’s enemies after him?
The more time I had to think, the more horrible scenarios I dreamed up. So I dressed as quickly as I could in the jeans and long-sleeved shirt Jackson had brought me. He’d delivered shoes too, but I didn’t even bother putting them on, just grabbed them and carried them down the hall to the living room.
Voices greeted me, but no one in the room was talking. The only sound came from the TV, where a CNN news anchor addressed the camera.
“—that Terrence Cole, the CEO of the Strand Corporation, has died unexpectedly at the age of fifty-four. Doctor Alan Shepherd, Cole’s right hand man and long-time partner, will be taking over as head of the company.”
To the left of the perfectly manicured announcer, an image appeared of a middle-aged man with short brown hair and blue eyes.
I blinked, all the air escaping my lungs in a rush.
Doctor Shepherd.
The man who had been my caretaker, mentor, and friend for almost half my life.
The man who had utterly betrayed me. Lied to me. Used my fears and hopes to keep me pliable as he performed unconscionable experiments on me.
My legs went weak, my shock at coming face-to-face with him making me dizzy—never mind that he wasn’t really here, was probably hundreds of miles away.
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, steadying me before I collapsed. Jackson had just entered the room after me, and he gave me a gentle, reassuring squeeze before we both turned our attention back to the television.
“It’s unclear what this will mean for the future of Strand. The company is notoriously tightlipped about its operations and has come under criticism for refusing to disclose all of its business dealings.”
“That’s right, Stacy. But given Doctor Shepherd’s presence at Strand since the company’s inception, it seems unlikely the direction of the company will change drastically with him at the helm,” her co-anchor put in, turning to her with a serious expression. “Shepherd, who’s remained out of the public eye for the most part, preferring to leave the media attention to Cole, issued only a brief statement in response to the news of Cole’s death.”
She nodded, picking up the story with practiced ease. “He said that he would honor the vision Cole had for the company and mentioned that they would be ramping up spending on research and development, making that the Strand Corporation’s main priority in coming years.”
The newscasters continued talking, passing the story back and forth like two kids tossing a ball at recess. But I stopped listening.
More research and development.
These perfectly polished news anchors might not know what that meant, but I did.
More human experiments.
More lives stolen.
And who knew what would happen to the ones they already had.
“—has been criticized for its ties to overseas dictators. Some speculate that Strand has been trying to produce biological weapons, although no evidence of any such wrongdoing exists,” the female anchor said, her blandly pleasant voice drawing my attention once more.
“Yes. Given those allegations, it’ll be interesting to see whether Shepherd chooses to be more transparent about the company’s dealings, or if he’ll follow the precedent established by Cole.”
The image on the screen shifted, and the two anchors moved on to other breaking news, speaking in the exact same cadence and rhythm, as if all their stories were essentially the same.
I was finally able to pull my focus from the TV set, and my gaze flicked around the room. Noah and Rhys sat in the two large chairs on either side of the room while Carl and Molly shared the couch, and West stood near the hallway entrance where Jackson and I hovered.
Wordlessly, Carl snatched up the remote from the cushion beside him, pressing a button to mute the TV. The newscasters’ mouths continued to move, their expressions neutral but serious, as text scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
The room fell into a thick silence, broken only by the squeak of the chair spring as Rhys’s feet bounced in agitation.
“Motherfucker.” West’s voice was a low growl, full of more hatred than I’d ever heard in my life. “More research and development? Hasn’t he made enough of us by now?”
“And I’d bet every damn thing I own he’ll try to sell the new models as weapons,” Jackson said in a disgusted tone, his chest vibrating against my back. “Did you catch that bit about their ties with overseas dictators?”
“Yeah. I caught it. We—”
“We have to go. Now!” Rhys exploded up from his chair so fast I jumped in surprise, shrinking back into Jackson’s embrace. The black-haired shifter ran a hand through his long hair as he paced across the room, eyes flashing. “Right now! Let’s go!”
He moved toward the hallway, apparently intending to grab our stuff and walk out the door this minute, never mind that we had no means of transportation and no solid idea where we were going.
West stepped into his path, putting a hand on his chest. “Woah, slow down, man. You’re right, this is bad. And you’re right that we can’t wait any longer. Alexis is doing better, and if we don’t get to Sariah soon, who knows what kind of shit they’ll try to do to her. But we need a plan.”
“Fuck a plan! We’ve spent weeks digging for information on a Strand location in Salt Lake, and we’ve found shit. We’re not getting anywhere trying to do this from a distance. We need to. Be. There. I’ll knock down every fucking door in the city if I have to, but I swear to God, I will find—”
“Okay, Rhys. Okay.” West grabbed his pack mate’s shoulders, cutting off his tirade. Rhys dragged in a rough breath, his body shaking with suppressed energy. “We’ll go to Salt Lake. We’ll get closer. But we can’t move on anything until we know for sure. We can’t afford to be sloppy about this, brother.”
“If we are, we’ll only risk Sariah getting hurt,” Noah put in softly. He’d risen from his chair too, his gray eyes swirling with worry. “Or killed.”
