Prickly Business

by Piper Vaughn

  “Go on down the hall. Third door on the left is an interview room. Detectives Harris and Melnyk will join you shortly.”

  The room was empty when they arrived. The only furniture was a six-foot-long rectangular table with two chairs on either side. Avery hesitated once they were inside, unsure of whether to sit or stand until the detectives showed up. The decision was taken from his hands when two men strolled into the room a few seconds later.

  One was tall and blond, not quite handsome, with pockmarked skin, broad cheekbones, and thin lips. The other had salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a stout, doughy body that probably hadn’t seen a gym in a decade.

  “Frank Harris,” he said, holding out a hand to Dylan.

  Dylan shook and then Avery was offered a handshake. He didn’t miss the slight sneer as Harris looked him over, though.

  Tall-and-blond’s expression remained neutral. He inclined his head at them both. “I’m Detective Melnyk. We’re with the Missing Persons Unit. Why don’t you both take a seat?” He gestured toward the table with the legal pad he carried.

  Avery and Dylan settled at one side of the table while the detectives arranged themselves on the other.

  “Can you both state your names?” Melnyk said. Avery and Dylan both rattled off the information, with Avery being asked to spell out his surname. “So, Ramona told us you might have information about a missing persons’ case?”

  “Yes.” Avery flipped open his messenger bag and withdrew a sheaf of papers. They were the profiles from the website he’d found of all the girls who’d disappeared recently. Lacey’s face smiled up at him from the top page. Her stats were listed next to the picture. “I’m sure the Portland PB is already aware of Lacey Acker, who vanished a couple of months ago. We frequented a couple of the same clubs, and I told her father I would ask around to see if anyone had information about her location.”

  Harris arched a dark, bushy brow and eyed Avery like a rat that had scurried across his shoe. “So, what, you decided to play detective?”

  Sweat prickled on Avery’s skin. Uncomfortable, he shifted in his chair. “Not exactly. I figured since we ran in similar circles, and I’m not a cop, maybe people would be willing to share with me.”

  “And how’s that been going?” Melnyk’s blank expression hadn’t changed.

  “Well, uh….” Avery spread out the top few pages in his pile. “One guy at the club mentioned hearing a bunch of rumors about human trafficking. I started researching, and I noticed a bit of a trend. A lot of the girls who’ve gone missing have disappeared under similar circumstances, leaving their possessions behind, and—”

  Harris laid a thick finger on one of the sheets Avery had set down and drew it across the table. He and Melnyk exchanged a glance before Harris sighed. “Look, kid, whatever website you found these on needs to update its information. This girl here”—he tapped the paper—“she called her parents a few weeks ago, begging for money. Here they were wondering if she might be dead, but you know where she’d gone? She’d run off to New York with dreams of being in a Broadway show. Last I heard she was doing the walk of shame back home.”

  He shoved the page at Avery, who had to slap at it to keep it from flying off the table. His face heated. “Okay. So we can discount her, but the others—”

  “A lot of young women go missing,” Melnyk said flatly. “It’s a sad fact of life. They’re a vulnerable sect of the population, much like children. Rest assured, we’re looking into all these cases.”

  Flustered, Avery shuffled his stack of paperwork. “You haven’t looked at the others. What if—”

  “We don’t need to see them.” Harris leaned across the table with a sneer. “Go back to clubbing and primping your hair and whatever it is you do. Leave the investigating to the professionals.”

  Avery flushed. “Professionals? If you’d been doing your jobs, maybe Lacey would’ve been found by now. Or all the other people who are still missing. Because I bet that New York girl is the exception not the rule, and it sounds like you didn’t even have a hand in locating her.”

  Harris shot to his feet and aimed a finger at Avery, close enough that Avery could see his chewed nails and mangled cuticles. “You need to watch your tone, boy.”

  Dylan growled softly and tensed as if about to stand. Avery grabbed his thigh to keep him from doing anything rash.

  “Get your hand out of his face,” Dylan snapped.

  “Or what?” Harris scoffed.

  “Harris.” Melnyk’s voice was calm, his expression still blank. There wasn’t even a warning in his tone, but Harris subsided. Grumbling, he sat back down, and Melnyk turned his attention to Avery. “You need to stop playing private detective, Mr. Babineaux. You came in here and wasted our time with nothing but speculation, and it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re getting into. We know how to do our jobs. If we catch wind you’re still investigating these disappearances, we’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” Avery gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying anything else that might incite Harris and in turn set Dylan off.

  “Good. I trust you can see yourselves out.”

  Fuming, Avery shoved the paperwork back into his messenger bag and stood. He left the room knowing Dylan was right on his heels.

  Once they were back at the motorcycle, Dylan spoke. “Maybe they were right.” Avery glared at him, but Dylan held up a hand. “I’m just saying, maybe you should leave it to them. It is their jobs. You don’t want to stir up trouble with the cops, do you?”

  Avery heaved a frustrated sigh and brushed his bangs from his face. “No, but don’t you think they seemed too casual and unconcerned about it all? They wouldn’t even look at what I’d found. They wouldn’t let me tell them why Mr. Otis suspects something might’ve happened to Lacey.”

  Dylan reached out to grab his upper arm. “Avery, I’ve heard the police are bombarded with tips and false confessions all the time. Yeah, they seemed a little dismissive, but you might be too if someone wandered into the precinct claiming to have information about one of your cases, only to produce some outdated printouts from the Internet. I mean, come on. Think about it from their perspective.”

  Avery yanked out of Dylan’s grasp and furrowed his brows together. “You don’t believe me either.”

  Dylan shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but they have experience doing this. You don’t. How are you going to find out something the cops couldn’t?”

  Avery lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “The police aren’t infallible. They make mistakes all the time. Watch the news.”

  Dylan rubbed a hand over his short hair, then sighed. “I know.”

  Avery turned away from him, his eyes stinging from the humiliation of what had happened in the station and from Dylan’s lack of support. Fuck if he’d cry about it, though. The Babineauxs didn’t cry in public. He sniffed and straightened his back. “I’m going to keep investigating Lacey’s disappearance. I promised Mr. Otis I would.”

  Dylan drew his attention with a hand on his shoulder. Avery met Dylan’s gaze, which had softened somewhat. He looked troubled but unsurprised by Avery’s stubbornness. “I’ll help you. In whatever way I can, okay? But if things get too heavy, I want you to promise me you’ll back down and let me call in an anonymous tip to the cops. I don’t want you hurt. I want Lacey found, yes, but your safety is all that matters to me.”

  Avery deflated a bit as some of the steel fled his spine. He let himself lean into Dylan for a moment. “Okay. I promise.”

  THE LOOK on Avery’s face—half resignation and half determination—tore something open in Dylan. He didn’t understand it. It was uncomfortable and confining as hell, his need to protect all of Avery, curl him in bubble wrap so the assholes of the world couldn’t hurt him. Worse was the desire to make his mate smile again. And since when did that matter to Dylan—ever?

  The only smile he’d wanted to see before Avery walked into his life was
the one he’d always been given before a nameless pair of lips stretched around his cock. It was a smirk Dylan knew well—the one that said, “I’m ready to tame this beast.” Not that any of them ever had.

  But this thing with Avery was way out of his league. The more time he spent with Avery, the more he realized no two matings were the same. Dylan didn’t consider himself the consolatory sort, and Avery was definitely no damsel in distress, but the frustration and anger that bubbled up in Avery’s defense when they’d left the station had Dylan needing to fix it. Damned if he could explain it.

  Which is how Dylan found himself at Tallgrass.

  Situated discreetly in the Old Historic District, there was no glowing sign directing patrons to the club. Instead, a simple black placard showing the green outline of several stalks of grass was posted by the door.

  Clever.

  It wasn’t a place Dylan had ever been. No surprise there. He hadn’t been to a number of clubs. Tallgrass was about to be added to a very short list of places he’d probably never go again.

  “Come on.” Avery tugged Dylan from his examination of the redbrick building with arched windows, disguised as a turn of the century boutique. Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled through the door to follow in Avery’s wake. Not a bad view—the jeans Avery wore hugged his ass in all the right ways. Dylan fought back the urge to throw Avery over his shoulder and head back home when his own pants grew a little snug.

  Tallgrass was smaller than Howl, more intimate, but no less crowded. Damn, why had Dylan thought bringing Avery to a club was a good idea? He hated crowds and he hated the club scene.

  Inside, Avery didn’t cease with the pulling, and Dylan followed. A grin threatened to weaken his scowl. He couldn’t help it, despite his irritation at being pulled through a thickening crowd of partygoers. It was the first time that day Avery had let go of his tension since meeting with the detectives. He looked happier. Avery felt happier—and still knowing that, feeling the echo of it confused Dylan.

  For Avery. That’s why you’re here, asshole.

  They weaved through the crowd near the bar that lined the left wall. It was darker than the other clubs, but in a warmer way. The exterior walls stood as raw brick, identical to the outside, with carvings of tall, wavy stalks of grass lit by green lamps running along the entire length of the club.

  Stopping at the end of the bar, Avery tapped the smooth, muted cement top until one of the bartenders—a pretty brunette girl in a black tank—turned her glowing smile to him.

  Dylan wanted to growl and bare his teeth. Instead, he released Avery’s hand to curl his arm around Avery and tug him closer. His back fit perfectly against Dylan’s chest, Avery’s head tucked under his chin. Avery just laughed.

  The bartender—her nametag proclaimed her to be Olive—winked at Dylan, then said to Avery, “Hey there, pretty. It’s been a while.”

  “It hasn’t been that long.” At Avery’s flirty tone, Dylan growled low in his ear. Avery simply ignored him and leaned forward enough to place his elbows on the bar and press his butt firmly into Dylan’s groin. Then in a mock whisper, he said, “I’ve been busy.”

  Olive’s big silver eyes landed on Dylan with a knowing glint, and she smirked. “I see that,” she purred and licked her lips and leaned toward them, beaming up at Dylan. “What can I get you, handsome?”

  Jesus Christ, did everyone in this place flirt?

  “He’ll have whatever dark ale you have on tap,” Avery said, all signs of teasing gone from his tone. Dylan brushed a kiss at his temple when Avery leaned back into Dylan’s chest and laid a possessive hand over his.

  The bartender quirked a brow. “Regular for you?”

  Avery nodded stiffly. He was jealous. It didn’t escape Dylan’s attention, warmth blooming in his chest. It was… nice, knowing Avery wanted him just as much.

  “You’re jealous,” he murmured into Avery’s hairline when Olive rushed off to fill their order.

  “I am not,” Avery huffed. The petulant child act would have been perfect if he’d crossed his arms and pouted.

  Dylan let out a chuckle. “You are.” He bent and nuzzled Avery’s ear, grinning when Avery inhaled in a sharp breath. “I like it,” Dylan rasped.

  When he whimpered, it was all Dylan could do not to say fuck it and find the nearest bed, closet…. Hell, he’d settle for a fucking hallway right now.

  Then Olive returned with their drinks and a wry smile. Avery led him to the back of the club… lounge… whatever. The dance floor was stuffy and packed with writhing, grinding bodies. It smelled of sweat and lust. Somehow it was still classier, more intimate than the desperation and pomp of Howl. And God, Dylan was loath to admit that.

  With his pink-and-orange drink high in the air, Avery weaved Dylan through the tables around the outskirts of the large room. They landed at the first unoccupied one, and Dylan wanted to sit down, close his eyes, and try at block out the dancing masses and too-loud music. But he was here for Avery, so that idea was a no-go.

  Avery threw back the colorful concoction then slammed his glass on the waist-high table. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dylan tilted his glass to his lips and gulped half the beer before setting it down.

  “C’mon.” His hand still tight around Dylan’s, Avery tugged him onto the dance floor.

  As they joined the dancing crowd, Dylan didn’t miss the appreciative and longing looks cast his mate’s way. He couldn’t blame them. Avery was damned gorgeous.

  As if Avery were Moses, the swaying bodies parted to let him pass. Dylan had no clue where they were going. Clearly, there was such a thing as the perfect spot on the dance floor and Avery knew exactly where to find it. Coming to a complete halt, Avery released his hand, turned around, and hooked his fingers in Dylan’s belt loops, stepping in close.

  Dylan didn’t dance. For the most part, he couldn’t pick out one rhythm in the maelstrom of instruments and electronic buzz thrumming through the club. Avery didn’t have that problem. Rubbing and grinding against him, Avery worked his body like a sex god—boneless, graceful, and dirty. All Dylan could do was watch, swaying back and forth, letting Avery use him like a pole. If he had been hot when he walked into the room, it was nothing compared to the sweltering blaze caused by every inch of Avery brushing up against him.

  Avery threw his head back, eyes closed. A look of pure rapture relaxed his face. The apples of his cheeks flushed pink. His lips, plump and red, parted, waiting as if to be filled. All of a sudden Dylan wanted to be the reason for that look. While they were naked. Preferably in bed. The bed was optional.

  When Avery let go of Dylan and lifted his arms in the air, lost in the music, the barest strip of skin showed between his low slung jeans and the hem of his button-down. His scent—strong, musky, and thick—encompassed Dylan.

  Sliding his hands down Avery’s sides, over his hips, and to his ass, Dylan jerked Avery against him and sucked in a harsh breath when his hardening cock met Avery’s firm body. They both groaned. Avery felt good against him—hard, pliant, and right. His eyes snapped open, meeting Dylan’s. Yearning filled his liquid gaze and Dylan was ready to drown in it. With a crooked grin, Avery looped his arms around Dylan’s shoulders, leaned forward, and ran his tongue from collarbone to jawline. Dylan had to hold back a shiver of his own.

  Any thoughts of waiting or why they shouldn’t go there fled Dylan’s mind. He slid a hand up Avery’s spine, the other on his asscheek. Avery ground his bulge into Dylan’s hip at the same time that Dylan threaded his fingers through that thick dance-mussed hair. He tugged and tilted back Avery’s head, then attacked his mouth as though he were a lost man finding a desert oasis. Avery’s parted lips begged to be filled and Dylan did just that, imagining all the ways he could do so if they were alone.

  The kiss was raw and sloppy—all tongues and teeth and need. It was a war of craving, of give and take. Dylan drank in every one of Avery’s whimpers and moans and longed to hear them outside of this setting, without the music
and without… fuck, without all the goddamned people. Greedy hunger licked at him. Eagerness prickled at his skin.

  Ripping his lips away, Dylan stared at Avery, their chests heaving as if they’d run a fucking marathon—pun intended. It’s exactly what Dylan planned for tonight. It was impossible not to see the fire simmering in Avery’s eyes. “We’re leaving,” Dylan growled. He didn’t wait for acknowledgement before he grabbed Avery’s hand and dragged him off the dance floor, through the club, and away from prying eyes.

  What happened next was for Dylan’s eyes alone.

  THE TWO and a half miles from Tallgrass to Avery’s loft might as well have been fifty for how long the drive felt. Thankfully, Dylan had the Firebird tonight. He wasn’t entirely sure he could’ve kept his bike upright anyway, not with Avery pressed, hot and hard, against his back.

  Walking into the building, riding the elevator, and stumbling through Avery’s door all passed in a blur. Having Avery pressed against the wall, his legs wrapped around Dylan’s hips, and the taste—God, the taste of heat and sweat and longing on Avery’s skin—drove Dylan, intoxicated him. He wanted more… needed more.

  Perfect friction nearly blinded him when he rocked his hips forward, their covered cocks grinding in time alongside each other. Avery stretched his neck, tipping his head to the side. Dylan gave a strangled groan. It was all he could do to leash the wolf pressing against his skin, demanding the claiming of his mate. Now.

  Torture. It was delicious, beautiful, soul-wrenching torture, and Dylan knew the blame lay with him. But they hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t discussed anything. Fuck the reservations he’d been so certain about a few weeks ago. The fact was, Dylan wasn’t sure about anything at the moment—nothing but Avery. Right here. Right now.

  He took Avery’s mouth in another kiss—a hungry torrent of tongue and teeth. With long limbs wrapped around him, Dylan felt like a man possessed, inside and out. Avery’s hands touched him everywhere. His hips rubbed up and down, pressure on the border of delicious and frustrating. Dylan owned every one of Avery’s moans, his pleas, his whimpers. Pushing Avery harder against the wall with his lower body, pinning him, he thrust hard, their pace heady and notching up the temperature of the loft.