by Jenn Burke
“Barrett? Who have you got there?”
Ben looked over his shoulder to see Paul’s other bodyguard, Valentin, had moved to stand between the threat and Paul. Paul was craning his neck around Valentin’s bulk.
Shit. Ben didn’t think Paul would get rid of an innocent human, but he wasn’t sure. Problem was, he couldn’t think of any way to get her out of the restaurant without blowing his own cover—and he couldn’t do that, not yet.
If there’s any sign she’s in danger…
“A Nathan Rashad fan, sir.”
“I see.” Paul smiled, but even from across the room, Ben could see his eyes didn’t reflect the expression. “Well, bring her over. I’m sure Rylee won’t mind saying hi.”
Ben glanced at Rylee to see her happy soccer-mom mask was back in place. “Not at all. Come here, dear.”
Ben released the girl’s arm and herded her over to the table. She was all but vibrating, she was so excited.
“Ma’am—Mrs. Rashad—it’s such an honor to meet you. I’m Nathan’s biggest fan and I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. I would have asked to be one of your servers, but I just came in a few minutes ago.”
Rylee took the woman’s hand in hers in a light grip. “Lovely to meet you, Miss…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Lisbeth. Lisbeth Saito.”
“I’ll let Nathan know how excited you were to see me,” Rylee assured her with a smile. “Though maybe next time it’s not the best idea to eavesdrop, hm?”
“Oh! I didn’t. I wasn’t. I just wanted a picture to prove it was you. But…you purposely arranged an empty restaurant for privacy and…I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.” She sighed. “I’m so going to get fired for this.”
“I’d be happy to have a word with the manager, dear.”
“You’d talk to Mr. Karga?”
“Certainly. If you hand over your phone.”
Lisbeth looked at the device she was clutching, and with a sigh, gave it to Rylee. “I only took two photos.”
“Thank you, dear.” Rylee made the phone disappear, and handed over a card. “Contact me at this number with your address, and we’ll get you a replacement, okay?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rashad. And again, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—”
Paul flicked his fingers and Ben took that as his hint to guide Lisbeth away from the table, toward the kitchen. As they passed through the swinging doors, Ben whispered, “Don’t call that number.”
“What?” she said, startled.
“Trust me, please. Don’t call it.”
Maybe she saw something in his eyes, or maybe she was putting two and two together on her own and realizing just how close she’d come to disaster, but she slowly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Ben didn’t let his soft breath of relief escape, nor did he thank Lisbeth for showing up when she did. Because now he knew who Rylee was, beyond a first name…and that was something tangible he could pass along to FUC.
It didn’t take long for Oliver to discover that there wasn’t much for a bored significant other to do at the ranch. He did a yoga routine after Ben left, which prepared him for the day—and stretched out some muscles that were in sore need of stretching after their morning activities. Then he headed down to the kitchen to get breakfast, where he discovered Paul employed a cook who did not like strangers in his space. So much for cooking to pass the time.
After he ate his yogurt with granola and fruit, he decided it was time for some recon. First, he toured the interior of the house, mapping out all of the ingress and egress points while oohing and ahhing again over the movie room, the games room, and the indoor pool. But as soon as he tried to step outside, through one of the French doors leading off the pool, a guard was there, on the other side of the door, preventing his exit.
That didn’t stop him from trying again, this time from the sunroom next to the kitchen. Another guard appeared to block his way. Either there was a silent alarm going off in their ears, or they were keeping a very close eye on Oliver’s movements. Hell, maybe both.
Whatever the case was, it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to explore the ranch’s exterior…and that made Oliver all the more determined to do so.
As he was passing back through the kitchen, the cook shoved a plate with a sandwich into his hands. Oliver was about to protest that he’d just eaten not two hours before, but bit back the words.
“Thank you,” he said instead. “I think I’ll take this up to my room, if that’s okay?”
“Don’t make a mess for the housekeeper,” the cook grumbled.
“I won’t,” Oliver promised him. “I’ll probably have a nap afterwards.”
The cook grunted, obviously uninterested in Oliver’s plans. That was okay—he’d made that announcement for the guards’ benefit.
He hurried upstairs and took a couple of minutes to nibble at the food. Then he moved over to the window Jeremy had slipped through that morning and eyed the size of the opening. Though the window itself was quite large, the pane that levered upward to let in air while preventing rain from coming in was only two feet by two feet. Plenty of room for a squirrel…not so much for a whooping crane. He could fit through it, but it was going to be awkward to get his long legs through and his wings open and flapping before he hit the ground.
Whatever. He’d make it work.
Quickly, he stripped and shifted. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed his feathered form. He stretched out his wings and neck, barely resisting the urge to sing out his enjoyment. That would bring the guards, and that would be bad.
As he anticipated, getting out through the window was awkward and uncomfortable, and almost resulted in him tumbling straight to the ground. Luckily instincts took over and he unfurled his wings, flapping as hard as he could until he caught an updraft. Then, rising over the ranch was effortless, and he got his first good look at the entirety of the compound.
The house was enormous—which he already knew, thanks to his interior tour. Next to the house was a detached garage, which, again, he’d already seen the night before. It was big, but as far as Oliver knew, held only cars. Behind the house and garage, though, were buildings Oliver had only glimpsed earlier.
One looked like a typical barn, big and black instead of red, but with the iconic arched roof. Another building was smaller, a thinner rectangle, and might have been a stable. A third, further away from the house, was somewhere in between—wide like the barn, but not as large. The shape of it tickled Oliver’s memory for a moment, until it came to him. It looked like a hangar, though a small one. Was there a landing strip on the property? He hadn’t heard any planes coming in. Maybe they’d cleared a runway…somewhere. But it didn’t seem likely, since they were surrounded by hills and forests. Not the most ideal terrain for aircraft.
Getting close to the barn in his feathered form wasn’t easy. His wingspan was enormous—nearly eight feet wide—and not suited to a forest landing. There was a small strip of land behind the barn before the trees, thankfully. He landed there, the barn blocking any view of him from the house, and shifted quickly. Paul had already proved himself less than technically savvy, and it was the same situation here—no cameras to tattle on him to the guards.
Oliver nudged a person-sized door open and stopped to listen. Silence greeted him, which was…weird. Wasn’t it? He’d never thought of a barn as being a quiet place, though admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with them. But animals made noise, right? So he should be hearing something, even if it was only a cow breathing.
Nothing.
He slipped through the door and discovered the barn…wasn’t a barn at all.
Where the stalls for animals should be were rows of what looked like jail cells. They were all empty of people right now, but the cots with thin blankets and buckets for—Oliver barely held back a gag as he realized what they were for—well, it all indicated that the cells were ready for people.
Oliver quickly counted them. Ten cell
s. Something else caught his eye—little ceramic thingies that tickled another memory. Shit. Were the cages electrified?
Jail cells with locks would be enough to hold humans, so Oliver had to assume that these cells were meant to hold shifters. But why? Were they getting ready for some type of war and needed space to house prisoners? Or was this a holding base for another round of shifter experiments, like what had been done in the past?
Neither case was good.
Oliver quickly exited the way he’d come, only to stop short at the sight of a guard rounding the corner of the barn. He froze as the guard shouted, “Stop!”
You’re harmless. A nobody. Oliver’s hands shot up in the air. “I-I’m sorry! I was just bored.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“Just looking around. I thought maybe Mr. Paul had a horse I could ride.”
“Naked?”
Oliver glanced down. “Well, no. But I was flying and—” He bit his lip. “Please don’t tell on me. I didn’t mean to make trouble, I swear.” For good measure, he let his eyes well up with tears. “I don’t want to piss Mr. Paul off on my first day here, you know?”
The guard huffed out a disgusted sigh, maybe at Oliver’s begging or the tears about to fall, he didn’t know. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Get your ass back inside.”
Oliver didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled across the yard toward the house, and tried to get a good look at the other buildings as he passed. The guard stayed close behind him, though, so he couldn’t look his fill. At first glance, the rectangular building and the hangar seemed normal enough. Oliver wished he’d had more time to explore and discover the truth.
At least he had something to share with Ben when he got back. And hopefully Ben would have a piece to this puzzle too.
10
Ben didn’t open the door to the room he shared with Oliver until close to midnight. By that point, he was all but dead on his feet. Standing around doing nothing—mostly—was hard. Every muscle in his back was whining in protest. He’d gotten used to being active while at the academy, and standing around all day was not a good substitute.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said as he spotted Oliver sitting in a chair by the window where Jeremy had come in.
“Thank god.” Oliver unfolded his legs from where they’d been tucked under him, graceful as always, and made his way across the room. “Are you okay?” He lifted a hand like he wanted to cup Ben’s face, but hesitated.
Ben laid his cheek in Oliver’s palm, and Oliver took that as an invitation to move closer. “I’m fine. Better now.”
“I can touch you?”
“Any way and any time you like.” Ben tilted his head at the slight confusion on Oliver’s features. “Ol, what kind of men have you dated before?”
“Not good ones.”
“I guess not.”
“Is this…what we’re doing? Dating?”
Ben smirked. “Have you forgotten already? We’re married.”
Oliver smacked his biceps. “Jerk.”
That tugged a tired chuckle out of Ben before he sobered again. “I found some stuff out.”
“Me too. This place…” Oliver shuddered. “It’s not a good place.”
“No kidding. Look, I—”
A knock on the door interrupted what Ben was about to say. He shot Oliver a questioning look, and Oliver shrugged and shook his head. No one had a reason to bother them at this time of night, unless Paul needed Ben for something?
Gah, he hoped not. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, wallow in the mattress until he made a nice Ben Beaufort-shaped dent in it, and fall asleep with Oliver in his arms.
Taking a breath and pulling the Barrett persona around him again, Ben opened the door. “What?” he demanded, with just the right level of belligerence in his voice.
Regan, Paul’s right-hand man, raised a brow. “Mr. Paul wants to see you and your husband downstairs. Now.”
Shit. Shit. Was their cover blown? “Why?”
“You don’t get paid to question orders,” Regan barked. He looked over Ben’s shoulder and snapped his fingers at Oliver. “You. C’mon, Mr. Paul wants to see you too.”
Oliver sidled up to Ben and Ben automatically draped his arm over Oliver’s shoulders, pulling him close. He hoped Oliver found as much comfort in the gesture as Ben did.
Whatever they were facing now, they’d face it together.
Oliver entwined his fingers with Ben’s as they entered Paul’s study behind Regan. Paul rose from his chair behind his desk and came around the front to lean his butt against it. He wore a suit, the one he’d been wearing all day, Oliver presumed, and he left his jacket unbuttoned.
Now now, don’t relax too much, buddy.
Paul gave Ben a nod and then turned his attention to Oliver. “Nice to see you again, Ricky. My men mentioned you had a self-guided tour of the grounds this afternoon.”
He should’ve known the guard wouldn’t keep it to himself. His loyalty was clearly with his boss. Oliver put on his “good boy getting scolded” face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. But it’s a pretty big clue when the guards prevent you from leaving the house, don’t you think?”
“I n-needed to fly.” Oliver moved so he was pressed against Ben’s side, and it wasn’t entirely an act. Paul’s eyes were cold, emotionless, and Oliver knew he meant less than nothing to the man. He wondered if anyone did.
Paul tilted his head. “I can understand that. Our animal instincts are difficult to ignore. It doesn’t explain why one of my men found you coming out of the barn.”
“Like I told him,” Oliver started, giving Ben an apologetic look, “I was bored. I thought maybe there was a horse I could ride? Or…something.”
“You didn’t find anything amusing in the barn?”
Crap. What was the right answer? “I, uh, found something interesting.” Paul gestured for him to go on, and Oliver prayed it was the right choice. “Cages?”
Ben tightened his grip on Oliver’s fingers. Did the presence of cages mean something to him?
“No horses, then.”
“N-no, sir. No horses.”
Paul eyed Oliver without blinking. Enough time passed that Oliver fought the urge to squirm or say something, just to fill the silence with sound. Just to make Paul do something instead of standing there, staring…
Finally, Paul nodded. “I should have guessed that someone who was used to being the center of attention would find life on the ranch somewhat boring.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said in a small voice.
“No, no, don’t be sorry. I think I have a solution that will suit us all.” Paul shot Regan a look, and Regan gave a nod. Paul straightened with a smile. “Come, let me show you to your new workplace, Ricky.”
New workplace. Oh, man, this couldn’t be good.
Paul and Regan led them outside, flanked by other guards. Oliver was surprised to see a large moving truck parked on the asphalt between the barn and the other stable-like building. More figures milled about, male and female, all dressed in black fatigues or similar clothing. He hadn’t heard any of the activity from inside the house. Too distracted by Ben being back, he supposed.
If he needed more proof that they were probably (definitely) in over their heads…
Someone rolled up the back door of the moving van and hopped into the cargo compartment. A moment later, a young woman appeared, blinking at the dimly lit compound.
Oliver stopped breathing.
She couldn’t be out of her teens by much—if she even was. Her clothes were ripped and dirty and her hair was knotted. Everything about her body language screamed of fear and uncertainty. And then he saw the cuffs that bound her wrists together in front of her.
Ben squeezed his fingers again, hard enough to hurt, and that made Oliver suck in a breath. Another young woman appeared, then a young man, followed by another. In all, Oliver counted ten—enough to fill the c
ages inside the barn.
Paul let out a satisfied sigh. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Oliver managed to make an affirmative noise without opening his mouth. He was worried he’d puke if he did.
“They’re all prey shifters,” Paul continued, an unsettling glint in his eye. “Submissive and compliant.”
“Excellent.” Ben’s voice was rough, but with any luck, Paul would think it was because he was excited. “Sir, can I ask what you plan to do with them?”
“They’re here until we find them new homes.” Paul shot a grin in Oliver’s direction. “And that’s where you come in, Ricky. You’re going to show them your moves on the stage. It will keep you occupied and give them a skill to wow their companions. A win-win all around.”
Winning wasn’t the word Oliver would have used to describe the situation.
He listened in a daze as Paul explained that the men and women were housed in the barn overnight, but then taken into the smaller stable-like building—the rec room—to spend the day. According to Paul, it was less cruel than leaving them in the cages all day. After all, they were animals at heart, and cages weren’t healthy.
Oliver thought he might puke anyway if Paul kept talking. Finally he sent them off with an invitation to Oliver to return at mid-morning to start their lessons.
Oliver didn’t remember the walk back to their room, but when the door clicked closed behind them, he fell forward into Ben’s massive chest. He couldn’t stop shaking—why was he shaking so much?
Ben rubbed his arms. “It’s okay, Ol.”
“Not even close,” Oliver managed, his voice shaking just as hard as the rest of his body.
“No. I know,” Ben said with a sigh. “We’ll get them out.”
Oliver nodded against Ben’s chest, because yeah, not rescuing the shifters had never crossed his mind. “It could have been me,” he whispered.
“What?”
He lifted his head. “I could have been one of those kids.” Because even if they were legally of age, they were still kids. Jesus. “I lived on the streets for a few months when I was sixteen. This old egret lady saw me one day and took me in. ‘Birds of a feather!’ she used to say all the time, and then cackle like it was the greatest thing. Her name was Edith. She saved me.”
