“I get it. I really do, but I need to examine her. Make sure the hospital did their job, and she wasn’t reinjured on the way here.” Reaching out, she patted the top of the examination table. The sheet rustled, crinkling under the gentle pressure, ratcheting his tension up another notch. His dragon urged him to hold on. Myst wanted him to let go, and as Tania stopped at the head of the table, backing up her friend, denial rose on a violent wave. “One of us will come get you if she needs you. Deal?”
Wick hesitated. A big hand landed on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. Thank God. Venom. Trust his best friend to arrive in the nick of time. The male always helped him pull his head out of his ass.
Exhaling hard, he unlocked his muscles. The cage he made with his embrace opened, and just like that, it was done. His arms were empty. Jamison lay on the table: his leather jacket half covering her face, the blanket twisted around her hips, plaster cast sticking out to expose her bare toes. The sight tipped the balance. Pressure banded around his rib cage, making it hard to breathe. So fragile… too many bruises… beyond vulnerable without him to protect her.
Venom pumped his shoulder again.
He shrugged, throwing off the hold, and cleared his throat. “I’ll come back later.”
“Good. She’ll need you,” Myst said, somehow managing to reassure and praise him at the same time. How the hell she did that, Wick didn’t know, but he said a silent “thank you” anyway. Her no-nonsense tone eased his worry, smoothed down the ragged edges of concern. “We’ll put her in recovery room one.”
Wick nodded and, flexing his fist, cut the cord with a vicious mental swipe. As much as he yearned to stay, watching wasn’t an option. He’d go ape-shit crazy as her wounds were revealed. He didn’t need to see it to believe it… or understand the brutality of what had been done to her. So instead, he dragged his gaze away and pivoted toward the exit. A distraction. He needed one. Right now. Before he did something stupid, like turn into a first-class pansy and refuse to leave her side.
From his position at the back of the room, Wick watched the other Nightfury warriors file into the com-center. Heavy footfalls bounced off pale walls, making the room’s generous portions shrink and his head pound. The sting slid around to hammer the base of his skull. Rolling his shoulders, he resisted the urge to rub his temples. Fuck the pain. The frustration and confusion too. All he wanted was out. Out of a space filled with males who took up too much room. Away from the hustle ’n bustle and all the chitchat. Into the silence of his room and the comfort it brought him.
Too bad that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
His gaze narrowed on the male responsible for screwing up his plans. Or rather messing with his escape route.
Boots planted beside the desk across the lab, Bastian stood alongside their resident computer genius. Seated in his uglier-than-shit chair, Sloan nodded at B, his eyes on the wall-mounted screens, fingers flying over the keyboard, making his supercomputer sing in the predawn hours. Watching the byplay, Wick flexed his fists, trying to alleviate the tension. It didn’t work. He was too far gone. On edge. On the brink of exploding into aggression-laced agitation. In need of space and a shitload of alone time to power down. But as his comrades fanned out, taking up most of the available real estate, stealing all the air in the room, the harder he worked to keep his cool.
It was nothing but an act. A game of cover-up he’d played for years.
Not even Venom understood the depths of his emotion. He was good at keeping it contained and out of the spotlight. He understood the coping mechanism. Crossing his arms over his chest, Wick growled. He should too. He’d read every book the field of psychology had to offer—Jung, Freud, fucking Alfred Adler. He knew them all, every single one of their theories. It was all so much bullshit. None had helped him get past his problem. Or cured his phobia.
The thought twisted his stomach into knots.
Wick swallowed the burn and tossed his commander another nasty look. “All right, already. Get the fucking show on the road.”
The low grumble brought Bastian’s head around. Piercing green eyes met his. Wick tensed. His commander left Sloan’s side, coming toward him from the other side of the room. Ah, hell. Here it came… the inevitable question and answer routine the second B reached him.
Stopping beside him, B propped his shoulder against the wall and raised a brow. “You okay?”
“Never better.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
Wick snorted, the sound full of amusement. He couldn’t help it. He liked B. Respected the male too. A step up for Wick. Sentiment wasn’t his thing, after all. But after years spent fighting side by side with the warrior, proximity had turned to friendship… and loyalty to love. Now, he trusted Bastian with his life. The male was solid: stout of heart, whipcord smart, with a wicked amount of lethal on top. Always a good combination. But that didn’t mean he wanted to share what had gone down in Seattle a few hours ago.
The upheaval was still too fresh. Way too raw to get into with B.
So only one thing left to do… deflect his commander’s concern.
Crossing his arms, Wick bent one knee and planted his boot against the wall. “You gonna get this party started or what?”
“Nice try, my brother, but…” As B trailed off, Wick tensed. Jesus, he was in for it now. His commander refused to let it go, which put him in the hot seat. Lovely. Just what he wanted to avoid—an in-depth examination with Bastian in the driver’s seat. “You wanna explain what happened out there, or would you prefer I take a guess?”
“Fuck off, B.” The fail-safe response acted like a shield, deflecting inquiry, shutting down conversation with the added bonus of forcing others to keep their distance. Per usual, Bastian wasn’t fooled, and as a muscle twitched along his jaw, Wick relented. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
“Fair enough.” Bastian nodded and backed down. At least, in the metaphorical sense. The male was still close enough to nail him with a no-nonsense look. “But when you are, come to me. I’ll talk you through it.”
A prickle of discomfort rippled through him. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. Wick dipped his chin anyway, agreeing without words… if only to get B off his back.
“Energy-fuse is serious shit, Wick. You can’t fight it,” he said, his voice low to prevent the others from overhearing. “My advice? Don’t try. Embrace it. Thank God you found her. Give your female what she needs, and you’ll end up with more than you can imagine.”
Your female. Holy fuck. Bastian thought Jamison belonged to him.
Denial clogged his throat. Wick shoved the emotion down deep, combating the sting. It couldn’t be true. He didn’t deserve good fortune or a female of his own. Could barely take care of himself, never mind someone else. B was wrong—was talking out his ass if he thought Wick capable of forming a lasting bond with a female. Fairy tales existed in human nursery rhymes, not in his world.
Uncomfortable with the topic, Wick broke eye contact and changed tack. “Venom tell you about what happened at Swedish Medical?”
“Not yet. Fill me in.”
With a nod, Wick laid it out, describing his encounter with Azrad in detail.
Bastian frowned. “He targeted the female to force a sit-down with me?”
“Yeah.”
“And he wants to meet at a coffee shop?”
“Pine and 1st Avenue. Midnight tomorrow,” Wick growled, replaying the encounter, seeing the wheelchair whirling down the corridor. The fear on Jamison’s face came next, coalescing into vivid imagery, making his heart pound, pissing him off. His nostrils flared. The bastard. Azrad might not smell like a rogue, but he sure as hell acted like one… disregarding a female’s safety to achieve his own end. For that alone Wick would tear him apart the next time he saw the male. “He hurt her, B. Had her by the throat.”
“And what?” Green eyes knowing, his commander eyeballed him. “Now you want him dead?”
“It’s
my right.”
“No argument. But I’m curious now, so…” Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, Bastian sighed. “We talk to him first. I want to know the why before you take him out. Agreed?”
“Deal,” Wick murmured, relief grabbing him by the balls.
Rogue or not, Bastian had sanctioned the hit. So… yeah. He’d get his shot at the tatted bastard. Would get all the time he needed to go to work on the male. Make it painful. Rip Azrad apart scale by scale, without any interference from the Nightfury commander. Nothing better than that, especially if—
“Hey, B?” Swiveling in his chair, Sloan glanced in their direction. “We’re all set.”
“On-screen.” Thumping Wick on the shoulder, Bastian pushed away from the wall and grabbed one end of the cedar conference table. Wood legs bumping across the polished concrete floor, he dragged it into the middle of the room. The tug ’n tow put his brothers in gear. As they stepped to, snagging the leather chairs, resetting the seating arrangement, the screen in front of Sloan flickered. “Everybody take a seat.”
Multiple chair legs scraped across the floor.
Grabbing a seat back, Wick sat in his usual spot along one side of the table. As Venom set up shop next to him, an image flared on the monitor, putting Gage and Haider up front and center. Wick’s mouth curved. Shit, it was good to see the pair. Especially Gage. He missed both males’ presence in the lair, sure, but the warrior with the intense bronze gaze—and an attitude full of fuck you—was his favorite of the two. Vicious to the point of self-destruction, Gage never backed down or said quit.
His kind of male.
Haider, on the other hand, was harder to figure out. A silver dragon, the male epitomized the stereotype of his subset—and not just because he looked the part with his mercury eyes and black, gray, and silver-streaked hair. Talented in the art of deductive reasoning, his IQ landed in the upper echelon of intelligent. Toss in his ability to keep secrets, a lethal amount of charm, and the fact Haider wielded both like a weapon, and… yeah. He was the perfect diplomat, a male equal to any task and able to ferret out information no one wanted him to know.
A useful skill. One Haider used to effect.
Good thing too, considering the pair were ass-planted in Prague, playing nice at the Archguard festival. All an act, of course. Bastian didn’t care about keeping the members of the high council happy. The trip—under the guise of honoring the traditions of their kind—was more of a fact-finding mission. One Wick could get behind without hesitation. He liked the subterfuge. It suited his nature, if not his temperament, and as he settled in, he hoped the Metallics had hit pay dirt.
Accurate intel, after all, equaled opportunity. Opportunity opened up possibility. And possibility? Well now, that created a myriad of options. One that might achieve what the entire Nightfury pack wanted done. Namely, a clear break from the Archguard and Rodin’s toxic hold on their kind.
Taking his seat at the head of the table, Bastian greeted the Metallics.
“Fuck me.” Leaning forward in his chair, Gage brought his face closer to the camera. Bronze gaze roaming around the crowded table, he zeroed in on Angela. “Since when do we invite females to our meetings?”
“Since now.” The last to join the party, Rikar’s mate pulled up a chair. Ex-SPD with an incredible nose for investigation, Angela threw a file folder onto the tabletop. As the paper slapped down, she glared at Gage. The look sent a clear message—smarten up or get your ass kicked… by a girl. “Cut the crap, Gage, and get with the program.”
An amused gleam in his eyes, Haider snorted.
Shifting focus, Gage grinned at Rikar. “I like her.”
“Me too.” Returning the male’s smile, Rikar reached out and cupped her hand. “She’s a keeper.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Screw off… both of you.”
With a laugh, B tipped his chin in her direction. “Ange, you start. Whatcha got?”
“It’s a little thin, but I think I’ve got a lead.” Untangling her fingers from Rikar’s, she opened the red folder. Inside sat three sheets of foolscap laminated in plastic. Shredded by the Razorbacks and left inside one of their abandoned lairs, the info had led Angela down a rabbit hole, one they all hoped would end at Ivar the Asshole. “These are just a couple of the shredded documents I’ve put back together, but they’re the most promising.”
Forge snagged one of the pages. “Why is that, lass?”
“It’s a list of inventory for a club of some kind.”
“A nightclub?” Venom asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “Too soon to tell. There’s no name on the documents to point us to any one establishment, but there’s a definite money trail. A history and pattern to follow. Sloan’s set me up with a computer.” Glancing Sloan’s way, she smiled at their resident computer genius. “He’s teaching me how to hack the system too. With a little luck, I might be able to find the distributor. If I can match their accounts payable to the quantities of alcohol the club ordered, along with the corresponding dates, I may be able to pinpoint the place. It’ll take—”
“Fucking forever,” Mac said, interrupting his best friend and former SPD partner. She scowled at him. He backed off. “But it’s worth a shot.”
“Myst and Tania are helping me sort through the other boxes.” Tapping her fingertip against the tabletop, she shuffled in her seat… as though she couldn’t wait to get started. “It’ll go faster than you think with the three of us working at it.”
“Jamison will want to help too.”
The second Wick opened his mouth, he regretted it. Particularly since all eyes snapped in his direction. Surprise winged across each warrior’s face. Wick hid a grimace, berating himself for abandoning his usual silence, but… God. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t forget that she lay just down the hall—one right turn and seventy-three paces away—never mind squash the urge to go check on her. And frankly? Including her in the mix seemed, well… halfway natural.
Wick frowned. The impulse signaled a huge problem. One that put his holy-shit meter on high alert.
“I mean… probably,” he murmured, backpedaling. “The female is Tania’s sister, after all.”
A multitude of grunts greeted his explanation.
Wick breathed out in relief. The last thing he needed was for any of his brothers to catch on. Bastian knowing about his obsession with Jamison was one thing. But the whole pack? Jesus. What a clusterfuck that would turn out to be.
“Haider,” Rikar said, getting back on track. “Anything from your end?”
“Nian’s becoming a serious player.” Forearms planted on the desktop, Haider shifted in his office chair. “He’s spending a lot of time in Rodin’s inner circle. He’s been to at least three private parties in the last week as far as I can tell. Rumor has it he purchased an expensive female at one of them.”
“Shit.”
“No kidding, Sloan. But I’m not convinced that’s a bad thing.”
“Why?” Bastian growled. “If the fucker’s dealing in the sex trade, I’ll give Gage the green light right now.”
Gage perked up. “Fantastic. I’ve been dying to rip the prick apart since we got here.”
“I hear yah, but here’s the thing…” Holding up a piece of paper, Haider flapped it in front of the screen. “The next day, Nian purchased a first class plane ticket out of the country, so…”
Forge cursed. “He wasnae the one tae use it?”
Haider shook his head.
“Hell,” Gage grumbled, snatching the invoice out of his buddy’s hand. “Where did you get that?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I agree,” B said, sounding unhappy. “Set up the meeting with Nian. I want to talk to the bastard face-to-face. And one other thing…” Trailing off, he glanced Wick’s way. “Anything else you want to know before we break it up?”
Catching his commander’s drift, his mouth curved. Bastian was the best… no question about it. “Either of you ever h
eard the name Azrad?”
“No,” both males said in unison.
“Can you stir the pot?” he asked. “See what floats to the surface?”
Haider nodded. “Got any more than that for me to go on?”
“Longer-style mohawk… black hair, burgundy highlights, dark-blue eyes,” Venom said, throwing Wick a sidelong glance. “A metal head. He wears eyebrow and nose studs.”
“Tattoo on the left side of his neck,” Wick murmured, picking up the description where Venom left off. “Black web. Red spider at its center.”
Gage’s brows popped skyward “Freaky, but distinct. If there’s any info to be had, we’ll unearth it for you.”
“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” Bastian said. “Do what you need to, then pack it up. The instant the festival’s closing ceremony concludes I want you to get your asses home. We need you here.”
“How about that, Gage.” With a flash of teeth, Haider nudged his buddy with his elbow. “I think he misses us.”
Rikar snorted. “Yeah, about as much as an extra hole in the head.”
Bronze eyes gleaming, Gage’s mouth curved. “That can always be arranged.”
“Not unless you want to deal with me,” Angela said, a load of pissed off in her tone.
“Such a feisty female, Rikar,” Gage murmured. “Bet she keeps you in line.”
Venom laughed along with the others.
His XO growled something obscene.
Grinning like a devil, Gage rapped his knuckles against the desktop. “B, I’ll set up the meet with Nian and let you know when. We find out anything else, I’ll e-mail Sloan. Otherwise, we’ll see you on the flip side.”
One hand poised above the keyboard, Haider tapped a button, and…
Lights out.
The second the computer screen went blank, Wick pushed away from the table and stood. No time like the present to make a break for it. He’d lasted long enough. Now he needed a little peace, a lot of silence, and the space that heralded both.
Fury of Desire (Dragonfury Series #4) Page 19
