by JC Holly
“Ooh, I like the sound of that. Think I could persuade them to guard me naked?”
“If you manage it, I want pictures.”
They left her to rest and headed back out of the hospital. Ethan had parked nearby, his escort of two of the largest enforcers in the pack waiting by the car. It was a black minivan, one that Victor had only seen once or twice before. Ethan opened the back door and climbed in, followed by Farrell and Victor.
“I much prefer my truck,” Ethan said as he squeezed himself into one of the small seats. “Not enough room for my bodyguards, though.”
The two pack members sat in the front seats and they drove back to the club. They kept the conversation light, avoiding the topic at hand, other than to fill in the two new guys on Avani’s condition. They were glad to hear she was on the mend, and planned to visit her later when Ethan was back at the club.
“I hate this,” Ethan muttered. “Can’t drive my car, can’t walk the streets. Avani wouldn’t even let me on the floor of the bar during open hours.”
“Better a shut-in than a corpse, boss,” Victor said, patting him on his huge thigh.
Ethan shrugged noncommittally. “Some days I don’t know why I chose to lead my own pack. It’s nothing but hard work.”
“Don’t forget the whole ‘life at risk’ part, too,” Farrell said with a grin. “And the fact that every upstart in the pack wants to challenge your leadership.” He nudged the passenger seat. “Ain’t that right, Ricky?”
Ricky turned to look into the back of the van, blushing. “Hey, I was new. I thought it was what you were supposed to do.”
Ethan laughed and tapped Farrell in the shin with a heavy boot. “Don’t embarrass the boy, Irish.”
They arrived at the bar ten minutes later and, after one of the “guards” had checked out the area, Victor, Farrell, and Ethan headed inside and closed the doors. The bar was staying closed out of respect for Avani. The place wouldn’t seem the same without her leaning over the bar and flashing her chest at the new guys anyway.
They walked in silence up the short, narrow staircase to Ethan’s office. He unlocked the door and then sank into his chair before thudding his legs onto the desk.
“All right, so let’s cut the crap.” He looked at Victor. “I’ve forbidden you from coming tonight and you intend to ignore me and come anyway.”
Victor tried not to let his surprise show. “Uh, pretty much, yeah.”
Farrell dropped into a chair and crossed his legs. “We know you well, Vic. Biblically, in my case.” He winked. “And it’s Avani.”
Victor nodded and took the last chair. “I understand why I can’t be the one up front on this this, but I’m not useless.”
“No, but you can’t shift,” Ethan said. “Which means you’ll be easier to spot and track, not to mention easy to take down.”
“I’ve fought wolves barehanded before.”
“With a neck wound?”
Victor didn’t reply. Ethan was right, but Victor didn’t want to admit it. Ethan dropped his legs from the table and leant forward in his chair.
“Look. Like I said, we know you’re going to help whether we ask or not. I just need to know what you intend to do so I can plan around it.”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ll be at the warehouse, that’s for sure, but other than that I’ll be winging it. If I see an opportunity to help I’ll take it. At the very least I can call for help I guess.”
Ethan nodded. “Fair enough. Just play it safe, okay?”
Victor sighed. “Not like I have a choice.”
Chapter Twelve
Farrell hadn’t ever seen Victor look so dejected. The man was a dynamo in a fight, and in the sack, too, and losing that seemed to deflate him. Farrell wanted to walk over and reassure him that he would still be of use to the pack during the attack, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. Victor was the first to admit he was no tactician. He was a hell of a fighter, but he much preferred following someone else’s orders in the heat of battle.
Farrell tuned back into the conversation to find Ethan going over the finer points of the plan.
Gabriel’s pack used three buildings when they weren’t at the warehouse, and Ethan had small teams heading to each of them. Each team consisted of two heading in from the front and one heading in from the back. The idea was whichever spotted Gabriel would contact the bar and the rest of the pack would converge.
It wasn’t the best plan, and relied heavily on nobody being spotted or scented before they attacked, but it would have to do.
“I told the pack to meet in several different places tonight,” Ethan said, his tone low. “I don’t want any of Gabriel’s spies to realize we’re planning something big until it’s too late. Whether it’ll work is anyone’s guess, of course.”
Farrell rolled his stiff shoulder. “They’ll expect some sort of reaction to Avani’s attack, so a bunch of the pack members meeting up won’t seem out of the ordinary, I don’t think.”
Victor nodded his agreement, his slight wince apparently only noticed by Farrell. Their time in the hotel followed by the sprint to the hospital hadn’t done his neck wound any favors, by the looks of things.
“You realize we’re probably walking into a trap, right?”
Ethan shrugged. “Probably. That’s why we’re not going in guns blazing. Figuratively speaking.”
“It’s also why you’re staying out of it entirely,” Farrell said. “And don’t tell me you were going to anyway, boss.”
Ethan eyed Farrell silently for a long time. After what felt like several minutes, he nodded. “I’ll stay in my office. They won’t get in here, and even if they do, this room is easily defended.”
He was right there. If Gabriel’s boys tried to take him, all Ethan would have to do is stand in his office and kick them back down the narrow staircase. That said, Farrell had his doubts the man would in fact stay in the office. He and Avani were more like brother and sister than pack mates. He had to be a ball of rage inside his calm exterior.
“If we can, we’ll bring Marcus back for you to deal with,” Victor said.
Ethan smiled, his teeth bared. “I’d like that very much.”
* * * *
Paul arrived a few minutes later and thumped up the stairs to the office. Victor stood so the man could sit, and tuned out while they went over the plan once more.
His neck seemed to be getting worse rather than better. He must have further torn the muscle during the run earlier. His Were blood meant he healed faster than he did before he was bitten, but he still needed to rest.
Not much chance of that tonight. He’d told Ethan that he didn’t know what he planned to do, and that was partly true. He knew that he’d be heading to the warehouse, but once he got there he’d just have to play it by ear. Even injured, one man in the right place at the right time could be crucial. He knew that from experience.
Once the plan had been explained to Paul, Ethan got on the phone and called around to the other pack members to arrange their timings. The others left him in peace and headed down to the bar. Victor slipped behind the bar while Farrell and Paul took position on the stools, their brows equally furrowed in concern.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Victor said as he selected a bottle of whisky from underneath the counter. “It’s not like we’re off to war or anything.”
Farrell smirked. “Aren’t I supposed to be the sarcastic one?”
“You’re too busy being the hero. I’ll handle the sarcasm for now.”
“You do it so well.”
Victor slid him a glass of whisky. “Among other things.”
“Save the flirting for later, guys,” Paul said. “And slide me one of those whiskies.”
The three downed their drinks simultaneously and slammed the glasses on the counter. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to get a Were drunk, but it still served to calm frayed nerves, Victor found.
“So,” Farrell said, his finger running around the r
im of his glass. “Decided on a plan, yet?”
Victor shrugged. “I’ll be around, but other than that I’ll be winging it.”
“Well, be careful. Regardless of neck wounds, this is dangerous stuff.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do remember me saving your ass in the cottage a few days back, right? And taking on several wolves at once?”
Farrell held up his hands. “Hey, as the boyfriend I’m allowed to worry.”
Boyfriend. Victor tried not to grin at that. He liked the sound of it very much.
“Fair enough,” he reached over and squeezed Farrell’s hand. “Bathroom. Now.”
* * * *
Farrell had been hoping Victor would suggest something like this. With his neck being bad, Farrell didn’t want to ask in case he’d be unable, but with Victor doing the offering, that wasn’t an issue. Ignoring Paul’s groans, Farrell followed Victor into the small bathroom and closed and locked the door behind them.
Victor was on him instantly, his hands holding Farrell close as they kissed fiercely. With so little room between them it was clear Victor was just as excited as Farrell was, their hard cocks rubbing against each other through their pants.
Victor broke the kiss and gestured to the toilet. “Sit.”
Farrell did as he was told, and Victor knelt before him and unbuckled Farrell’s belt, then unfastened his pants. He slid a hand inside and pulled Farrell’s hard cock free then began to stroke slowly, the foreskin slipping back and forth over his cockhead.
Farrell breathed a sigh as Victor worked his magic and tried not to think about the fact that, if the night went badly, it could be their last time together.
While he worked Farrell’s cock, Victor slid his other hand down and unfastened his own pants. His cock was just as eager as Farrell’s, and Victor was soon hard at work stroking both in time.
After a few minutes of bliss, Farrell stopped Victor with a hand, then began to work his pants off. Victor raised an eyebrow as Farrell reached over to a soap dispenser and squirted a generous amount onto his palm.
“Sit on it.”
Victor dropped his pants while Farrell lubed his cock with the soap, then got into position, facing Farrell as he climbed on. He paused, then began to push down onto Farrell’s cock. Farrell moaned softly, aware of where they were, as his cockhead slipped into Victor’s tight ass. As Victor lowered himself, Farrell put his hands on the man’s waist, guiding him up and down. They worked slowly at first, but quickly built in speed.
This time wasn’t about taking their time, it was about the act itself, and being together in a moment of worry. Within seconds Victor was slapping down hard on Farrell’s cock, his hand working his cock at a pace as feverish as their fucking. Victor screwed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip as he worked, and Farrell had to fight not to moan aloud himself.
“I’m coming,” Victor said, his breath ragged. “I’m coming.”
Farrell grunted and held Victor’s sides tighter as he slammed the man down on his cock. On and on they went, Victor jerking his cock ever faster and Farrell thrusting into him until he cried out and came hard in Victor’s ass. Victor gasped as his own moment neared, and Farrell almost lifted him bodily off his cock. Victor staggered for a second then stood straight, still working his cock as Farrell dropped to his knees in front of him. He opened his mouth wide just as hot ropes of cum hit his lips and tongue, covering them in salty fluid. He took Victor’s cockhead into his mouth and stroked the shaft as he worked out the last drops of cum onto his tongue, before swallowing it all.
Victor put his hand on Farrell’s head as Farrell cleaned the cock with his tongue, lapping up every last drop of cum. Finished, he stood and kissed Victor, the man’s tongue greedily probing Farrell’s mouth.
They stood like that for the longest time before finally separating and sharing a smile. They dressed in silence and headed back into the bar. The fun was over with.
It was time for war.
Chapter Thirteen
The rest of the evening passed in silence. Ethan reappeared and announced that the pack teams were ready to go, and Paul headed out to bring his truck around to the front of the bar. Ethan made himself scarce as Victor and Farrell exchanged a quick good-bye. Farrell tried to keep it light, but it was hard. Victor gave him a tight hug and then slipped out the back door, saying he’d make his own way to the warehouse in case they were being watched.
Farrell let him go without a further word, though he had to fight hard not to grab him and tell him to go hide instead.
It’s not that he didn’t think Victor was capable, it was that they could be walking into certain death. Farrell had long ago made peace with the fact that he’d die one day, but he hated the idea of loved ones being in the line of fire.
“Loved ones,” he muttered as he waited for Paul. “Huh.”
Ethan came out of the bathroom, a smirk on his lips. “Been busy in there, huh?”
Farrell smiled and shrugged. “Just in case one of us doesn’t come back.”
“Makes sense to me. You and Vic make a good couple. You should have got together right from the start.”
“Tell me about it. Now, you stay out of sight while this is going on, deal?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay in the office.”
“Good.” A truck pulled up outside. “That’s my ride. See you soon, boss.”
Ethan pulled him into a quick hug. “You’d better.”
Paul was waiting in the driver’s seat when Farrell stepped into the cool air. It was a cool evening with not much wind. A howling gale would have been better for their approach, but they would work with what they had. Hopefully Farrell would pick up the scents of any Weres before they picked up his and Paul’s.
He hopped into the cab and pulled the door shut. “Let’s go.”
The drive was brief and passed in silence. There wasn’t anything to be said. The plan was already arranged, after all. They’d stop close to the warehouse and head in on foot at first, in case of onlookers. Once they found a secure area that was out of sight, they’d shift and head in. Hopefully they’d find Gabriel and Marcus alone and they’d both die of heart attacks before anyone had to break a sweat.
Farrell smirked. Pretty bloody unlikely, but stranger things had happened. Hell, he was a werewolf, for god’s sake.
As they neared the warehouse, his mood lowered, and the gravity of the situation further sank in. Paul must have been feeling the same, as his expression darkened. Farrell slapped him on the arm.
“Let’s get this over and done with before they know what hits ’em. Then we can get home to our boy toys and spend a week or two continually running out of lube.”
Paul smiled weakly. “I’ll be happy with a weekend on the couch in front of the TV.”
“Me, too, but I like to aim high.”
“Either way, it hinges on this going well, and knowing Gabriel, it won’t be as easy as we think.”
Farrell chewed his lip. “Maybe, but we need to remember why we’re doing this.”
Paul nodded. “Avani, and an end to this bullshit war.”
“Exactly.” Farrell gestured to the upcoming parking spot. “Now let’s get to work.”
No sooner had he said the words than there was a small explosion near the bottom of the truck and Paul swore as the vehicle swerved wildly. He fought to keep control, but they veered off the road and down a short dip. As the front of the truck hit the base of the ditch, its momentum flipped the back of the truck high. There was a moment of almost weightlessness before they crashed back to earth, upside-down.
The last thing Farrell saw before he lost consciousness was a small group of Weres approaching his door, wolfish grins on their faces.
* * * *
Victor had to grip the limb of the tree he perched on to stop himself from jumping down as the Weres dragged the limp bodies of Farrell and Paul from the upturned truck. If he ran in like a madman, they’d have three hostages instead, or two hostages and a corpse.
> He’d come from the opposite direction to the two, and had managed to get there a few minutes earlier. He’d only just got into hiding before the truck came into view. He knew it was a trap instantly. The smell of the Weres hunkered behind bushes combined with the smell of the oil on the road and spike strip.
Don’t even think about it. He gripped the branch hard. Wait till they’re clear.
His chest lurched at the image of Farrell, held unconscious between two Weres. Blood oozed from a gash on his forehead, just above one eyebrow. Paul looked in worse shape. He was thrown over the shoulder of another Were, his head out of sight, but his leg looked badly broken.
On the bright side, and it wasn’t much of one, they hadn’t been killed on the spot. The spike strip used to stop the truck probably meant that Gabriel wanted them alive. Maybe he expected Ethan to have been present. Or maybe he wanted more leverage against Ethan.
The Weres began to haul the men away, but one Were remained and began to rifle through the truck. After a moment he reappeared, a cell phone in his hand. With a squeeze he shattered the device into shards of plastic before running to catch up with his pack mates.
Victor gave them a few more moment’s head start, then dropped from the tree and dashed to the truck. He had had to travel light, and stupidly left his own phone at the bar. He ducked into the cab and checked to see if there was anything he could use, but found nothing.
He straightened and watched the Weres in the distance. Not including Farrell and Paul, there were eight men. Victor slid his hunting knife from the back of his pants and snarled.
He’d make sure not one of them would last the night.
* * * *
Footsteps woke Farrell with a start. Pain flared through his body, starting at his forehead. A hazy memory of the truck crashing loomed in his memory. Must’ve smashed my head on the dashboard. On remembering the approaching Weres, he lurched forward, only to be stopped. The seat belt? His eyes snapped open, and he glanced down to find himself padlocked to a steel chair in a large room with a concrete floor. Drops of blood surrounded his chair, which he assumed came from his head. To his side sat Paul, equally immobilized and in far worse condition.
