by JC Holly
It was hard to tell from looking, but the man appeared to have a broken collarbone, judging from a bulge under his clothing. One of his legs seemed to be broken, too, the limb twisted to one side more than it should be capable of.
“Paul,” Farrell called. “Paul. You still alive?”
It took a few more tries, but eventually the man came around with a cough followed by a long groan. He opened his eyes and glanced around. “Not again.”
“Yes, again,” a voice called from somewhere behind them. “You don’t seem to learn your lesson, Paul.”
“Fuck off, Gabriel,” the man called back.
Footsteps approached, and Gabriel came into view as he stepped between Farrell and Paul. He stopped a few feet in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I’m sorry about the damage,” he said. “I’d hoped to get you both with less injury. Spike strips are all well and good, but when the driver of the vehicle steers into a ditch, accidents occur.”
“Fuck you,” Paul said. “You never could handle a real fight.”
Gabriel smirked. “And I suppose you two were, what? Going to call me out and offer a one-on-one duel on neutral grounds?”
“I’m up for that,” Farrell said. “Beats being chained to a chair. Why didn’t you just kill us, anyway?”
“Insurance.” Gabriel smiled wide. “You see, I have Ethan in a room nearby, and I get the feeling he’s the kind of guy that doesn’t respond to torture. If that’s the case, maybe he’ll respond to other people being tortured instead.” He turned and walked toward a door at the other end of the room. “There are guards outside. Do call if you need anything.”
Farrell watched him go, his jaw clenched tight. Was the asshole bluffing, or did he really have Ethan? It wasn’t impossible. Even Ethan wasn’t unbeatable. If Gabriel sent enough men, or caught him off guard, it was entirely possible that he could capture him.
“Fuck,” Farrell muttered. “Well, I guess we’d better break out and go find the boss, eh?”
Paul grunted in response, and Farrell turned to face him. The man was pale, but conscious, though taking only shallow breaths.
“You okay?”
Paul spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor. “Leg’s bust, so’s the collarbone. Got a pain in my chest, too.”
“One side, or both?”
“Just the left side. It better not be a heart attack.”
“Collapsed lung, probably.” Farrell shifted in his chair. “Tell you what, I’ll save the day and then come back for you, okay?”
Paul laughed, though it sounded more like a gasp. “Deal. Got any spinach to Popeye your way out of those chains?”
“Unfortunately not.”
The chains were thick and brand new. Even if he wasn’t trying to shake off a concussion, he wouldn’t stand a chance at breaking them. The chair was basic, but Farrell was bound in such a way that even if he manage to break it, he’d merely end up lying on the floor in chains instead of sitting.
He was stronger in his wolf form, but shifting while chained to a chair and unable to move would either kill him or leave him crippled.
“Guess he learned his lesson after last time,” Paul said. “I just broke the chair.”
Farrell took in a deep breath and strained his right arm against the chains. There was barely any movement whatsoever, and certainly no signs of weakening the metal. Even if he was standing instead of sitting and free of injury, he wouldn’t stand a chance at breaking them.
“Shit. I guess we’re in this for the long haul, then.”
He tried one last time to break free, or at least make some slack in the chain so he could slip an arm free, but there was no way. He and Paul would have to wait until Gabriel returned, and either be killed on the spot or tortured to make Ethan hand over his territory.
“Hell of a way to go,” he muttered. “Four hundred years as a wolf, and I’ll die as a man.”
Paul coughed. “Four hundred?”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot you didn’t know that.” Farrell nodded slowly. “Four hundred and change.”
“And you can’t break out of some wussy chains?”
Farrell laughed and shook his head. “Apparently not.”
“Gotta admit, it’s not exactly the way I wanted to go, either. I was hoping it’d either be of old age or in a hell of a fight. You?”
“The warrior death would be nice, I guess. That, or in bed with someone riding me like it’s their job.”
They fell into silence as the gravity of the situation slowly stole their feigned good spirits. If Gabriel was telling the truth, Ethan was in a room somewhere being tortured into handing over his territory. If that didn’t work, he’d torture Paul and Farrell, and even if Ethan finally did give in, his days were still numbered. Gabriel wouldn’t want him out there, able to raise troops to take back what was stolen from him. Gabriel would have Ethan and everyone who ever knew him slaughtered. And he’d do it with a smile.
Farrell thought of Avani in the hospital, of Sandy beaten and held hostage, of Carl dead in his own home. Gabriel didn’t care who he hurt in his pursuit of what he felt he was owed. Farrell’s stomach twinged as he thought of Victor. If Paul and he had been captured, had Victor? Was he dead in a field somewhere, his neck wound torn open by a wolf’s teeth?
The door opposite began to open again, and Farrell looked over, anger and hatred in his eyes.
“You’d better fucking kill me. If you don’t, I’ll spend my entire life hunting you down.”
“Hey, now that’s just mean.”
Instead of Gabriel, Victor stood in the doorway, his long hunting knife in his hand, the blade slick with blood.
“Miss me?”
* * * *
Victor took in the scene inside the room quickly, then ducked back outside to grab the two people he’d just killed. They hadn’t even realized he was there until it was too late. One at a time he dragged them into the room, then closed the door behind him.
Farrell and Paul were chained to chairs, and he doubted the guards had the key. A check confirmed it. Still, he was handy with a lock, so he didn’t worry too much about that. What was more concerning was Paul’s appearance. His leg and shoulder looked broken, and judging from the blood on the floor, he had more than a few cuts.
Farrell grinned wide as he approached. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Nothing dirty, I hope.” Victor thumbed back toward the door. “Someone made a hell of a mess out there.”
“Wonder who. How did you get in?”
“Short version is that I saw the truck flip and saw them take you to the warehouse, so I used the distraction to get ahead of them and find somewhere to hide.”
It was a very short version. He skipped the parts about hiding up a tree, killing several scouts, and nearly getting spotted by a group of Weres. He also didn’t mention that at least two of his ribs were broken after one of the scouts saw him coming. It could all wait until they were gone.
“Good to see you, Vic,” Paul said, his breathing quick. “Can we cut the chatter until after you’ve unchained us?”
“Now there’s a good idea,” Victor said as he unscrewed the pommel of his hunting knife. “This shouldn’t take long.”
In the hollow handle of his knife was a small lockpick set. He wasn’t the most adept at using it, but as long as nobody came around in the next five minutes, he figured he’d be okay.
“Regular MacGyver,” Farrell said.
“I would prefer Rambo,” Victor said as he started working on the first lock.
The padlocks weren’t anything special, thankfully. Sturdy, but cheap. The first one was open in a few minutes, and once he’d gotten the knack, the others fell away in no time. He unlocked the last one and threw it aside, then helped Farrell to his feet before starting on Paul.
“Gabriel has Ethan,” Farrell said.
“Fuck.” Victor shook his head. “I bet the dumb ox came after us or something. He never could sit and d
o nothing.”
Farrell stretched his arms out and rolled his neck, then shook his head. He had a small gash on his forehead, but other than that he seemed okay. He stalked over to the door and poked his head outside.
“The coast is clear,” he called back. “Just how many did you kill on the way here?”
Victor smiled and finished the last couple of locks, then helped Paul to his feet. His right leg couldn’t support his weight, so Victor threw the man’s arm over his shoulders and helped him balance.
“Thanks,” Paul managed to mumble.
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to be fighting,” Victor said.
“Fuck that, just point me at them.”
“Not a chance,” Farrell said as he came over. “You need to get out of here. The way you came should still be clear if you hurry.”
You. Not we. Victor took one look in Farrell’s eyes and knew he intended to stay. Goddamn it.
“All right, I’ll get Paul to safety and call in the cavalry. If they’ve realized Ethan is gone, they’ll already be on their way.”
Farrell nodded once as he slipped off his clothes. “I’m taking no chances, but if I see an opportunity I’m taking it.”
“I know.” Victor sighed. “You know I love you, right?”
Farrell smiled. “I had an inkling. Love you, too. Now get Paul out of here.”
Victor started toward the door, eyes down so Farrell wouldn’t notice the glisten in them. He paused by the door and turned back.
“That trip you talked about?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a date.”
Farrell beamed. “Then I’d better stay alive.”
Chapter Fourteen
Farrell watched the man he loved practically carry Paul out of the room. He’d hoped their professions of love would have come in the bedroom, or at least on a date, but blood-soaked and in mortal danger would have to do.
Sending him away with Paul wasn’t the wisest move, but Paul couldn’t have left by himself. They would have had to leave him in a room somewhere and hope he was still breathing by the time they returned. Farrell had to admit that he also wanted Victor gone for the same reason. The less time in the line of fire, the happier Farrell would be.
He stretched again, then headed to the door Victor had left through. The pair had gone right, but his instincts told him he’d find Ethan to the left, and he always followed his instincts.
He considered shifting to wolf form as he ran down the hall, but as powerful as it made him in a fight, it made some things a lot trickier. Door handles, for one thing, and disarming a gunman, too. There had only been one armed Were, and he’d killed him days ago, but it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.
The hallway was longer than he’d expect to find in the back of an industrial warehouse. In his experience the places were one large floor with a few offices toward the back. Gabriel must have converted recently. It explained the hint off sawdust in the air.
As he rounded a corner he froze as he caught a hint of Ethan’s scent. It was coming from the direction he was heading in, but so were two more scents. Gabriel was one, and the other was familiar, too, though he couldn’t place it. Strangely they were the only fresh scents in the place. Either the other pack members were out, sent by an overconfident Gabriel, or they were masking their scents. Oh great, like I needed more paranoia right now.
He kept up his run until he came across a thick wooden door with some sort of seal put around it. The idea was clearly to block sounds and smells, which explained why Victor hadn’t sensed where Ethan was on his way in. Even standing next to the door, the scents were hard to pick up. On the bright side that meant that Farrell’s approach was probably still unnoticed.
The door was locked, but that wasn’t going to stop him. With a quick breath in, and a silent prayer to whoever was watching from on high, he raised his foot and kicked the door off its hinges.
The door flew partway across the room before skidding to a halt a few feet from a surprised-looking Gabriel.
“UPS,” Farrell said as he strolled into the room, his senses on full alert. “Can I get a signature?”
In front of Gabriel sat Ethan, chained with his hands behind his back and in considerably worse condition than Farrell. He was naked and covered from head to toe in bruises and long, thin cuts. A metal tray covered in knives sat nearby on a table, beside what looked like a contract. Apparently the torture had begun. Farrell stepped farther inside, well aware of the large man standing in the shadows behind one of the room’s two concrete pillars.
“Is that a no?”
Gabriel recovered quickly, his smile returned. “You escaped, then.”
Farrell shrugged. “You think a few chains and an IKEA chair are going to stop me?”
“They stopped your boss. You must be quite the ancient.”
“I’ve been around the block a few times. Don’t suppose you’re intimidated enough to surrender?”
As he spoke, the man in the shadows came forward in a blur of speed. Farrell saw him coming and still only just got out of the way. He spun to the side as the huge man went past, missing him by mere inches.
“Maybe if I didn’t have an even older Were working for me,” Gabriel said. “Meet Marcus. Six hundred and fifty-eight.”
Farrell dodged back a step as the huge man swung a fist at him. “Lovely to meet you, Marcus. You hurt Avani.”
Marcus sneered as he advanced. “Meant to kill her.”
“Now, now.” Farrell sidestepped another lunge. “You’re not that good. How are you doing, Ethan?”
“Oh, you know me,” came a growl from behind. “Just passing the time with an old friend.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Marcus came in again, and Farrell finally focused on the man as he dodged another blow. The man was all muscle. It wouldn’t take more than two hits from those huge hands to knock Farrell on his ass. Fortunately while Farrell was less powerful, he was also a lot faster.
Marcus came in again, feigning right and then punching left. Farrell managed to spin away and lash out with a kick to the man’s leg in the process. It was like kicking a tree. Marcus laughed and turned to face him.
“Is that all you have?”
Farrell shrugged and danced away from another attack. “Is that all you have?”
The slow attacks, the fact he was still fully dressed…The man was goading him into shifting. Victor had faced him as a wolf and had barely escaped alive. Farrell wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Instead he danced back again, moving closer and closer to Ethan and Gabriel, who was still standing, watching.
“Not joining in, Gabby?” Ethan said.
Gabriel chuckled. “Why have a dog and bark yourself?”
Farrell smirked at Marcus. “Dog, are ye? Wolf, meself.”
He dodged yet another blow and kicked the man hard in the balls. Marcus winced and backed up a step.
“See you haven’t been neutered yet, at least.”
Farrell backed up again until he was less than a few feet from Ethan. He waited until Marcus came in for another attack, then dodged to the side and slipped, feigning a stumble by Ethan’s chair. As he threw out a hand for balance he slipped Vic’s lockpicks into Ethan’s hand.
The move cost him dearly. As he began to stand, Marcus landed a kick square in his ribs. The blow knocked him back onto the ground. Pain flooded his chest as he scrabbled to his feet and he had to fight hard to suck in a breath.
“Trying to go for the knives?” Marcus said, his approach halted for the moment. “Weak men use knives.”
“I guess it was Gabriel who was doing the work, then,” Farrell said, glancing over at the man. “Few as weak as him.”
The goading did nothing. Gabriel merely smiled back and shrugged.
“I’m aware of my abilities, and don’t try to exceed them.”
Farrell shook his head to clear the fog and gestured to Marcus again. “Right, let’s end this.”
&nb
sp; Marcus grinned and approached, and Farrell grinned right back. Ethan had the lockpicks. Time to end the charade.
Marcus came in fast and threw a punch aimed for the head. Farrell caught it in his hand and twisted hard. Marcus cried out and tore his hand away, gripping the wrist with his other hand.
“Lucky catch,” Farrell said. “Try again.”
For the first time, Marcus looked uncertain. It didn’t stop his attack, though, just slowed it. He came in and feigned one way then lashed out with his foot. Farrell dodged to the side again in a theatrical spin, coming to a halt near the broken door.
“Swing and a miss,” he said as Marcus came on again. “One more time?”
Hands behind his back, Farrell dodged one, two, then three blows, before stepping aside and punching Marcus in the throat. The man wheezed and fell to his knees.
“I’m not one to kick someone when they’re down.” Farrell flicked his gaze onto Gabriel. “That’s more your pack’s style. Ethan taught us better.”
“Kill him, Marcus,” Gabriel said. “Enough with this.”
“He’ll need a minute,” Farrell said as he strolled over to Gabriel. “Surrender yet?”
“Not a chance,” Gabriel spat. “I still have the upper hand.”
As he spoke he pulled a pistol from the back of his pants and aimed it at Farrell.
“Good night.”
There was a clinking of chain to his side as Farrell spun away from the gun. A shot rang out, followed by a cry, and Farrell turned to find Gabriel on the floor, Ethan’s foot on his neck.
“Wasn’t sure you knew how to use those picks,” Farrell said as he walked over.
“I didn’t.”
He gestured to the floor, where a pile of chains lay, underneath a twisted and broken padlock. Farrell grinned and shook his head. He’d heard that Ethan was strong, but seeing it was another thing entirely.
“I need to go to the gym more often,” Farrell said.
