by Anna Martin
Now that Leo had moved almost all his stuff in, everything except a few pieces of furniture, everything was different. Better. It had only taken an hour or so to move all of Leo’s boxes and one suitcase into the back of his truck, then he’d left Leo and Mitch alone to hug it out while Jackson drove over to the condo and took everything upstairs.
Leo didn’t seem to be in a rush to unpack his things, so it took a few days before Jackson started to notice things appearing around their home. Like Leo’s clothes in the closet, and the clock that had been in his room in Mitch’s apartment on the wall in the dining room. Then Leo’s favorite brand of ice cream appeared in the freezer, and Jackson was pretty sure Leo was making himself at home.
But it was more than just Leo’s belongings.
It was something more instinctive, caveman-like, creating and providing a home for his soul mate. Things were just better when Leo was around. Jackson wasn’t sure how to tell him that, so he decided to say nothing. For now.
Spring persistently nudged at the retreating winter, softening the world around them and bringing light back into the day. With construction work on the new brewery underway there wasn’t so much for Jackson to do to fill his time. It was ironic that for someone who was used to being so patient in their work, Jackson now had to wait.
Instead he threw himself into the world he knew—brewing, beer, pubs and bars. Adam and Grant gave him a temporary job tending bar. He knew they didn’t really need him, but the part-time hours helped him start building a social circle of people he felt comfortable around.
Most of the shifts he picked up were in the evenings and on weekends, when the bar was most busy. That meant he could oversee the work in his own brewery during the day. Unfortunately it also meant his work pattern was almost opposite to Leo’s, reducing the time they could spend together.
Jackson had his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow and was pouring a pint when he felt a familiar tug behind his navel that meant Leo was close. He looked up, scanning the bar, but it was busy, and it took a few minutes for Leo to make his way over. He was just done serving a couple when he caught Leo’s eyes at the far end of the bar.
Jackson winked and basked in the little flutter in the pit of his stomach. Leo had clearly come from work, and he looked tired, to the point where Jackson wanted to take him home and tuck him into bed and hold him until he fell asleep. Those were definitely new urges.
He waited for Leo and his friend to make their way down the bar to the area Jackson was covering. The postwork rush was still in full flow, so it took him a while to serve the crowd of people and Leo to make his way to the front of the queue.
“Hey,” Jackson called as he handed his last customer their change.
“Hi.” Leo smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What can I get you?”
“Three pints, please,” Leo said. “Enzo wants a pale ale, you know what I like, and Fiona said she’ll drink anything.”
“Got it.” Jackson leaned down to grab the glasses from under the bar. “How was work?”
“Good, thanks,” Leo said. “I’m glad it’s Friday, though.”
“Are you still staying at Mitch’s apartment tonight?”
“Yeah, just for tonight,” Leo said, an apology in his eyes. “He’s lonely. Is that still okay?”
“Of course.” He slid the first pint across the bar. “I’ll probably work on if you’re not coming over, is all.”
“Yeah.”
An attractive Latino man appeared at Leo’s elbow and leaned in to murmur something in his ear. A hot spike of jealousy made Jackson almost wince. Leo could be flirty; that was just part of his nature. Jackson didn’t mind it, not normally, not when it was directed at people Jackson knew were safe. He didn’t know who this guy was and it made him twitchy.
“Hey,” Jackson said with a forced smile, making the other man acknowledge him. He nodded.
“Jackson, this is Enzo. My colleague. Enzo, this is my soul mate. I told you about him, remember?”
“I remember,” Enzo said.
Jackson couldn’t quite read his expression, couldn’t decide whether there was any malice in his tone. He was working, though, and decided to be professional.
“This one’s yours,” he said to Leo, pointing at one of the three pints. “The other two are the same.”
“Great.”
He rang the order through the till and passed Leo back a few bills, which Leo dumped in the tip jar.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Leo said.
Jackson nodded and raised his hand in a short wave.
Leo pressed two fingers to his lips and blew Jackson the smallest kiss.
As it turned out, that was all he needed.
WORK ON the bar moved so quickly Jackson wished he had set up a camera to time-lapse record it. From him checking in on progress from one day to the next, walls were built, booths were created, and by the end of March, his brewing equipment was installed. He’d asked for that to be a priority for the builders, so he could start working on what was most important to him.
Jackson found a deep, intense relief in being able to get brewing again. He spent a few days thoroughly cleaning the new copper urns and setting up the different areas to his preference, and then he hunkered down and set the inaugural brew of the new Lone Wolf Brewery and Bar going. It would take about two weeks to make the beer, then another couple of days to bottle and label it. The beer would still have to wait a few weeks more before they could drink it, but Jackson had challenged the building crews now, and the race was on to see who finished first.
Days passed in a blur, Jackson moving between his condo and the brewery on autopilot, back in the swing of working ridiculously long hours to make his business a success. Grant and Adam still called him in to work when the weekday evenings got busy, but Jackson didn’t mind. The work was almost reassuring, familiar, though now he had a picture of Leo on the desk in his new office. He looked at it often.
He almost didn’t hear the first knock at the door—he was so engrossed in the balance spreadsheets for the new bar. He heard the second knock and cursed it, wondering if he could ignore the rude person who was interrupting his day.
Then he got up and went and answered it, because his mother raised him right.
Which was probably a good thing, since it was the police.
“Mr. Lewis?”
He recognized them, though he couldn’t put names to the faces. The tall African American man had been there at the fire. The woman was his partner.
“Hi,” Jackson said. “Can I help?”
“I’m Detective Park, and this is Detective Hodgeson,” the female officer said. “Is there anyone at home with you today, Mr. Lewis?”
Jackson shook his head. Strange question. “No.”
“Could we come in?” Detective Hodgeson asked.
Jackson stepped aside to let the two detectives inside. “Sure. Go on through to the family room. Can I get you anything?”
Detective Park shook her head. “We’re fine, thanks. We just wanted to ask you a few follow-up questions.”
“Sure.”
He gestured to the couch and took one of the armchairs Leo liked to read in. “How can I help?”
Detective Park smiled at him. He’d always felt like she was easier to talk to than her partner; Detective Hodgeson was more of the strong, silent type.
“Are you familiar with Rosario’s?”
“The restaurant?” Jackson was confused. “Yeah. We eat there from time to time. Or get takeout.”
“Mr. Lewis, there was an incident of vandalism last night at Rosario’s restaurant.”
“You’re kidding.”
“The restaurant was smashed up and flooded. No one was hurt, thankfully.”
“You think it has something to do with the brewery?”
Detective Hodgeson didn’t give anything away. “We’re investigating all possible angles. Can you let us know your whereabouts last night?”
&n
bsp; “I was working,” he said quickly. “At my friends’ bar. I’ve been helping them out while my new place is being built. The building has CCTV if you need to check that.”
Detective Park nodded. “Was Leonardo Gallagher with you?”
“Leo? No. I know he worked late at the hospital because I spoke to him in the afternoon, but he was home when I got in around eleven thirty. Why?”
The two detectives shared a glance. “Mr. Lewis, we think there may be a connection between the fire at your property, the attack at Rosario’s, and the incident at Flair nightclub. With the information we now have, we’re satisfied we can classify the fire at the brewery as arson.”
“Holy shit,” Jackson breathed.
“Mr. Gallagher is connected to all three incidents.”
Jackson was already shaking his head. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I can guarantee you Leo isn’t involved.”
Detective Hodgeson pulled a photograph from his bag. It was of a blue cord bracelet. Jackson’s stomach sank.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Look, you’ve got it wrong.”
“Why don’t you explain it, then?”
Jackson felt sick. “Leo’s mother gave him that bracelet. He didn’t know what it was; he thought it was just a gift. When he found out, he was furious with her. He hasn’t worn it since. I understand why you’re looking at it this way. I do.”
“Were you aware that both Rosario’s and Flair are owned by werewolf-human couples?”
Jackson sat back. “No.”
“As is Lone Wolf Brewery,” Detective Park continued. “We’re not looking at Mr. Gallagher as a suspect, Mr. Lewis. We’ve already established his whereabouts and his alibis for all three incidents.”
“You think he might be a target,” Jackson said.
Detective Park held his gaze as she nodded slowly. “You know of the Human Protection League?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to show you some photographs,” she said, digging into her own messenger bag. “If you see any of these people, you should call us.”
AS SOON as the door closed behind the two detectives, Jackson grabbed his phone and called Leo. The call went to voicemail, which wasn’t actually a surprise. It was the middle of Leo’s workday.
“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “It’s me. Call me when you can? Okay, bye.”
For the first time since moving into the condo, he hated it. He wanted to be outside, to shift and run and find that calm, peaceful place where nothing mattered except the air in his lungs and the dirt under his feet. He could get in his truck and drive somewhere, but he felt too anxious for that.
Knowing that if he shifted, he’d just feel even more confined by the fourth-floor condo, Jackson forced himself to take a shower. It was an old trick, one he’d used plenty when he was going through puberty. The hot water helped him to relax, to take the edge off the desire to shift. When it felt like he was losing control, here he could claw it back.
After way too long under the water—his fingers were starting to wrinkle—Jackson turned off the shower and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. He liked this bathroom; it was one of the few rooms in the condo that he hadn’t redecorated when he moved in. The tiles were dark gray slate, covering the floor and halfway up the walls. The top part of the walls was painted white. Jackson liked the contrast.
He roughly towel dried his hair, then wrapped the towel around his waist before heading back to the bedroom.
There were little touches of Leo everywhere here now. His alarm clock on the nightstand, his cologne on the dresser, his clothes in the closet.
Jackson checked his phone, relieved to find a message from Leo.
I guess the cops came to see you? I’m okay. Will be home by 6 we can talk then <3
That was okay. He could handle that. He shot back his own message.
Okay. Be careful.
Jackson dressed in jeans and a sweater, then pulled on socks and boots because it was still cold in the construction site that was his new bar.
He’d made a habit of checking out the progress every morning, wandering around the space and checking off the new additions against his mental to-do list. It would still be a few more weeks until they were ready to start tasting, and another six weeks after that to bring the front of house areas up to scratch. But the main construction was almost complete, and if Jackson squinted right, he could imagine what the bar would look like by the summer.
Though it was getting lighter in the evenings now, dusk was already starting to fall as he made his way around the building and let himself into the bar. The builders started early and left early, and mostly left the place tidy.
The brewery was almost finished. There was a sign taped to the spiral staircase that led to the mezzanine level telling him not to go up there because the floors were wet. He peered up anyway. The floors didn’t look wet, but he wasn’t about to chance it.
He was here to check on the beer, anyway, not the floors.
He turned back toward the brewery and caught sight of a movement out of the corner of his eye. Then his head exploded with pain, and everything went black.
WHEN HE regained consciousness, Jackson immediately threw up.
“Shit, he’s awake.”
The voices around him were a soft murmur, and Jackson didn’t know… he couldn’t get a grip on….
His head really hurt.
“Fuck,” he groaned. He went to reach for his head, but his hands were tied. Behind his back. With what felt like zip ties.
An older man crouched in front of him and slapped Jackson’s face.
“Listen to me, you piece of shit. You shift and we’ll get it on video, okay? We’ll tape that, we’ll shoot you, and we won’t hesitate in putting you down like the dog you are. You understand?”
“What the—”
The man slapped him again. “You ever heard of justifiable homicide, hmm? Self-defense? I won’t hesitate in pulling the trigger. So stay down.”
Jackson stayed down.
His eyes throbbed and his throat itched, and he knew this was bad.
As more of his senses came back online, Jackson could smell the gasoline, and he knew—he fucking knew—they were going to do the same thing to this brewery as they’d done to the last one. Except this time they were going to do it with him inside.
Jackson took a few more slow, deep breaths, ignoring the pain in his skull and his ribs. The fuckers had stamped on him, from the feel of it, and he wanted nothing more than to shift into his wolf form and tear them limb from limb. But he believed the man who’d slapped him. They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.
Jackson could see three people, two men and a woman, and there was another person shuffling around on the mezzanine. His heart was pounding so hard Jackson thought he might throw up again, but he managed to tamp down the panic.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he prayed no one else heard it. Then it buzzed again.
Then it started to ring, and Jackson shifted forward, lifting his hips so the phone wouldn’t touch the floor, making the vibrations more audible.
“Okay, let’s move,” the woman said. He heard the sharp click of her boots on the concrete floor as she moved over to him.
For a moment he stared at the brown leather and memorized that fucking boot so he’d know, when he got out of here, exactly what she was wearing.
“Scum,” she said, then spat on him. Jackson closed his eyes and braced himself as she swung her foot back; then pain exploded in his mouth as she kicked him in the face.
Jackson coughed as she walked away, spitting blood.
He was breathing too hard, panicking, and that wasn’t good. He needed to have a plan of what to do when these bastards lit the place up, because it wouldn’t take long from when they struck the match for the place to go up in flames. He hated shifting when he was wearing clothes, and he had no idea what would happen to the zip ties, but he’d do it. He’d get ou
t, and he’d get to Leo, and he’d call the fucking number Detective Park had left for him.
Yes, Detective Park. Those fuckers you told me to watch out for? I found them.
Jackson forced his attention away from his pain as he controlled his breathing, knowing he would have only a few seconds to gather his focus enough to shift and move. Jackson heard the person upstairs light a match—the familiar fizzle and whuff of flame—then they were all running to the door.
He wasn’t exactly sure what happened next.
Lying on the floor, facedown, he wouldn’t know when it was safe to shift, and he’d figured he’d do it on instinct, guessing when they were gone. But there was something happening outside, more cars than there should be in this area at this time, and he cracked his eyes open in time to see flashing red-and-blue lights.
Holy fuck.
The upstairs was already starting to fill with fire and smoke and heat, and Jackson struggled onto his back as the front doors to the brewery burst open and a whole heap of people rushed in.
“Jackson!”
Leo.
Jackson sobbed and closed his eyes again as his soul mate rushed to his rescue.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JACKSON WAS not a good patient.
Leo had forced him into the ambulance, forced him to get X-rays, and forced him to stay in the hospital room until he’d been checked by a doctor. Jackson wasn’t particularly happy about any of this, but Leo was too scared to disobey medical procedure.
“Leo,” Jackson whined.
“No. I nearly lost you. I could have lost you. No.”
They were not going home until Jackson was discharged.
It had been a hell of a day.
Leo had known something was up as soon as he pulled into his parking space outside the brewery. There were lights flickering inside, and Leo knew the last builders would have left hours ago.
When Jackson didn’t answer either of Leo’s texts or his call, he called the police.
And the fire department, and an ambulance, for good measure.
