by Lynn Hagen
Ian glanced away, feeling the shame wash over him like an arctic wave. The warmth he had gained from his conversation with Mason was gone, replaced by a chill of reality that was so profound, it was bone deep.
“My heart goes out to you, Ian.”
Ian balled his fists at his sides, glaring daggers at Dorian as he turned to look at the arrogant bastard. He spoke in an even, deceptively calm tone, his jaw set. “Your heart?” he scoffed. “Fuck your heart, you selfish bastard. This is my life, my sanity, and my very future we’re talking about. If I have to choose between my physical recovery and your heart, you’re screwed.” He finished his statement in a heated shout, his outrage in his very tone. He had tried to stay calm. But it seemed the longer he talked, the angrier he became.
“That’s not what I meant!” Dorian shot back heatedly.
“I know what you meant,” Ian replied with piss-poor sarcasm, keeping the hurt out of his tone. “Poor Ian, the junkie. He was such a good boy growing up. I’ll never understand where he went so wrong,” Ian finished with mockery of what he assumed Dorian was feeling. “Fuck you, Dorian.”
“You know,” Dorian said as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing, his look filled with anger. Ian had never before seen such anguish and indignation toward him from Dorian. “I hated drug addicts until my brother became one, and then I tried to understand. I really did. I began to research it, looking up whatever I could so I could better relate to what you were going through. I learned a lot, and my opinion has changed, but how in the fuck can I ever understand your need to be beaten?”
Ian shoved at Dorian, knocking him into the counter. He had to stop himself from raising a fist to his brother. Everything that Newman had done to him had built up in a hair’s breadth of a second, almost making Ian want to tear at Dorian to stop the pain. “You think I like to get beaten?” He shouted the question into Dorian’s face, spittle flying. “You think I like those monsters touching me?”
“What the fuck have you shown me, Ian? You just up and disappear one day, and then I find you in a BDSM club. The vampire that runs the joint tells me you come there regularly to get beaten up and get high!” Dorian slammed his fists into the counter behind him, and Ian could see the worry and horror in the man’s brown eyes. “Then when I shoot a fucking vampire repeatedly to get you out of there, you take off again! And where do you go, right back to that damn club. So tell me, Ian. What in the hell am I supposed to think?”
Ian slapped his hand into Dorian’s chest, wanting to hurt Dorian, wanting to hug Dorian, and just wanting his brother back. “You could have asked me!”
“When?” Dorian shouted just as loudly. “When could I have asked you? I couldn’t find you to ask you. You call me a selfish bastard, but you’re the one who was hiding in a club and getting high while Mom, Dad, and I worried our heads off about you.”
“If you were so worried about me, then why did you dump me on strangers?” Some of the fight left Ian as he asked the one question that had haunted him for months. He felt as though Dorian had stopped loving him. Ian had begun to believe his older brother—the man he had always looked up to—was washing his hands of Ian.
And that hurt more than Dorian would ever know.
“Dump you?” Dorian asked. “I didn’t dump you on strangers, Ian. That couple was part of Rick’s pack. Rick and I were on the run for our lives, and I didn’t want you hurt if we kept you with us. I thought I was helping you. I thought I was keeping you safe. Kraven sent Mãos da Morte after us. There was no way I could have fought them and kept them from killing you, or worse, taking you back.”
“He sent his Mãos da Morte after you?” Ian asked in a whisper filled with horror. He had heard the vampires talking about the Mãos da Morte. There was no way to escape them. There was nowhere to hide. The boogeymen of the nonhuman world killed without remorse, or before the person even knew they were about to die.
“Yeah, but he was using them to find our location. I think if they were there to kill us, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
“I—” There was so much Ian wanted to say, but didn’t know if he had the courage to say it. He wanted Dorian to know how he became addicted. He wanted his brother to know that he didn’t like to get beaten.
But most of all, he wanted to know if Dorian still loved him.
Dorian cupped his face, tilting Ian’s head back and staring into his eyes. “Just tell me what to do to help you, Ian. Just tell me what I have to do to get my brother back.”
If only it were that easy. Ian was never what Dorian thought he was. He had needs that would probably make his older brother turn his back on Ian. But there was one truth he could share. “I don’t like to get beaten,” he admitted. “It was their sick game to play with me in order for me…” Ian trailed off, his anger and courage leaving him, the shame coming back and making it impossible for Ian to finish his sentence.
Dorian pulled Ian into his arms, and Ian held on for dear life. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as the eternal anguish he had been living with for so long filled him again.
“Shhh, we’ll get through this. We’ll find a way to get you clean and keep you that way. I may have been angry with you, but I never gave up on you, Ian. I would never give up on you.”
Ian was beginning to see that he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was. First Mason had pledged his friendship, promising Ian to always be there for him, and now Dorian. Ian wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, curling his fingers into his brother’s shirt as he cried.
“What about Dad and Mom?” Ian asked.
Dorian gave a small laugh. “Believe it or not, Dad was on your side. He told me not to judge you unless I knew about the BDSM lifestyle.”
Ian was shocked. “He did?”
“Yeah,” Dorian replied. “I won’t say I understand whatever need it is you have, but I’ll try. I’ll honestly try. But please don’t let me see you tied up and whatever else it is you like.” Dorian shuddered and then smiled.
“I–I don’t know what I like,” Ian confessed into Dorian’s shoulder. “But I promise to never let you know.”
“Good,” Dorian said as he pulled back and then slung his arm over Ian’s shoulder. “And promise you’ll fight this addiction.”
“I’m trying,” Ian answered honestly, biting his lower lip and glancing toward the kitchen door. He knew Mason was close by. How he knew, he wasn’t sure, but he did.
“Go away, you nosey bastards,” Dorian shouted.
“So,” Ian began, “you’re mated?”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “Don’t even ask. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what has been going on for the past four and a half months.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Ian confessed.
“Someday.” Dorian pulled his arm free. “But right now I think there is an anxious jaguar waiting to get you back.”
Ian’s eyes snapped toward the kitchen door again to see Mason standing there, looking powerful as hell as his eyes locked onto Ian.
Everyone’s head snapped up when Sasha came rushing through the back door, his face a mask of rage. “Time to go, people.”
“Not again,” Dorian said as he sighed.
“What?” Ian asked, panic filling him. Had the vampires found them? Was Newman showing up in person to finish Ian off? He had thought the man wanted information, something Ian was not going to give him.
“My guess,” Dorian said to Ian, “is that Breed Hunters are close by.”
“Mason filled me in on a lot of things, but I have a feeling he left a lot out.”
“Did not,” Mason defended. “I just gave you the condensed version.”
“I’ll fill you in when he leaves,” Dorian promised.
Ian felt better now that Dorian was talking to him again. But the shame of what he had allowed himself to go through was still riding him hard, and he knew he had a long road to travel before he could call himself officially clean.
And secretly, even though Dorian p
romised to try and understand Ian’s needs, he knew his brother would never understand the hungers that ate away at Ian. He wanted a life that Dorian would probably never understand.
Hell, Ian didn’t half understand it himself.
But the feeling of being a sick, twisted, perverted fuck still lived inside of him. The only thing that mattered right now was that Dorian was talking to him.
He had lived with his sick depravities for so long that Ian was used to the haunting feeling. He would shove them down and try his best to forget about them.
Even if that meant he would live a lie.
Ian’s eyes widened when Mason growled, moving closer to Ian and Dorian. He didn’t understand what Mason was doing until a tall stranger walked into the back door, his broad shoulders filling the frame and the tattoo around his eye and temple giving off a menacing vibe.
His dark eyes flickered between the three of them before he asked, “Where is Enrique Marcelo?”
Chapter Thirteen
Mason moved closer to Ian and Dorian. He didn’t know who the stranger was and could scent that he was changeling, but Mason wasn’t taking any chances.
Sasha walked back into the kitchen, Rick and Freedman close behind him. “Did I fucking tell you that you could come in, Loki?” Sasha snarled.
“You didn’t tell me to wait outside,” the stranger replied.
Sasha was in the man’s face in under a second, his claws extended from his fingertips. Mason had never seen anyone move so fast in his life, and he was changeling.
“I don’t mix words or play head games. The next time you come near my group, your entrails will be spilling to the floor before you even notice I’m standing in front of you.”
Mason glanced at Rick to see what the alpha was going to do about Sasha’s claim, but Rick said nothing. He stood there looking just as menacing as Sasha. Never before had Mason seen two alphas working together like this.
It was amazing, and strange as hell.
Mason’s eyes shot to Freedman when the human gasped. The soldier’s eyes were fixed on the door as another weretiger walked in.
“Henderson?” Freedman said the name as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Neither could Mason. Henderson was supposed to be dead. The former leader of the now-dead Death Squad had claimed he killed Henderson for betraying the Death Squad and warning Rick about what was going on.
Henderson silently stood there, as if he were trying to figure out who Freedman was. The man stood close to Loki who had walked in, as if protecting him.
“How in the hell are you alive? Middleton said he killed you.”
Henderson’s eyes flickered to the man standing in front of him, and then he looked at Freedman. “Loki tells me that I was left for dead and that the weretigers found me and converted me to save my life.”
Freedman was grinning from ear to ear as he moved closer, but Henderson’s scowl stopped him dead in his tracks. “What is wrong with you? We’re best friends. Why are you acting like I’m your enemy?”
Loki held his hand up. “Nicholas suffered brain damage when he was injured. Even after his conversion, things aren’t what they should be. The only reason we learned his name was from the wallet he had on him with his military ID tucked inside.”
Freedman looked astonished, and then his jaw clenched firmly. “We were best friends, Henderson. Please tell me you remember that?” He sounded desperate, pleading with a man who couldn’t remember who he was.
Henderson gave a slight shake of his head. Mason could scent the anguish coming off of Freedman. “I killed the Death Squad,” Freedman said with vehemence. “I avenged your death—injuries,” Freedman corrected.
“We came to tell you that the Breed Hunters are showing up in droves. Something tipped them off. My pack is heading out. You men should do the same,” Loki said.
“But what about Nate and Selene?” Sasha asked as he turned to Rick. “They’ll be coming here to look for us.”
“Then we leave a message only the two will understand,” Rick replied. “I’ll leave word with my brother-in-law in case he hears from them.”
Mason noticed how Rick left Edward’s name out of the conversation.
Loki nodded. “Get ready to move out. My pack will lead them away from you, but I don’t know if any will stay behind and try to hunt you down.”
“Thanks,” Rick replied.
Loki and Henderson began to walk back outside.
“Henderson,” Freedman called. The man looked back at Freedman, and Mason knew without a doubt that Henderson knew who Freedman was. He could see it in the guy’s eyes.
Freedman cocked his head slightly, and Mason could tell that the man had figured the same thing out. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Henderson nodded and walked out.
“Why would he pretend not to know me?” Freedman asked when the two men were gone.
“My guess would be to keep you safe,” Rick replied. “From what, I’m not sure.”
Mason didn’t have time to help them figure it out. “We need to move out.” He guided Ian upstairs, and then Mason packed. He noticed a few more items of clothing lying on the bed and knew Omar had left them for Ian.
He grabbed the shirt and socks, tossing them to Ian. “Put those on.”
“Where are we going to go?” Ian quickly dressed as Mason shoved his clothes in a duffel bag.
Mason wanted to tell the truth. He already knew the next place they were headed, but Sasha’s warning ran through his mind. Ian needed to buy time with whoever was attacking him. So Mason lied. “South Carolina. We want to get as close to the White House as we can.”
Ian looked shocked but said nothing as Mason walked them back downstairs. Everyone was heading out of the back door.
“Keep your head low and stick by my side,” Mason warned.
Ian nodded.
Mason glanced around as he led Ian to the truck. He noticed Benito and Miguel climbing in with Bryson. Sasha did as well.
That left Rick driving the truck, Freedman riding shotgun, Mason and Ian in the backseat, and Omar and Dorian all the way in the back.
There were ten of them against who knew how many Breed Hunters. Mason pulled his gun from the duffle bag and placed it between him and the door.
Ian’s eyes widened.
“Teeth and claws won’t work in most situations with the Breed Hunters. All of us became expert shooters.”
Ian’s head snapped back to Dorian. “You, too?”
Rick snorted. “The man sleeps with his gun.”
Bryson’s car pulled from the drive, Rick moving forward, and then Rick slammed on the brakes. Mason’s head snapped up to see what was going on.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Rick growled the words softly.
“Jayson,” Dorian snarled. “Run his ass over!”
That was going to be easier said than done considering the man was in a large truck as well. The nose of the truck Mason and the rest were in was facing the street. They were blocked in.
“Then let me shoot his ass!” Dorian began to move up front, but Mason pushed him back.
“Slow down, Jesse James. If you haven’t noticed, he has a truck full of people as well. We’re blocked in and have nowhere to go for a shootout.”
Mason glanced at the truck in front of them to see Jayson smiling at them with such evil intent and the cruelest smile that he knew they would have no choice but to shoot their way out of this. Mason fell back into his seat when Rick slammed on the gas, the tires spinning, gravel shooting against the house, making it sound like machine guns were sounding all around them.
Rick took to the grass, driving backward through the backyard.
“He’s gonna crash,” Ian said in panic as he scrambled to get up from where he had fallen.
“Nah, he’s pretty damn good in reverse,” Dorian replied and then looked between Mason and Ian. “But buckle up just in case.”
Ian scrambled to put his seat belt on
as Mason leaned forward, watching the large blue truck chase them down.
“Fucking hell!” Mason pushed Ian down to the seat as gunfire erupted all around them. Reaching over, Mason lowered the window, returning fire. He almost whooped when Bryson’s car skidded up behind Jayson’s, evening out. Sasha’s blond hair was blowing in the wind as he sat on the open window frame on the passenger’s side with a rifle in his hand, firing into the blue truck from behind.
Benito and Miguel were hanging out of the window, their handguns emptying into the truck as well.
Rick jerked the truck, damn near making Mason lose his gun. They drove in a circle around the blue truck until they almost collided with Bryson’s car.
“I thought you said he could drive backward!” Ian shouted, covering his head with his hands as he bent as low as he could.
“That’s why I told you to buckle up,” Dorian said before he pushed into the backseat, avoiding Mason’s flailing arm to get him back where he was. The brat rolled the other window down, crouching over Ian as he joined in the firefight.
“I had no idea my brother was so bloodthirsty,” Ian shouted at Mason.
Mason rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“Hold on!” Rick shouted as he jerked the truck once more, spinning around until they were facing the back of the blue truck, and then sped up, ramming directly into the back of it, knocking a few of the Breed Hunters from the bed of the truck.
Bryson swung up beside Rick, Sasha aiming his gun at the back tires, rapid fire damn near making Mason deaf.
“Remind me to never piss Sasha off,” Dorian said as he slid back inside. “That man is lethal as fuck. Did you see his face? That’s some scary-ass shit.”
“One more time,” Rick yelled at them. Mason threw himself onto Ian as the truck made a bone-jarring impact with the truck in front of them. Mason glanced up when he heard a whirring noise to see Rick pushing the other truck toward the woods. Mason knew there was a ravine close by. The drop-off wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Shit!” Rick shouted as he slammed on the brakes. The truck lurched forward and then stopped, teetering. “Don’t move.”
