“Any questions?” he continued, staring her down with Sanders’ eyes.
Isabella hesitated again, the question at the tip of her tongue. How did he get here? When had you last seen him?
How can I help?
The urge to comfort was strong—and unwelcome. Instead, she forced the questions back and took another small sip. Then she shrugged.
“Blossom sucks. Can I change my name?”
Silence. Then a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, curving them.
“Do as you wish,” he murmured. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she murmured back. Behind the Sanders façade, she could see him—the charming Dylan, who wasn’t quite charming right now.
“Lock your doors,” he finished before he was walking out of the cabin. “Can’t be totally safe around here.”
The door shut with a soft click. With a sigh, Isabella went ahead and knocked off the rest of the glass.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The stench of urine and everything else foul made Simon Alison almost want to vomit, but he held it in and tried not to be dizzy. They were thrown in a prison that look like nothing more than a cage, and he could feel a headache forming at the back of his skull where he’d been knocked out.
Not a good way to kick off playing a role, to be honest.
But he'd been in worse conditions than this-had gone on missions that involved watching his friends getting beat to within an inch of their life and having to be imprisoned for a week. Nothing smelled as bad as this place, though.
He turned his head from side to side, shaking the throbbing away. Beside him, he could smell Robin—a combination of lemon-scented spells and her, and it was somewhat comforting. He finally turned his gaze in that direction and saw her sitting a meter away from him, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. Her cloak was gone, leaving her in jeans and a plain black shirt, and her chin rested on her arms.
She was openly staring at him, her green eyes solemn. Simon blinked when she placed a palm on his forehead. Then he winced when she pressed deep, pulling his head back when pain hit him. She frowned.
“I don’t have my powers here,” she whispered.
He tried to shift. Sure enough, he couldn’t seem to. “It’s okay.”
She kept frowning. “You’ve got a large bruise on your forehead, you know. And I think another at the back.”
“I figured,” he replied, touching it gingerly. There was already a bump there, one that would only grow. Oh, well.
Robin nudged him, her gaze suddenly fixed on something. Simon looked up and found a guard standing in front of the iron bars. It was a bulky man missing some teeth, and what was left were all yellow and half rotten. His black eyes were focused on Robin, as if she held a particular interest to him.
Simon immediately stood up and placed himself in front of Robin’s sitting form.
“What the hell are you looking at?” he growled.
The man’s eyes narrowed and he sneered, his hands gripping the lock as if to open it. A knife glinted in his hand, and Simon’s back went rigid as he prepared himself to defend.
But before the man could enter, a crash was heard outside. Then a commotion followed as shouts filled the air. Simon could hear protests of a male voice, then a thump and some grunts. After a few seconds, more guards were dragging another man in their direction.
The cell door was opened and the man was thrown in without an ounce of care, where he crashed on the ground unceremoniously. Simon stepped forward to help him get to his feet, watching the guards close the door with a bang and yell insults at them before leaving the premises.
The man groaned, sitting up. He was shorter than Simon but taller than Robin, and he looked like he could use a few good dinners to give him some weight. It was obvious that life on this island must have made him haggard and thin.
“Thanks,” the man muttered. Then his gaze shifted between Robin and Simon, a cool, dark blue that was very familiar.
Simon suddenly realized who this was. He glanced at Robin, whose eyes had flickered but didn’t reveal any other expression. Not wanting to give out their knowledge, he held out a hand.
“I’m Simon,” he said.
The man looked at the hand before reluctantly taking it. “Jason.” Then, obviously not wanting to engage in any more conversation, he hobbled along to the side of the cage and leaned his bloodied head on the wall. There were bruises and cuts all over his face, indicating he was punched thoroughly.
“What did you do?” Robin asked bluntly from her spot. She was eyeing the bruises, as if mentally imagining treating each one of them.
“Try to escape,” Jason replied shortly. Then he turned his back on them.
Interesting. Isabella’s brother wanted to escape as much as them, if not more. Did that mean he was innocent?
Only time would tell.
And Simon intended to find out the truth.
*****
Things were pretty routine as far as being imprisoned went. They were given their daily nourishment—a disgusting measly bowl of slop and maybe 4 ounces of water. Simon wolfed down his, feeling the first sign of hunger pangs and dreaming of a juicy steak. Shifters had fast metabolisms, but he’d learned how to deal with it when they had nothing to eat on crucial missions. He figured he still had two to three days before the hunger would really get to him.
Robin ate listlessly, while Jason waited for the two of them to finish their meals before eating his. He wasn’t exactly cold, but it was obvious he wasn’t here to make friends, so they left him as he was.
There was a small section of the prison that was made into a makeshift restroom, but nothing for showering. They made do, and on the second day in the cage, Robin tied her hair up and cleaned her face by ripping a portion of her shirt and dipping it in her remaining water. They talked in low voices, trying to decide some kind of strategy, all while silently worrying about Dylan and Isabella.
News of Dylan’s—or rather, Captain Sanders’—unfortunate event had spread through the area, and Simon’s sensitive ears picked up odds and ends of the gossip. It was amusing and alarming how the story went from him being ambushed to some intricate plot of love and murder, with Sanders being the victim of it all. Really, this only proved they were all idiots.
Dangerous idiots, but still.
On the third day, Jason finally spoke all of a sudden.
“You were discussing escape.”
Simon and Robin looked at each other before meeting his gaze. Apparently he was listening to their whispered conversations all along. Simon nodded his head warily. “What’s it to you?”
Jason leaned forward, his blue eyes darker than ever. There was hate brewing there, along with spite. “I was working undercover until I was busted. I need to get these children out. So I need to escape.”
Robin looked skeptical. Simon couldn’t blame her, considering this was a new discovery altogether. Isabella certainly didn’t know. Simon rolled the idea around in his mind, then decided to give it a shot. Jason was too old to be a child slave, so this was the only plausible reason why he was here with them.
“How do we know you’re not setting a trap for us?” Simon asked.
“You’d be dead on the first day had I been setting a trap for you,” Jason replied softly.
Simon glared. Robin stopped looking skeptical and gave Jason a serious look.
“You lay out the plan to us and we’ll see what we can do,” Robin said testily.
Jason moved his fingers, an indication to come closer. Robin and Simon did. The three huddled at the side, whispering and whispering.
The plan was decided.
*****
They slept at night and decided to wake up at dawn to implement it. But Simon woke up with a start in the middle of the night as a muffled sound came from beside him. He reached out for Robin automatically, as she’d always slept a few inches away from him since they got trapped here. But his hands came up empty.
T
hen he saw it—the girl with a hand clamped on her mouth, and black eyes sneering at him. Robin was struggling and trying to fight, but the bulky man was stronger and heavier. She had no chance.
Simon leapt to his feet, fury rising inside him. He shouted out curses until Jason woke up, too, his blue eyes widening at the scene. Simon charged for the man, while Jason tried to pull Robin back—but they were too late as Robin was dragged outside of the cage, disappearing from view.
Simon only had a split second to watch the horror in her eyes before she was gone and the cell door was shut back in their faces. He howled. He pounded on the steel bars, crying out for blood. Arms banded around him, and he heard Jason’s voice calling him out, telling him to calm down. But he couldn’t calm down, because the man had Robin—and he knew exactly what happened to girls in this horrible place. He’d seen the intentions in the man’s eyes.
He shook the bars. Sounds rose from outside, and guards gathered around his cell. He snarled at them all, even while they warned him to stand back.
When he didn’t listen, the door was opened again. Simon launched himself towards the exit, but the guards were having none of it as they all dragged him back. One guard punched him in the face, and he managed to get a punch in.
Another guard kicked him. Then another.
Simon was overpowered as all the guards helped out in knocking him down all over again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Being invited to dinner with the boss on their third day, a day after he pretended to have the fall accident, made Dylan suspicious—but that suspicion was eased when he found out later that Sanders was one of the few always invited to the boss’ dinners due to his constant success in delivering healthy goods. That only made Dylan despise the man more, who’d died in the middle of the night when he’d tried to kill himself and succeeded. Coward.
Dylan was relatively calmer now when he faced his half-brother, who was apparently a regular at the dinner affairs, too. Lance wasn’t a slave trader, but he used to be, which meant that he’d been successful enough to elevate his rank. Now, he was Henley’s assistant and most trusted confidante, making him a formidable enemy at this point.
Lance had always been good with charming people with conversation when they were kids, a knack he shared with Dylan. But that charm now held an oily quality, mixing old and new together that Dylan couldn’t figure out whether he should be mad or worried. They sat across from him at the table, with Isabella wearing something less scandalous this time.
True to her name, which she decided not to change after all, she wore a kimono of the highest quality, in a lush pink color that complimented her skin—something she’d bought at the black market when she checked things out this morning. Sanders had plenty of classy clothing in his closet, and his similar size to Dylan made it easy to choose a black outfit that would cover up the muscles that Sanders lacked.
Henley wasn’t much of a speaker, only choosing to talk when spoken to. Lance, in the meantime, was quite the talker, only stopping when the food arrived and even talking in between bites. Isabella kept up her role, the sly concubine that Sanders insisted on bringing, and she let Lance flirt with her as much as he wanted. It was obvious Lance wanted to do more than flirt, and how blatant he voiced it without regard for his audience further cemented Dylan’s suspicion that his brother disliked Sanders.
Dylan didn’t like the flirting part—not with how those eyes looked at Isabella as if he wanted to tear her apart right then and there. He didn’t know this man anymore, couldn’t detect the person that he grew up with before Lance defected…and that meant he was unpredictable.
But a job was a job. And so Dylan stuck to his role. He deliberately drank more wine than was necessary, used foul words that he normally didn’t use, and listened to ongoing conversation all around him. Because of this, he was able to take note of the usual shipping schedules of the biggest ships.
It was time to put the next plan in motion.
Dylan excused himself just before midnight with Isabella on his arm, winking lecherously at the group and acting drunk as he stumbled repeatedly on top of his limp. Isabella supported him again, giving him a kiss on the cheek and staining it with her red lipstick as she chewed at her gum vulgarly. She giggled the whole way, pretending to be pleased, while Dylan flirted with her the whole way back to the ship.
She smelled really, really good. Dylan could smell Isabella beneath her façade, that cloying perfume that she put on, and it was distracting. But he kept his character and so did she, and he detected no reaction in her when he leaned closer along the way.
When they finally almost reached the ship and were alone, he reluctantly let her go. Pretty blue eyes stared at him, an altered shade, and he quietly informed her of the plan to look for Simon and Robin to relay the shipping dates and give them an idea of escape. They brought a lock pick with them, with the plan to give it to the teens and have them start from there. Isabella walked ahead, shedding her heels and tucking it in between her kimono. She disappeared in the fog.
After a minute, Dylan walked in the other direction.
*****
He found Simon after an hour inside one of the smaller buildings, and shock filled him at the boy’s state. One of his eyes was shut tight and swollen, and his nose looked broken twice. His lower lip was also swollen, making his speech slurred.
Dylan quickly gave out the shipping schedule, and Simon assured him that he would find a way to get everyone out by tomorrow. There was someone hunched on the cell beside him, but the other boy looked unconscious, so Dylan paid him no attention. It was only then that Dylan realized Robin was missing.
Almost at the same time, Simon’s hand gripped the bars, his dark eyes intense and almost desperate.
“Robin’s been taken,” he whispered urgently. “You have to find her. She’s been taken by a man and I don’t know what he’ll do with her.”
Dylan’s gaze sharpened. “When was she taken?”
“A few hours ago. Hurry.”
Dylan nodded then went on, leaving Simon behind. A sinking feeling filled his chest, making him question his decision to bring them here. While Simon could defend himself without his shifting abilities, he’d been outnumbered and was badly hurt now. He couldn’t imagine Robin’s state, who had no access to her magic right now and only had basic self-defense.
There were barely any guards, and what he found were resting in corners or dozing off. He used it to his advantage as he searched the buildings, finally finding Robin inside one of the other buildings filled with girls. She was in a small cell all on her own, and from what he could see, her clothes were torn in some places. She also had bruises all over whatever skin was exposed.
She gave a start when he snuck in front of her, her eyes widening.
“Are you okay?” he asked right off.
A shadow crossed her green eyes, and the sinking feeling returned. But she firmed her lips and nodded her head, and it brought him a small sense of relief.
“I’m fine,” she replied in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
“Simon asked me to find you. Are you sure?”
She nodded again.
“Describe the person who tried to take you away,” he ordered.
Robin took a second to think it through before stating the basics—brown skin, bulky, most teeth gone. It described most of the men here, but Dylan vowed he’d find that person and kill him.
“What did you do to get away?” Dylan asked.
Robin looked at him defiantly. “I bit his fingers off.” As if to prove her point, she bared her teeth threateningly, stains in them.
Dylan grinned. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then he told her the same details that he told Simon. He gave her another lock pick and told her to stay put, in which she replied dryly that she didn’t have anywhere to go to.
Dylan then backtracked and went back to Simon, sharing the good news. The relief on the boy’s face was visible, and he left him with that hope, checking hi
s watch. It was the dead of night now, and he needed to regroup with Isabella to collaborate their findings. A lot was resting on the teens’ shoulders, but they needed to be ready at the scheduled time tomorrow, too.
He’d almost passed a couple of guards walking by and had to stay in hiding for a few minutes. The thought of entering Henley’s office crossed his mind, just to see if there was any higher boss the man was reporting to. But it was terribly late, and Isabella would be waiting. He needed to go back to the ship first.
When the coast was relatively clear, he moved again, keeping to the fog and using it to hide himself. The ship was only about ten minutes away, and Dylan used the narrow path between buildings that was mostly left neglected to get there when a certain scent caught his attention—Isabella’s cloying perfume and soap scent beneath. He stopped right away and backtracked, following the faint scent until he reached a warehouse that seemed like some sort of storage for Henley’s particular vice. There were boxes stacked all over one another, some open and others sealed shut. It said a lot about everyone’s fear of Henley’s retaliation that there was no need for a guard inside at this time of night.
His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Dylan took a step forward. A sound to his right made him pause and turn in that direction.
And that was where he found Isabella, struggling to get away from Lance—or at least, pretending to. His hands were squeezing her and bruising her as he kept her still, and he was tearing her clothes off.
Dylan saw red.
Then he was charging towards Lance as fury consumed him like no other.
CHAPTER NINE
The idiotic man had only been a few seconds in trying to take advantage of her before he was suddenly gone. Isabella startled, because he hadn’t even budged at her first few attempts at pushing him off using her human strength, telling of the strength beneath the lanky figure. She’d been considering showing off some of her fighting moves, then reconsidering as it might jeopardize her concubine act.
Mate Hunt: An Alpha Werewolf Romance Page 4
