Justice (2 page)

He took a right between two brick buildings. From the sounds of it, there was only one person chasing him still. Paul was about to lose him. He darted around the dumpsters and the homeless man passed out on the ground. At least the guy or woman had blankets, which was more than a lot of the homeless people had.

There’d been a time when Paul had thought he’d do something great in the world, help people somehow, but all those dreams were dead now. They hadn’t left Paul, though. No, they were decaying inside him, the rot from them taking pieces of him with it.

Paul snorted at his melancholy musings. He had someone trying to catch him and he was waxing philosophical. Well, whatever, it wasn’t slowing him down any.

At the end of the alley, a ten-foot-high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire presented a minor obstacle. Paul added more power behind his running, then he leapt and caught the fencing right below the wire on top of it. Yeah, he practised escaping as often as he could. People probably thought he was just a Parkour nut, running and climbing, manoeuvring in ways that most people couldn’t. He wasn’t. Paul was just determined to survive.

He cleared the fence easily and landed into an immediate roll. Not once did he stop moving as he came up and took off running again. Someone, or something, hit the fence behind him. Paul grinned. Regular people couldn’t keep up with him.

But a shifter would have already caught you.

“Fuck you,” Paul rasped to himself. He took another running leap and kicked off from one building. As soon as he twisted and his feet hit the building opposite of the first one, Paul contorted and stretched as he shoved off again. He reached out and caught the ledge of the rooftop and pulled himself up, using his body’s forward momentum in his favour. He was on the rooftop in seconds.

Only then did he pause to look down at whoever had thought to catch him. The guy hadn’t even made it over the fence. Paul chuckled and took off. His amusement quickly died when he thought about the man he’d struck.

Paul replayed that instant over and over in his head as he made his way back towards his side of town. He lived approximately nine miles from the bar he’d just left, and by his estimates, he still had about seven miles to go.

He touched his palm. There was no tenderness there, not that it’d have meant anything if he’d been sore. Killing a man with a hit to the throat didn’t always take a lot of brute strength.

He hadn’t meant to seriously hurt anyone, he’d just wanted to be free. Being grabbed, it tended to unnerve him and send him into defensive mode. There’d been that hungry, mean look in the man’s eyes, the kind of look that Paul had seen before and had meant he wasn’t going to walk away unhurt.

But the lighting had been bad, and he could have been wrong, could have asked the guy to leave him the fuck alone.

God, he couldn’t deal with that right then. Paul scrubbed his hands over his face. His stubble scraped at his palms. Too many thoughts were trying to take precedence in his head, and he couldn’t sort any of them out.

Paul shook himself from top to toes. He looked out from the rooftop.
Still no stars or moon.
The drizzle had stopped, but he only then became aware of being wet and cold. His teeth chattered and Paul clamped them tightly together.

Going back to the bar was out. He’d have to watch the news, and if… Paul closed his eyes and reached for what little of his soul remained. If he’d hurt that guy badly, if he’d killed him, then he’d turn himself in.

And be a prisoner again, because I was a fucking fool.
He didn’t know if he could go through with it, but he did know he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t.

Chapter Two

Paul thrust in again and sealed his lips shut against the moan knocking at his teeth. The guy sucking his dick moaned plenty enough for both of them, anyway. As soon as Paul’s load was shot, he pulled out of the man’s mouth. With a flick of his wrist, he had the condom off and tossed on the ground.

“Thanks,” he muttered while he tucked his penis away. He zipped up his pants and glanced at the man still kneeling. He was jacking himself off with harsh, fast strokes, and for one moment, Paul wanted to squat beside him and take over, to bring him off and just be a part of something, someone, other than himself.

He didn’t. Instead Paul turned and walked away. They both knew the score. Neither of them cared about the other’s feelings. The guy had got off on sucking Paul, on making Paul lose it and blow a wad in his mouth. He didn’t want or need Paul for the rest of it, which was just how Paul liked his sex to go. If there was a little twinge of jealousy in his chest, a little pinch of longing for something more, Paul ruthlessly stomped it down.

His brother Preston had found a man perfect for him—a ‘mate’, Preston called the guy. Paul just called him a shifter, though Nischal wasn’t a wolf shifter and he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Not that Paul had hung around him long enough to be certain. He wouldn’t stay around any kind of shifter longer than he absolutely had to.

But Preston and Nischal were so close, like two halves of a whole reunited—Paul snorted as he strode down the sidewalk. He was becoming a fanciful idiot.

He ran a hand over his buzzed hair. After a week with no cops knocking on his door, and no reports of the assault he’d committed showing up in the papers or on the TV news, Paul had given in to the urging to whack off his hair. He’d wanted to as soon as he’d got home that night, but he’d stopped himself then.

Part of him had wanted to bleach out his hair again and try to get rid of some of the freckles like he used to. But he didn’t, because he knew that was the shitty, cowardly part of himself speaking. That part wanted him to run if he’d really hurt or killed that guy. Run, rather than face jail time.

Paul still had some honour in his soul, he guessed. More likely, he just hadn’t wanted to let Preston down. So he’d made himself wait until a week had passed. At that point, he assumed he wasn’t going to get arrested, and changing his appearance a little wasn’t a means to try to keep from being ID’d.

Now his hair was barely even there. Paul scrubbed at it again, liking the bristly feeling of it beneath his palm. There was no need to style the short strands. No one could grab them and use his hair as a means to hurt or hold him for their pleasure.

Pleasure.
What was that, really? Paul couldn’t remember really enjoying anything anymore. He knew he had done once—he’d been a happy enough kid, and didn’t have a fuckton of woeful tales to tell, up until his parents freaked over the whole gay thing. Still, it was as if the past year and a half had eradicated the part of his brain that could feel pleasure, or remember it.

Yeah, he’d just shot his wad with some guy, but that had been more of an instinctive sensation. He’d come because his body had demanded it, not because he’d been so into it he couldn’t stop the ecstasy from bursting up from his balls.

That being the scenario, he questioned why he even bothered. Paul huffed as he batted away some bug drawn by the street lamps. He bothered because he would go fucking crazy if he sat in his shithole of an apartment and thought about what had happened to him.

He bothered because he needed to be the one in control, to prove to himself that he wasn’t weak or hopelessly damaged—

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. A quick check proved him to be alone on the street corner. He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and checked the time. Not yet midnight, and he had nothing to do but wander around or go back and watch TV. A movie was out of the question.

The two part-time jobs he had didn’t pay enough for splurges such as that. He was lucky he could make the rent and utilities. Being a waiter wasn’t bringing him in much
dinero
. He never got the big tips like some of the other people he worked with.

The suggestion that he smile more often always fell flat with him. He’d deal with scraping by before he faked being some happy idiot for money.

As he continued walking towards his place, Paul became aware of the eerie sensation of being watched. It made the skin on his nape tingle and itch, like he had spiders running over it. He fisted his hands to keep from reaching back to rub at it.

At the same time, he tried to look around as unobtrusively as possible. There wasn’t a single person in sight, but that didn’t mean a damn thing.

There’d been wolf shifters who had hurt him. Paul hadn’t ever told the FBI agents that part, because why the hell would they believe him? He’d have been locked away in some psych ward for eternity. No, he’d described the men who’d used him as regular ol’ humans, but most of them weren’t.

And they’d want to find him, wouldn’t they?

Paul shivered despite his best effort not to. He hadn’t heard from the FBI agent who’d been in charge of his case in months. As far as he knew, the human trafficking ring he’d fallen prey to was still functioning on some level. Otherwise, he’d have been called in for interviews, for trials and stuff, wouldn’t he?

Which meant there were still a half dozen or more freaks on the loose, ones who could turn into wolves and rip him to shreds.
Why the hell did I think I needed to go out tonight?

He’d been safe for months. No one had tried to do anything to him except for the jackass at the club the week before. All the precautions he’d taken at first, he’d been so careful, and now he realised he’d been letting those safety measures slip.

Why did I do that?
Paul increased the speed of his strides in minute increments, all the while becoming more aware of the feeling that someone was watching him. He didn’t want to appear to run, but he wasn’t going to make it easy to be caught, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone else’s pet, ever again.

Paul glanced around at the street corner. He thought he saw movement in the alley to his right, but that couldn’t have been whoever was watching him. They wouldn’t have been around him when the sensation first began. There were a few places open on the next block or two. He’d enter the first one and see if there wasn’t another way to exit from it.

Maybe he was being paranoid, but he shouldn’t have ever stopped being paranoid in the first place. He knew how dangerous shifters were. He had the scars, inside and out, to prove it.

As he crossed the street, Paul kept his gaze mobile, checking his surroundings. He began to truly question his sanity—not about the shifters, he knew they were real. But about whether or not he was possibly suicidal.

The answer had his gut cramping. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d been taking deadly risks, going out to seedy clubs and hooking up with men who, for all he knew, could turn into some kind of animal.

Yeah, I think I have some problems. Jesus Christ, I hope Preston doesn’t say
‘
I told you so
’
.

Paul didn’t question why it’d taken him months to come around to the fact that he was fucked up. Anyone who had been through what he had would be at least as screwy as he was. Now he just hoped he had the chance to do something about the realisation.

As he neared a jazz club, Paul turned around and looked behind him. Fuck it if whoever was after him knew he’d caught on. Fuck his own carelessness. Paul suddenly, fervently, wanted to live, and that wasn’t going to happen much longer if he kept going the way he was going.

No one was behind him, yet he still felt like prey. Paul spun around and collided with a hard, sweat-scented chest.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the pet who got away,” a familiar deep voice rumbled.

Paul began to shake as he was embraced by arms strong enough to break his back. He couldn’t swallow—his mouth had gone dry.

“We’re going to have so much fun, pretty pet,” the shifter rumbled. “I’ll have to punish you for cutting off your hair, of course.”

Paul’s chin was gripped painfully and his head forced up. He couldn’t help but meet Terence’s dark eyes. Paul bit his tongue trying to keep back the whimper of fear bubbling out of him, but it was no use. Terence could smell it anyway, just like he’d smell the piss if Paul’s bladder gave way, which it might. It wouldn’t have been the first time that terror or pain had caused such a humiliation.

“Such a pretty boy,” Terence crooned in a soft voice that sent chills down Paul’s spine. “No hair, though, so I’ll have to fit you with a bit, don’t you think?”

“That’s a lot of effort for some stupid human piece of ass you plan to kill,” said another familiar voice from behind Terence. “He’s not that good a fuck.”

Terence smiled and tightened his hold on Paul’s chin. Tears leaked from Paul’s eyes. He was too late to save himself.

“He’s a better fuck than you are, Pat,” Terence said, still watching Paul. “And the way he reacts to pain, it’s so beautiful. Breaking this pet has always been better than any sex I’ve had with you, or anyone else.”

Paul closed his eyes, unable to keep them open. Pat would kill him for sure, slowly, as slowly as possible. No doubt that was why Terence was egging his lover on.

“I think you’re both two fucked-up pups,” a third, unknown voice said.

Before another word was said, Pat made a muffled sound. Terence shoved Paul away so hard he bounced when he hit the ground. Paul couldn’t see for a moment. Everything was blurry and his head throbbed from the impact with the sidewalk. He could make out figures scuffling, he thought. He blinked and pushed himself up to a sitting position. His entire body ached.

Rapid blinking helped clear his vision just in time for him to see blood on the sidewalk. The three men—shifters, at least the two of them—were fighting at the entrance to the alley. Two of them were, Paul corrected himself. Pat was still and unmoving on the ground.

Paul didn’t hang around. He got up, stumbling into a sprint that carried him away from the scary happenings.

He didn’t know how he managed to get to his apartment, but he did. Paul scurried up the steps, taking out a roach or two along the way. He tugged his keys from his pants pocket and unlocked the shitty deadbolt on his door. The lock on the knob always stuck, and tonight was no exception. Paul cursed as he jiggled the key, then finally he was able to open the door and get inside.