Prickly Business (8 page)

Most of the guys had been together since they were pups. Lucas, Dylan had known the longest, since they were toddlers. Their mothers had been best friends, as close as family—closer really. It had practically made Dylan and Lucas brothers. Kirk had joined their group after his dad walked out on him and his mom and they moved to Portland to stay with his aunt. He had been shy and geeky even back then, but the kid had always had a wild side. Their brand of chaos throughout the neighborhood had been all in a day’s work—drinking out behind Lucas’s grandpa’s shed, racing their bikes, and generally kicking ass and taking names.

Then they’d stolen the bike. Dylan couldn’t say how it happened exactly, or whose idea it had been, but one moment they were admiring the Softail and the next he’d been cruising down Powell, Kirk riding bitch.

After the alpha had caught wind of their joyride, he’d called in a couple favors to get Dylan’s gang out of jail. They’d been lucky. Gotten off easy in Dylan’s opinion—now anyway. Back then it had been pure torture. The man they’d stolen the bike from—Mags Richmond—owned a motorcycle repair shop. That summer they’d been made Mags’s gophers for any- and everything his old rundown shop needed. Mags had been a grade-A asshole but one of the best men Dylan had ever known. He’d taught Dylan everything he knew about the workings of a motorcycle, made it an art form. It was through Mags that Dylan and the guys were introduced to Sawyer—Mags’s nephew.

The four had been inseparable ever since.

Grinning at the memory, Dylan focused on adjusting the cam and his thoughts once again wandered to Avery, the holder of blame for his lack of sleep among the long list of grievances. He thought back to the night before—Avery’s flushed skin, his heat-filled eyes. Good thing Dylan was too tired to get it up right there in the middle of the shop. The guys would probably worry about him springing wood over his Harley—then again maybe not.

Dylan had told himself more than once over the span of the previous night and the morning hours that it didn’t matter what Avery was involved in. There might have been a time when Dylan had thought Avery would change. Might’ve even hoped for it. But from what he’d seen so far, he wasn’t sure it had happened. Or if it was possible at all. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut and shook off the pang of unexpected disappointment. His mate didn’t want him and it was best for both of them to walk away. Dylan would do what he could to help Avery out; then they were through.

If a white-hot stabbing pain shot through his chest at that conclusion, he ignored it. Nothing would change his mind.

His morning passed in a blur of loose cylinder heads and busted camshafts. Lulled by the comforting clanks and whirs around him, Dylan let time get away from him until a shadow loomed over him. Wiping the sweat from his forehead onto his shoulder, Dylan inhaled and the spice of earthy citrus filled his head and his belly tightened. His intentions of backing off flew out the window when he turned and met Avery’s eyes. Avery’s disguise of typical arrogance didn’t hide the sadness and hurt beneath his surface. Protectiveness welling inside him, Dylan pushed to his feet and leaned in close to Avery. “What happened?”

M
ONDAY
MORNING
Avery woke with the sun, the tension in his belly a better wakeup call than any alarm clock he’d ever owned. Grogginess plagued him as usual. Even a lifetime of trying to acclimatize couldn’t alter his intrinsic nocturnal nature, and it was especially bad the day after a shift. Still, anxiety propelled him from his comfy bundle of blankets before dawn.

Feeling foolish, he carried Dylan’s jacket to the small eating area across from his open-plan kitchen. He draped it over the back of one of the reclaimed-wood chairs surrounding the matching dining table—but not before lifting it to his nose for one last deep inhale. Avery moaned quietly and petted the soft leather. Then he forced himself to walk away.

Why did Dylan’s scent appeal to him so much? It was like the most decadent cologne Avery had ever smelled, designed with his every specification in mind. One he could finally enjoy despite his sensitive nose—musk, spice, and the sharp, fresh scent of pine. He wanted to shift and roll himself around in it, wanted it on his sheets and pillows.

Ugh. Ridiculous. Goddamn pheromones. That’s all it is.

Avery shook his head. His nervousness increased as he prepared himself a cup of his favorite organic, fair-trade apricot-honey rooibos. Usually brewing tea had the opposite effect, but this morning his apprehension grew with every passing moment.

Hands shaking, he grabbed his steaming mug and his phone from the counter where he’d tossed it the night before. He settled at the dining table—next to Dylan’s jacket, of course, which made him roll his eyes at himself, but whatever—and stared down at the screen, rubbing his thumb across the menu button at the bottom.

Dylan had told him to come by his shop, that he’d help Avery out of this mess with Josiah and the others. Problem was, Avery didn’t know how he could face Dylan today, not after he’d seen Avery at his lowest last night, not after the way he’d clung to Dylan so tightly.

Now Dylan knew how weak he really was. How could he walk into that shop with his head held high when he’d had to be rescued like some helpless storybook damsel? When he couldn’t do anything to defend himself but roll up and cower in fear?

Avery sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. No, he couldn’t go to Dylan. He’d find a way to return the jacket, and then he’d stay away.

His only option was calling his father again.

To build his courage, he took a few moments to sip his tea, relishing the sweet, fruity flavor on his tongue. Then he pulled up his father’s contact and dialed.

His father answered after two rings. “Avery.”

“Hi, Daddy. How are you?”

“Fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Avery swallowed. “Remember when I called you last week, about getting my allowance early?”

His father’s sigh rang loud and clear. “Yes. Don’t tell me you’re calling about that again. It’s five more days, boy.”

Avery reached for Dylan’s jacket with one hand. He paused with his fingers just shy of the leather. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Daddy, but the thing is… I’m in trouble.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

As if they had a mind of their own, his fingers gripped the jacket sleeve. “I… I owe people some money. Some of the pack.”

His father was silent for long, deadly seconds. “The pack? Why would you owe them wolves money? I told you I didn’t want you associating with them.”

“It was some stupid bets, Daddy.” Avery forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “On the races.”

“Horse racing?” His father sounded incredulous—and with good reason. Avery had never shown any interest in horse racing in his life.

“No.” Avery’s fingers tightened around the sleeve. “Wolf races. It’s a competition, you know? Kind of like an obstacle course out in the mountains.”

“You….” His father choked. After a long moment of sputtering, he drew in a slow, deep breath, in what Avery knew was an effort to calm himself. “You’ve been betting on wolf races. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes.”

“And how much do you owe?”

Avery hesitated. “Um. Fifteen thousand. But I have seven already,” he rushed on before his father could speak. “I just need—”

“Fifteen grand! You lost fifteen thousand dollars to those
filthy dogs
?”

Avery cringed at the fury in his father’s voice, resisting the instinctive urge to curl in on himself. He was gripping the jacket sleeve so tightly his hand ached. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I swear I am. I’ll never go back there again. This was the last time.”

“Oh, this
will
be the last time,” his father said darkly. “Heaven help you, because I surely won’t.”

Avery hunched his shoulders, the phone trembling in his grip, his skin prickling. He felt the beginnings of a stress shift and quickly tamped it down. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Your mother and I are tired of bailing you out. We’re tired of how you constantly mismanage your money, and betting on those dogs is only adding insult to injury. Enough is enough.”

“But, Daddy, they’re threatening me. They took me to the woods and hunted me last night. They might kill me if—”

“Well, then maybe that’s what you deserve, isn’t it? I allowed you to move up there to get you out of my hair. I should’ve known you’d still find a way to be a thorn in my side. It’s all you’re good for. But see, now you’ll learn the lesson—when you associate with trash, you can’t expect them to behave like decent folk.”

“But—”

“Take heed, Avery, because I won’t repeat myself. We will not be sending you more money. We are done. If you want to survive, you’d better man up and find your own solution. Hell, find a job. If you can’t, well, all I can say is, whatever those dogs do to you, you probably had it coming.”

Avery flinched at the harsh words. He and his father had never been close, but he hadn’t expected such callousness. How could his father be so dismissive about a genuine threat to his life? “Daddy—”

“Shut your mouth. Don’t you ‘Daddy’ me. You’re a disgrace to the Babineaux name. I’m ashamed to call you my son. If I could find a way to keep your trust fund away from you, believe me, boy, I would.”

Avery heard his mother speak in the background. “What’s happening, Leon? Why are you shouting?”

“Cynthia. Cynthia, you will not believe!”

Avery listened as his father raved to his mother. For several minutes, all he heard was his father yelling and his mother’s softer voice trying to calm him down. He held the phone in a white-knuckled grip until, finally, his father’s attention turned back to him.

“Look, your mother’s convinced me to cut you a little slack, though Lord only knows why. She’s as tired of cleaning up your messes as I am. You owe her a world of gratitude for saving your hide.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I promise I’ll—”

“We’ll cover the rent on your loft for three months,” his father continued as if Avery hadn’t spoken. “Utilities, credit cards, groceries, those’ll continue to be your responsibility. After the three months, the rent will revert back to you as well.”

“But I can’t afford—”

“Not another word. This is my final decision. Keep arguing, boy. Give me a reason to change my mind. I’d love to see how you’d fare living on the streets for a while. Or maybe you’d just go begging to one of those wolves and degrade yourself even further.” His father made a disgusted sound.

Avery bit down hard on his lip to stop its quivering. His stomach had twisted into hellish knots, burning so intensely the sensation had him nearly doubled over. His vision wavered between color and his faded wolf vision as he fought back the need to shift, his animal struggling to defend him from his own distress.

“We’ll be sending the money for the rent directly to your landlord, since you obviously can’t be trusted to handle it on your own,” his father went on. “You’ll have until the end of December. And if by some miracle you do manage to get yourself out of trouble, don’t call us again unless you have news we’d actually be happy to hear. Maybe not even then. Your mama doesn’t need the stress, and neither do I. We’d both prefer to keep you out of sight
and
out of mind. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, sir. Understood.”

The line went dead in his ear. Avery dropped the phone and pulled Dylan’s jacket fully into his lap. Shaking, he buried his face in the leather and tried to breathe.

S
OME
INDETERMINATE
amount of time later, Avery lifted his head. In a daze, he showered and dressed. He was still eight thousand short of what he owed Victor, and he couldn’t rely on his allowance for any of it. If he gave Victor every dollar he had, how would he survive? He’d have a roof over his head, but no money for food or other expenses.

Avery couldn’t quite believe he’d been cut off or the things his father had said. His stomach cramped at the memory. Without his parents, he had nothing. He couldn’t access a penny of his inheritance from his grandfather until he turned twenty-five. That was two years away. How the hell was he supposed to get by?

Find a job
, his father had said. As if it were that easy. Avery had never worked. Neither of his siblings had, until his older brother joined his father’s law firm. His sister still didn’t. She’d married into an equally affluent family and spent her days involved with charity work and local committees, as befitted a beautiful Southern belle of her standing. And Avery, well, apparently he was the screw-up of the family. The shame on the Babineaux name. The ne’er-do-well. A soon-to-be-dead one unless he scraped together the remains of his tattered pride and went to Dylan.

His need to save face paled in comparison to his desire to actually live another day—and he didn’t think any additional reprieves would be coming from Victor after what had happened last night. His father was right. It flayed his already wounded ego, but he would indeed go begging to one of “those wolves” if it meant keeping his neck unbroken.

Decided, he gathered his wallet, keys, and Dylan’s jacket, and left the loft. He took the elevator down to the parking garage and his rarely used Mini Cooper. When possible, he preferred his bicycle, both for the fresh air and the exercise, but depending on which route he took, it would be about a forty-minute ride from his building to Dylan’s shop on the southeast side of the city. He shuddered at the idea of being totally exposed on the back of a bike if Josiah and the others waited for him outside.

T
HE
DRIVE
went quickly, and the tea in Avery’s stomach churned more violently with every mile. By the time he parked and walked up to the entrance of Green’s Customs, his palms were damp with sweat and his heart felt like a hummingbird trapped in his rib cage. He was certain every wolf in the shop could hear it beating erratically as he stepped inside, even above the sounds of equipment.