Alpha Pack 7 - Chase the Darkness (3 page)

“Don’t thank me. I want to see him well as much as anyone.”

Humiliation crept through Micah. He loved them for caring, but hated being a burden. Hated lying flat on his back when he was supposed to be stronger than his problems. A protector. But at the moment, it didn’t matter that he loathed his situation, because his body was doing its job. Shutting down, forcing him to rest whether he wanted to or not.

Exhaustion claimed him. And in seeped the nightmares.

“Bring him this way.”

Micah stumbled along the dim corridor, held between the two big guards. Fear clogged this throat. He knew where they were going. What they were going to do to him this time?

He’d resisted so far. Each time, the doctor upped the stakes. Pushed his mind and body further. Withheld food and water. Tortured him nearly beyond endurance, What more could they do to him? Nothing but kill him. That would be a blessed relief.

In the dark chamber, there were two shifters waiting. Unkempt hair hung over their round, frightened eyes, and their bodies were unwashed. One was chained on a concrete slab over a drain. The other, bolted to the stone wall, faced his companion, spread-eagle.

This was a new game their captors were playing. A chill of trepidation raced along his spine as he watched Dr. Bowman stride forward, a small smile on his face.

“Ah, Micah. Welcome. Let me introduce you to Parker and Tyler. Parker is there,” Dr. Bowman said, pointing to the shifter positioned over the drain.

Dread grew in Micah’s chest, settling like a lead weight. Whatever game Bowman was playing, it didn’t bode well for any of them. Especially when the doc and his goons had always referred to their captives by number—until now. He had a terrible suspicion that Bowman had moved on to the next stage of his plan to turn him into a killing machine, someone who wouldn’t let personal details like names interfere with his objective.

He had no idea at the time how right he was.

“Micah,” Bowman went on pleasantly, “it’s time for you to earn your keep. Your strength will make you one of my top enforcers. You’re going to teach Parker
his
place in the hierarchy among shifters.”

“Teach him, how?” Micah asked cautiously.

“Starting with this.”

With a flick of Dr. Bowman’s hand, a guard stepped forward, holding a bullwhip. The guard presented it to Micah, who stood staring at it as though it was a venomous snake.

“You . . . you want me to whip him with that?”

“Yes, and you will.”

Glaring at the doctor in hatred, he spat, “What makes you think for one second I’ll do what you say?”

“This.”

Another guard stepped from the shadows, dragging a slender woman with long, thin blond hair. No, not a woman. The female shifter was barely more than a girl, perhaps not even twenty years old. She cried out piteously as the guard slapped her hand onto a wooden block and grabbed an ax.

“You comply, or she loses body parts. One by one.” Bowman smiled.

Bile burned Micah’s throat, and black rage consumed his heart. But he grabbed the whip and let the coils unfurl.

And he turned to Parker, regret tearing at his soul.

“
J
acee, where’s my fuckin’ beer? Did ya have ta grow the damn hops first?”

Jacee Buchanan groaned, dodging patrons while balancing her tray of drinks, and resisted the urge to dump the whole thing right on top of Clyde’s stupid head. She hated the exaggerated way he drew out the pronunciation of her name—Jaay-
CEEE
—making it more singsong-y the drunker he got.

“I’m coming, you shithead!”

Clyde and his friends hooted as she made her way over. If he and his buddies hadn’t been regulars, she could have gotten in trouble with her boss for talking to a customer like that, but the fact was they ate up the attention. It was a weird sort of ritual they had going, and it worked for them. Yeah, they were annoying, but harmless. And they tipped well.

As she handed out the drinks, Clyde attempted, as always, to pull her into his ample lap. Like always, she laughingly avoided his advances while pretending to be the tiniest bit flattered, a fine art all bartenders and servers had to master or else they wouldn’t get far in that job.

“Shorthanded again tonight, honey?” Clyde asked loudly, above the blaring country music.

“Yep. Had another server call in sick. You know how it goes.”

As a bartender—or mixologist, as some of the fancier city types preferred to be called these days—that’s really where she wanted to be. Behind the bar, creating drinks. More and more often, it seemed she got stuck pulling double duty, both mixing and serving. She had nothing against hard work. Hell, she’d been working all her life, never had it easy. But doing the jobs of two people sucked.

“Just tell the boss you’re done for the night and hang out with us.”

She winked. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Jack would have my hide.”

Same old. Every time they came in. But they were a friendly bunch, so she let it ride. After passing out their drinks, she tucked the round tray under her arm and started back toward the bar. Just as she did, a group that never failed to attract a ton of attention came through the entrance of the Cross-eyed Grizzly.

Especially hers.

The men were from that top secret compound in the Shoshone National Forest all the locals believed to be a plain old research facility. Jacee knew better. These men were, in fact, a black ops team of wolf shifters—and one panther—whose job it was to protect civilians from all sorts of paranormal predators. With any luck, humans would never find out about the evil things that went bump in the night.

Jacee knew about the Alpha Pack for a couple of good reasons. One, she wasn’t human. And two, Jax Law was a former lover of hers. She kept her eyes and ears open, and it paid off. Selene, Zander’s mate, was the only one of the Pack who had a clue that Jacee was a coyote shifter—even Jax didn’t know—and that’s the way Jacee wanted to keep it.

A few months ago, when Selene had first arrived in town, she’d somehow made Jacee as a coyote right off the bat and had kept her secret in exchange for information. Whatever the she-wolf’s problem had been, it had obviously worked out. She seemed happy, holding her mate’s hand as they walked with the group to a large table in one corner.

For one fleeting moment, Jacee envied them. They were a pack and they had one another, whereas Jacee had nobody. Loneliness swelled in her breast for her long-dead family, but she ruthlessly squashed it before it could drown her. There was no sense in going down that road again. She was alone. No changing that fact.

She was just glad Jax and his mate, Kira, weren’t here tonight. Not that she’d been in love with the wolf, but it still hurt to see the happiness on their faces.

Just as she started to turn away, one of the team caught her eye.
He
was here again. The tall, leanly muscled man with the scarred face and shoulder-length dark brown hair. He didn’t show up with them often, but when he did, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. There was just something arresting about him that stopped her in her tracks every time. Made her pulse race. Her palms sweat.

He’d been beautiful, once. Like he could’ve graced magazine covers if he’d wanted. But to her, he was still gorgeous despite the ruined left side of his face. What drew her the most, though, was the deep well of sadness in his big brown eyes. She wondered what pain ate at his insides.

And she wondered if that was what drove him to reach into his pocket now and then and pop the pills when he thought nobody was looking.

Could a wolf shifter become an addict? Was that possible?

Snapping out of her musings, Jacee approached the table. As she did, it occurred to her that she’d never actually waited on their group when
he’d
been with them before. Last time he’d come in, she’d been behind the bar. She gladly took the opportunity to study him close up as she went around and took their orders, and found he was even more striking than from a distance. His injury only added to the mystery of the man and wolf. In her world, battle scars were honorable. They added rather than detracted from his powerful aura.

Finally, it was his turn. Jacee stopped next to him, leaned over slightly and smiled down at him as he looked up and met her gaze—and the room tilted under her boots.

The man smelled absolutely amazing. Like fresh pine, rain, and man, all rolled into one tantalizing scent that awakened her coyote with a little growl and shot a bolt of arousal from her brain to her toes. And every sensitive place in between.
What the hell?

“Wh-what would you like to drink?” she stammered. His eyes had widened as he stared back, and the unmistakable scent of arousal wafting from him told her that she wasn’t alone in whatever was happening between them.

“Crown and Coke, please.” His voice was low and smoky, sending shivers along her spine. That chocolate gaze raked her from head to toe and back up again. From the heat there, he liked what he saw as well.

“Coming right up.” Turning, she nearly tripped in her haste to put some distance between herself and the alluring wolf.

“Damn, Micah,” one of the guys ribbed, “what’d you say to Jacee?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the handsome wolf smile a little, shaking his head.
Micah
. God, what a great name. Hurrying, she filled their drink orders and loaded up her tray. As quickly as possible without spilling a drop, she returned to their table and handed out the drinks, trying not to act as though she was watching Micah.

Hell, who was she kidding? She was watching, and so was he, and they were both doing a lousy job of pretending otherwise.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” She half expected the stupid comments a lot of the other patrons made, but from this group it was refreshingly absent most of the time. Aside from some harmless flirting, they didn’t bother her much. Maybe that had to do as much with her former fling with Jax as anything, but she was glad.

She also noticed that Micah refrained from making any of the usual tasteless jokes. For some reason, she would’ve felt really let down if he had. To her relief, he simply looked her straight in the eye and said, “I’m good for now. Thanks.”

Forcing her mind back to her job, she filled more orders. A commotion at the door caught her attention, and she frowned as she spotted a foursome she’d hoped would never dirty the place again. Especially since Jack had thrown them out last time the ringleader of the sorry band of bikers had tried to push her into joining him out back for a little “fun.”

Looking around for her coworker, she saw Julie was busy on the other side of the room. Damn. With a sigh, she resigned herself to several hours of putting up with the jerk. Too bad his good looks were wasted on his shitty personality. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was a jackass shifter.

“Hey, Grant,” she said, striving not to sound as if she’d like to let her coyote rip his face off. “What are you guys drinking tonight?”

Leaning back in his chair, the biker crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a cocky grin. “Can’t I just have you, honey? You’d taste better on my tongue than any beer.”

“Beer it is,” she said brightly, ignoring his pass. “What about you all?”

After she filled their orders, the men settled down for a while. She was able to watch Micah, hopefully without him realizing it, and take care of her other customers, too. Unfortunately, as the first hour passed after their arrival, Grant and his buddies became drunk. And when Grant got wasted, he got sort of belligerent. He and his group weren’t fun and harmless like Clyde and his friends.

“Come on, baby,” Grant crooned, grabbing her wrist when she was making another trip to the bar. “Sit on Papa’s lap and tell him all your troubles.”

Jesus. “Let go, asshole.” She was getting tired, and her charm was wearing off. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Jack scowling toward them, but she knew her boss was eyeing Grant and not angry with her.

Wresting free of Grant, she continued on her way.

Jacee hefted another tray of drinks on her shoulder and headed back across the room for a table on the other side of Grant’s. As she walked past him, her foot caught on something, and she had a split second to register that Grant had stuck his boot out in her path. She’d been moving at a fast clip, and there was no catching herself.

With a cry, she went down hard, the crash of glasses and bottles loud in her ears. Shards went everywhere, and liquid splattered over the floor, her shirt, face, and arms. For a second she remained there, stunned. The cheerful noise in the room died, and then Jack started toward them. She was pushing herself up to give Grant a piece of her mind when an ominous growl reached her ears.

As someone helped her stand, she saw Micah crossing the room, long legs eating up the distance with quick strides. The expression on his face was murderous, and right then she was glad she wasn’t Grant.

Micah reached the biker before Jack could, and grabbed the laughing man by his leather vest, spinning him around. The amusement died on his face immediately.

“Hey, what the fuck? I was just havin’ some fun—”

Which was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Micah gripped the front of Grant’s shirt and unloaded his fist in the jerk’s face. The biker’s head snapped back, and Micah let him fall to the floor, gazing down on him with disgust. Grant was out cold.

Then her rescuer studied the faces of Grant’s friends. “Anybody else feel like harassing Jacee or any of the ladies who work so hard to serve your sorry, drunk asses?”

A general round of denials ensued, in which the trio assured Micah and Jack, who’d arrived to survey the mess, that they had no idea Grant would go so far to screw with her just because she wouldn’t “put out.” Charming.

Jacee was only half listening to the douche bags, because her arm was throbbing, and she was wet, pissed, and embarrassed. But she was also intrigued by this man who’d jumped to her defense and was even angrier than Jacee. Standing straight and tall, glaring at Grant’s buddies and the room in general, he looked every inch the dangerous predator she knew him to be.

He was magnificent.

Before she could thank him, he bent and hauled Grant to his feet. The biker was groggy, blinking at Jacee almost in surprise, like he couldn’t quite grasp what had happened.

“Apologize to Jacee,” Micah growled, “before I break your stupid neck.”

“I—I’m sorry.” Grant seemed to realize they had everyone’s undivided attention, and his face reddened. “It was a joke that got out of hand. Again, I’m sorry, Jacee.”

Lips pressed together, she nodded. That was the best she’d give him, and he seemed relieved, anyway. Micah grabbed him by the back of his vest and frog-marched him toward the door. Jacee followed to see what he’d do. When he reached the porch, he literally picked Grant up, holding the vest and the seat of his jeans, and
threw
him out onto the gravel driveway.

Grant landed with a thud and a curse, but quickly scrambled up and limped away, his friends following.

“Don’t come back,” Micah warned them. “You do, and next time I’ll fuck you up.”

Jacee’s wicked little heart fluttered and melted a bit more.

Micah turned to her boss. “Jack, it’s time for you to seriously consider hiring a bouncer. This shit is happening way too often. The rough customers are going to drive off the good ones, and one of your girls is going to wind up hurt.” His eyes slid to Jacee as he said that, studying her in concern.

Jack laughed, the sound unhappy. “Yeah, I know. I don’t suppose you’d want the job?”

“I’ve got one already,” he said. “But thanks.”

“Well, if you ever reconsider, even for part-time, let me know.”

Micah nodded, then looked to Jacee. “You all right, ma’am?”

She smiled. “My mother was ‘ma’am.’ I’m just Jacee. But yeah, I’ll do.”

He smiled back, and even the way the scars pulled at that side of his face didn’t affect how handsome he was to her. “Your arm is bleeding.”

“It is?” Holding up her right arm, she finally noticed the cut on top of her forearm. It was a couple of inches long, and the bleeding was already slowing, thanks to her shifter healing. By tomorrow it would be a pink scar, but she’d have to keep a bandage on it for the rest of the week so as not to arouse suspicion. “Crap.”

Jack cursed. “Let’s get you inside, wash that out, and get a bandage on it.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode back inside.

Micah wanted to help. He didn’t have to say anything, but she could sense his anxiety, his reluctance to let her go. She gave him another smile. “Thanks for the rescue. Grant’s an ass.”

“He shouldn’t be a problem again. If he is, let me know.”

“I appreciate it, but Grant’s not
your
problem.”

“He is now,” Micah said in a low voice, stepping closer. His scent drifted to her nose again, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

His nearness was heady, intoxicating. What the hell was going on?

“Why do you say that?” she asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice.

“Don’t you feel something? God, you smell so good, like cherries and almonds.”