Prickly Business (18 page)

Fuck
. Maybe he
should
go home. At least then he wouldn’t make an ass of himself. But then again, the thought of letting Avery down, disappointing him… that worked something deep inside Dylan.

With a huff, Dylan trudged across the street to the door, hoping Avery would be alone.

Much to the discontent of the crowd, Dylan walked to the front of the line. It was good to know people.

“Dylan.” Malik nodded his greeting, then broke into a big smile and drew Dylan in for a bro-hug complete with back thumps. “Long time, man.”

“Yeah, dude. You know I don’t get out here much.” Or ever. Not of his own accord anyway. “Heard you’re gonna be a proud papa.”

Malik laughed—a boisterous sound. “Molly talks too much.” He blushed when he nodded. “Aimee she’s… uh… she’s having twins.”

“Congrats, man.”

A shout disrupted the mini-celebration. “Hey, you two gonna quit fuckin’ around up there so the rest of us can get in?” The guy looked halfway to wasted already.

Malik met Dylan’s eyes with an arched brow, then motioned to one of the other beefy guys near him. The Howl security staff worked in pairs.

As the other more-mountain-than-man bouncer escorted the drunk to the end of the line, Malik turned his attention back to Dylan. “You going in?”

Dylan sighed and nodded grimly.

“You act like it’s a death sentence. Go in.”

After another round of congratulations, Dylan had put off walking into the club long enough and let himself be ushered in by his friend.

On the other side of the entryway, bass and a clatter of mixed beats slammed into him along with an overall scent of sweat, sex, and energy. A colorful cacophony of lights, laser shows, and disco balls assaulted him as soon as he stepped onto the main floor. And he was fairly certain the decibel level and humidity were torture devices hell-bent on suffocating him. Or driving him to insanity.

Dylan hated it.

He needed to find Avery so at least one part of his night could go as planned.

And exactly what did you plan?

His skin heated past the point of the sweltering he felt from the combined body heat of Howl. What he wanted from Avery went well beyond dancing. Didn’t even touch it. His cock twitched at the thought of seeing Avery again, touching him. The week had crawled by and now that he had the opportunity to spend time with his mate, Avery was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated with his lack of control and his missing mate, Dylan shook his head. Not going there. Dylan was only at the club because Avery wanted him there, insisted he’d have a good time. Avery was… well, Avery. Resistance is futile and all that. When he’d agreed to this, Dylan figured he could have a few drinks, watch Avery dance, then maybe claim another kiss.

Dylan made a full circuit around the club, dance floor, and bar area, weaving his way in and out of the crowd. Twice. Damn near forty-five minutes passed with no sign of Avery, not even a hint of his scent.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Dylan glanced down at the hot pink manicured fingernails tracing random circles on his chest, then up to the woman in front of him. Curly, cherry-red hair draped over her shoulder framing her pixie face and bright blue eyes, although he was pretty sure colored contacts covered her natural eye color. He looked down at the glowing dance floor, lit from below, and back at her. How had he not seen her in his path?

“Uh, hey.” Dylan’s irritation had already reached DEFCON levels. With a tight-lipped smile, he attempted to step around the obviously drunk woman.

She stepped in front of him, effectively cutting off his escape. “Don’t you wanna buy a lady a drink?”

Dylan couldn’t quite withhold the eye roll. Seriously? “That line ever work?” He arched a brow at her. At least she had the decency to blush.

“Oh, come on.” She dragged her hand down his chest and over his abs till she reached the waistband of his pants. “We can have some fun. Bathroom’s that way.” She tilted her head to the side.

Classy.

This was a prime example of why he didn’t go clubbing. Drunks with no sense. “Not interested,” Dylan said, placing both hands on her shoulders and shifting her out of his path. Finally he moved around her, but not without a pinch to his ass.

“Be that way, sexy. If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she yelled, but Dylan didn’t turn around.

He was getting nowhere on the lower level. Despite his height advantage, Howl was so crowded Dylan couldn’t get a good enough vantage point to check out the crowd. The thought of heading out and calling Avery with an apology crossed his mind again, and just as he was about to give in to it, he came up on the staircase to the balcony—an industrial metal contraption with wrought-iron designs of howling wolves encircled by what he suspected was supposed to be a moon. Dylan tamped back the scoff born from the cheesiness of it all. The damn thing even had wolflike creatures huddled down in the grass as if they were getting ready to pounce.

The upper deck overlooked the dance floor and bar area. It consisted of a balcony-like overhang with tables and a bar of its own near the stage end. It was crowded too. As he wound his way through the upper level crowd to the guard rails, more than one hand grabbed, patted, slapped, or pinched his ass. Avery owed him for this.

A level up, his overall view improved, but it was like searching for a unicorn in a forest full of pricks. Damn, everything looked the same from up here—just smaller and smooshed together.

Then he saw it. A glimpse of sandy blond, so much like Avery’s. The blond man got swallowed up by the crowd for a moment, and Dylan squinted hard in search of that head of hair again.

There.
The guy was making his way to the door. Leaving. Still unsure, Dylan made chase. In seconds Dylan forced his way through the first crush of bodies and down the stairs, only to be slowed by the overflowing crowd on the main level, and headed toward the door.

He tracked the guy—even more convinced it was Avery in skinny jeans and a dark brown tweed sport coat—to the entrance. If it weren’t so very Avery, Dylan would have rolled his eyes at the thought of a sport coat being worn inside Howl. But with Avery it kind of fit.

Shaking himself out of the randomness of his thoughts, Dylan dashed after Mr. Blond-Tweed-and-likely-Beautiful through the front door. Again he only caught a flash of him before the guy rounded the corner of the club. Dylan inhaled deeply and caught the smell of citrus, sandalwood, and musky sweat that made the previous two richer, deeper. It was all the confirmation he need to know it was his mate he followed.

Only what—or who—was Avery chasing?

He took the corner quickly and on light feet so as not to alert his mate. Yet. Avery was still twenty feet, maybe thirty, in front of him. Possibly to most people, and probably to Avery, it didn’t seem so strange to walk alone at night outside a club. And perhaps it wouldn’t have thrown any red flags for Dylan either, except for Avery’s almost tiptoe-ish behavior. Was he following somebody?

Closing the distance between him and Avery, Dylan looked over Avery’s shoulder. He almost didn’t see anyone at first. Farther ahead of Avery and walking at a quicker pace, Dylan spotted another guy. Something about New Guy and this hunt seemed off. The guy walked confident and unfazed, but Dylan had a strange feeling about it.

It didn’t take him long to cut down the distance between him and Avery, though he still kept back far enough for Avery not to catch wind of him, watching this chase play out. One block—passing a diner and bakery, some shops housed in the old former factories of the area. He trailed after Avery for another block, until the mystery man slipped into an alley. Still remaining behind a little, Dylan watched as Avery stopped his pursuit, crept to the corner of another building, and slowly bent to peek around the corner.

Enough was enough. Dylan was finished with this… whatever it was.

Careful not to alert Avery to his presence, Dylan stepped in behind his Peeping-Tom mate.

“What are you doing?” he whispered at Avery’s back.

If confusion hadn’t beaten out all other emotion, he’d have probably laughed—hard and loud—when Avery jumped. Hand flying to his chest and eyes wide, Avery stared up at Dylan.

“D-Dylan,” he gasped, his eyes darting to the alley, then back to Dylan. “What are you doing here?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dylan smirked at Avery as he leaned a shoulder against the building. “I came to meet you. Thought we had plans.”

“But you’re late. I….” Avery dropped his gaze to the sidewalk. “Uh… I thought I got stood up.”

Dylan knew a diversion when he saw one. “I got a flat and left my phone at the shop. Had to roll the bike to Lucas’s. Took a while to fix, and it’s not like I could call you. Not like I memorize phone numbers. Though maybe I should.” He shrugged, even as his cheeks heated. “Sorry about that. You going to answer my question?”

“Question?” He blinked up at Dylan innocently.

Oh he was good. A masculine moan sounded from the alley, the slap of skin on skin following. Avery’s cheeks flamed bright red. A bolt of jealousy fired through Dylan at the thought that Avery may have been following the guy. And he still had no idea why.

“Try again, Avery,” he growled, trying to rein in his anger but failing miserably. Another moan, this one feminine, echoed from around the corner. “What are you doing out here?”

“S
HHH
,
NOT
so loud.” Avery ushered Dylan away from the building he’d been pressed up against. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, worried Frat Boy might come barreling around the corner at any second, but it seemed as if Dylan’s voice had gone unheard amid all the panting and groaning.

Well, that was sudden. And confusing. When Avery peered into that alley, he’d expected to see Frat Boy assaulting, or at least harassing, that girl. Not that she’d be waiting for him with open arms and a hiked-up skirt.

Had they been playing some kind of cat and mouse game? Was she Frat Boy’s girlfriend? Did he get some kind of kinky thrill from watching her dance and flirt with other guys? Who the hell knew? Avery didn’t much care about what type of fantasy scenarios got people off, until it made him look like some asshole creeper spying on a straight couple for kicks.
Ugh.
He could only imagine how it appeared to Dylan. This definitely wasn’t the impression he wanted to make when his mate finally showed up.

“Avery.” Dylan’s voice sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “What the fuck? Why were you following that guy?”

Avery shook his head and kept urging Dylan down the block. Part of him hesitated to give Dylan the exact details. His looking into Lacey’s disappearance was between him and Mr. Otis, and according to Mr. Otis, the pack seemed unconcerned and dismissive. Avery was pretty sure Dylan could be trusted, that he’d never disregard a missing girl, but how well did he and Dylan actually know each other? For now, he’d keep his true motivations quiet.

“That guy seemed sketchy,” he told Dylan once they were out of earshot. “I caught him staring at this girl at Howl. When she left, he followed. I thought he might be trying to hurt her.”

Dylan gave him a skeptical look. “Sounded like she wanted him to follow to me.”

Avery waved a hand. “Well, yeah, but it didn’t seem that way in the club. I thought he might be on the prowl for some innocent girl. I wanted to make sure everything was cool.”

Dylan’s open skepticism morphed into surprise, as if he couldn’t quite believe Avery would be so concerned with someone else’s well-being. “Really?”

Avery tried not to feel offended. He wanted to resent Dylan’s shocked tone, but on a typical club night, he probably
would’ve
been too wrapped up in himself and his own wants to bother paying attention to Frat Boy and that girl. At least not unless he’d set his sights on Frat Boy as a potential hookup. “Yes, really.”

“That’s good of you.” Dylan slung an arm around his shoulders, drawing Avery to his side.

Avery bit off a moan as his senses were overtaken by Dylan’s scent, his warmth. He pressed closer and curled his arm around Dylan’s waist, wishing he could slink and rub against Dylan like a cat.

Dylan tightened his hold for a second. “I’m sorry for being late.”

“It happens.” Avery shrugged with feigned casualness. Inwardly he was ecstatic to learn Dylan hadn’t ditched him or decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Do you want to go back to Howl?”

“Nah.” The mood for dancing was gone, and Avery’s paranoia about Frat Boy had proved to be for nothing. All he wanted to do was spend some quiet time with his mate, as weird as it felt to think that. “Are you hungry? We could go grab some food. Or we could go to another bar. Somewhere calmer.”

“That sounds good. I could use a beer after the day I’ve had.”

“Callahan’s is around the corner. Or did you want to drive somewhere? I don’t have my car.”

“Callahan’s is fine.”

They made the walk in silence, passing Howl, which still had a line outside the door even after midnight.

Callahan’s was a lot less crowded. Music played but at a low enough level to make actual conversation possible. He and Dylan settled at a booth near the windows and ordered a couple of harvest ales with a side of fries for Avery and buffalo wings for Dylan.

While they waited for their food, Dylan asked him how the delivery job was going.

Avery took a sip from his glass. “It’s been great. One of the wolves, Mr. Otis—Acker—we’ve been chatting a little.”

“I know Otis. How is he? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Not too well, I don’t think.”

Pity flashed across Dylan’s face. “I can only imagine. Losing a wife, then a daughter. Most wolves couldn’t picture a worse fate.”

“You say that like you know Lacey’s dead. She could still be found.” Avery’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Dylan’s eyes widened. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. It’s just… even her being missing has to be hard. They say if a person isn’t found within the first seventy-two hours, they usually won’t be found at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if Otis had given up hope of finding her alive.”