Chapter 8 Missing in Action
MISSING IN ACTION
Johnny
Taylor didn’t come home that night, or the following night.
Or the night after that. Johnny had texted him multiple times, only to be met with a thumbs up or a smiley face.
He didn’t come back for clothes, the car, water or even food, and during the second night, when Johnny went up into the woods to look for him, he barely found any trace of his scent.
They crossed paths at work, but Taylor was up and out of the nick before Johnny could even say hello. He’d try to corner Amil to find out what the fuck was happening, but he’d just shrugged and said he didn’t give a shit what was going on in Taylor’s head.
When it became painfully obvious that Taylor was not only avoiding him, but actively trying to stay out of his personal space, Johnny had come to the conclusion that he had probably spent multiple nights with someone else.
Or, more likely, multiple someone elses, trying to forget the scent of Johnny’s arousal.
Well, wasn’t that just fucking humiliating?
Once Johnny had gotten that sorted out in his head, the next time they crossed one another in the office he made sure to angle himself away from Taylor like a grenade with the pin half-pulled. It felt like a fucking breakup, and he wasn’t sure he could take much more.
It was morning again, and Johnny had paced around into the early hours until he finally resorted to just standing in Taylor’s bedroom.
He ran a hand over the pillow, sighing at how cold it felt.
He thought about lying in his bed, wrapping himself up in Taylor’s sheets and staying there forever.
Instead he stood in the darkened room and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
He wanted to go after him again. Fuck, he wanted to harass the shit out of him, bombard him with calls and messages, contact every single person he thought Taylor might go to.
Johnny took a deep breath. He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t crazy and he had to remember that his idiotic feelings were completely one sided.
Rubbing the side of his neck, he let his fingers trail over the indented bite mark.
It was lopsided, like Taylor’s fangs, and he’d bitten deep that time, almost like he meant it.
Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Johnny reached up and wiggled his fingertip into the deepest part of the bite.
It still ached days later, and the more he touched it the more blood rushed to his cock.
“Shit,” he muttered, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking them.
Fuck, they tasted good together. They tasted right, but—
His thighs suddenly spasmed, making him double over the desk as Merry and Sam tumbled into the waste-paper bin. It was enough to snap him out of his bite-induced stupor as he fished the figures out of the bin and placed them back on Taylor’s desk.
After taking a cold shower, Johnny went downstairs in a pair of shorts and nothing on top. It was hot as hell for the time of year, and he cursed British houses for not having built-in air conditioning.
The sun was already up, spilling its orange light over Johnny’s face and chest as he stepped onto the patio. He hoped Manders had had the good sense to go home that night, and that he hadn’t been stupid enough to wander into pack territory looking for more trouble.
Bacon sizzled in the pan as Johnny buttered four slices of bread—right up to the edges, because anyone who didn’t should be shot—and sipped from a mug of hibiscus tea. A blend that his dad had come up with.
Johnny chewed the silver cross that hung around his neck, letting the metallic taste seep into his tongue. Maman would have killed him, said it turned the silver black, but Taylor was gone and the house was empty, so he let the old habit comfort him.
Johnny knew he was a shit Christian. In fact, Papa reminded him of it at least once a week. He’d tap his cap, point up at the sky and say ‘The Lord wants full custody, Son. Not just weekend visits’ because Johnny hadn’t been to church outside of Christmas and Easter in years.
Even so, he sat at the kitchen table every morning when the sun was just hitting the horizon and Taylor was still snoozing and he just…
listened. Listened to the pipes in the walls, the pops and cracks of the old floorboards and the birds waking up.
It was his own kind of prayer. A moment to just be with himself and God.
Johnny liked Bell Lane. It was quiet, and kind of cut off from the rest of the town.
Pember and Blake kept mostly to themselves, but every now and again he’d find a bottle of Pember’s home brew propped on the fence post. The guy’s entire patio was covered with metal vats and pipes, and had he not been a forensic scientist, Johnny would have probably submitted an intelligence report about it.
Drawing in a deep breath, he gazed out across the woods.
He could imagine staying at the house with Taylor long term, because despite the other alpha’s chaotic nature he could tell that the place was good for him too.
He didn’t wake up in a bad mood like he used to, or argue with anyone over the fence, or scent mark all the trees just to prove a point.
Johnny chuckled to himself and inhaled the steam from his drink. Taylor was a handful—two handfuls—but Johnny couldn’t deny that he loved it. When he’d gotten all needy on the morning of their first day, scenting him… Fuck. He’d loved that even more.
Christ, he was so utterly fucked.
“Are you running with me this morning?”
Johnny jumped at the sound of Blake’s voice from the other side of the fence. He was holding his own mug with a pair of glasses pushed back through his hair.
Johnny yawned, trying to cover his surprise. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
Blake cocked an eyebrow. “I can see that.”
Johnny took another long swig of tea. “Not today. I… You might want to avoid the usual tracks. Taylor might be out there.”
Blake nodded, his stern face showing a flicker of interest. “Is he unwell?”
Johnny shook his head. “Nah, just in a mood.”
“Is your transfer going that badly?”
“Not really, just… It’s Dingly Heath, isn’t it?”
Blake smirked. “Indeed.”
Johnny toed the fence. “You can stop smiling now. I know you’re happy about it. Pem told Tay about the cake.”
Blake’s smile widened, and Johnny didn’t think he’d ever seen so much of his straight white teeth.
“It was fucking good cake.”
“You could at least have the decency to lie about it. Someone with good manners might try and hide their hatred a little better.”
Blake cleared his throat and cracked his neck. “I do not hate either of you. I wouldn’t run with you if that was the case. Taylor, I tolerate, because wherever you are, there he is. Like a fly attached to a hippo’s arse.”
Johnny frowned, looking back up at the woods. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your run, wherever you end up going.”
Miraculously, the bacon was not burnt, but Johnny found that he still didn’t have an appetite, so he foil-wrapped a sandwich for himself and one for… Taylor.
Why was he bothering again?
It was getting close to 7:30 am when his phone finally pinged.
Sorry. Lost track of time recently. I’ll see you at the station.
Johnny’s heart leapt as he looked at the message, but then anger set in again. He started to type: Lost track of time? It’s been three fucking days you idiot. I’ve been worried sick and now you—
He took a breath, deleted the message and re-typed:
How have you been getting to work the last three days? I have the car.
The message was followed by Taylor sending a photograph of him and Wendy sitting on the bench at the back of the police station.
Johnny scoffed.
Wendy’s been taking you?
No. I’ve been running in
No you haven’t
I have
I don’t believe you
Fuck you :-( It’s true. Ask Wendy. I met her on the tracks this morning. Already rescued a wanderer.
Where?
Back of the supermarket. Found an old boy near the brook, another beta. He slipped in.
If Johnny had learned anything in the last sixteen years, it was that living with Taylor was like suffering whiplash every damned day. Sometimes he just had to go with it, and it seemed like today was one of those days.
Johnny rolled his eyes.
Wow. Nice one hero.
He followed it with a thumbs up emoji that came across as sarcastically as was intended. He knew he was being a dick, and even though he’d vowed to always try and give Taylor the benefit of the doubt, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be just a little pissed off.
Johnny arrived at the police station four minutes before the start of his shift, finding Isla in reception, grumbling as she picked up a fire extinguisher that was propping open the front door.
“Needless hazard,” she said, shoving it into Johnny’s arms. “And with a bloody fire extinguisher, no less!” Flyaway hairs stuck up from her head at every angle making her look well and truly frazzled.
“Please find a home for that, PC Ateba, before I have a mental breakdown one minute into the shift.”
Johnny nodded, gripping the fire extinguisher to his chest. “Morning, Sarge. All in order?”
“All in order?” she replied, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.
“I’ve got adult social care referrals coming out of my arse because these bloody old people keep going missing.
The photocopier is jammed because some idiot tried to print off a hundred pages of fake sodding money.
I came across a fistfight inside the pharmacy on my way in—something about half-priced talcum powder—and to top it all off, Mr Pricklepants has gone missing. ”
“Found him!” Amil called from within the report-writing room. “He squeezed through the kick-boards again. Someone left a kipper in the bottom of the bin. I blame Wendy.”
Isla let out a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, that’s something I suppose.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry. Not a good look for a sergeant, I know. I just…” She threw her hands up, shaking her head. “Actually, I don’t know.”