Chapter 3
Chapter Three
COLBY
Colby was restless. He’d been unable to settle all morning and ended up doing a longer than usual workout behind the barn, where he was least likely to be disturbed.
Somehow, Jeff had found him anyway and stood watching for a while.
Sooner or later, Nico was going to notice the way Jeff had taken to staring at Colby, and when he did, things would get messy.
Nico had headed out earlier to check the perimeter and remind everyone who was in charge during Cale’s absence.
They’d been here six weeks with no action—and no women either—which meant the fights between pack members were escalating.
Boredom and aggression were a bad mix. Cale’s pack wasn’t built for waiting but for taking.
Huddling here playing hide and seek with another pack was wearing thin, and a weaker leader than Cale would have lost them weeks ago.
The muttering had only stopped after Nico killed Kowalski, one of the mouthier ones.
Colby was probably the only one who didn’t mind being here. Sure, Nico’s frustration at the lack of action meant he was constantly walking a razor’s edge, but at least this way, no one else was getting hurt. The pack left a trail of destruction wherever they went. Worse, they liked it that way.
He shivered slightly and tried to concentrate on the weights, one of the few things Nico let him use unsupervised. Now that Nico had taken one of Urban’s pack, everything was going to change. They’d either be moving on, or they’d be dead.
Colby let the dumbbells drop as the truth hit him—for the first time, he knew which of those outcomes he’d choose.
He used to believe that he’d find a way out, that he’d no longer be the property of a psychopath with a charming smile.
But it had been more than three years now, and he’d finally understood there was no way out.
So maybe the alternative wasn’t that bad.
He pulled a fleece sweatshirt over his workout shirt and headed back to the house.
At least being with Nico came with perks—one of the few mattresses, and access to the kitchen.
He helped himself to a bowl of stew from one of the deer they’d brought down days ago, warmed it on the gas burner, and sat in a patch of sun spilling through the broken window.
But the chill had followed him inside, clinging to his skin, curling in his gut.
And he couldn’t stop wondering how cold it must be in the brig.
It was nearly a month since he’d last been shut in there, but it was a place that was impossible to forget.
Hopelessness seemed to breathe from its very walls.
He pushed the bowl abruptly away from him. The prisoner had looked too young, too clean. He should be at college, squabbling with his friends over whether to go to Starbucks, not locked in a dark room, waiting to die.
Colby scraped back his chair. He didn’t think. He just moved, before he could talk himself out of it.
He reached the outbuilding unchallenged, even with a bowl of stew and a bottle of water in his hands.
Probably because if anyone interacted with him past jeers and laughter, the chances were high they’d end the day with Nico’s blood-stained fangs the last thing they saw. No one took what belonged to Nico.
Suppressing an involuntary shudder, he walked through the doorway of the outbuilding that housed the brig and flicked the switch to turn on the light inside the room. He banged on the door to make sure he had the prisoner’s attention.
“Get back from the door,” he said, his tone brooking no opposition. The last thing Colby wanted was for him to make a break for it. He wouldn’t get far, not with half the pack around and bored, but Nico would have Colby’s hide for allowing the attempt.
He heard a slight shuffle from inside.
“Okay?” he checked.
“Yeah.” The voice was low and strained, but the important thing was that it was a voice. Colby wouldn’t have put it past him to shift and try to fight his way out.
He pulled back the bolt and opened the door, careful to close it again behind him.
Even though the prisoner would have no chance of getting past him, he knew how it felt to be locked up here, so that the sight of an open doorway, a way to fresh air and light and freedom, couldn’t be resisted.
It didn’t matter that there was never any hope of reaching it—it wouldn’t stop someone desperate enough from trying.
He turned his attention back to the figure by the window, who was squinting against the light, his body held tensely. His dark hair was messy and a little long, and he was lean, with the kind of build that would likely fill out in a year or two. Then Colby remembered—he wouldn’t have the chance.
He shouldn’t be here. Should’ve run faster.
Colby could nearly taste the fear rolling in his direction, but something kept the guy’s shoulders back, and once his eyes adjusted to the light, there was a confidence deep in the hazel gaze that made no sense to Colby.
“I brought you some food,” Colby said.
The prisoner ignored the bowl he was offering. His eyes were steady on Colby’s. “Why am I here?”
The calm in his voice didn’t match the fear in the air. It didn’t make sense. And Colby hated things that he couldn’t understand—they were dangerous, unpredictable. Could turn on a dime and go from ease to attack.
Colby put the bowl on the floor between them, the bottle by its side. He didn’t miss the longing look the water received, but their prisoner obviously wasn’t going to weaken, not yet.
“You’re one of Urban’s pack. Cale’s got questions for you,” Colby said.
The prisoner frowned. “But you know where we live, you know we have an Argent in the pack—what questions could be left? That’s ridiculous.”
Colby closed his eyes for a second. This was worse than he’d thought. If this guy showed Nico or Cale even a hint of that attitude, he’d spend the last hours of his life in unrelenting agony.
“Whatever the questions are,” he said, “I suggest you answer them without mouthing off. Things will go better for you that way.”
“Yeah? They’ll pat me on the head and send me home? I’m not that gullible, you know.”
“No, they won’t do that,” Colby said. “But at least that way you’ll die easy.”
The prisoner stared at him, wide-eyed. Colby could hear his heart rate kick up until it was pounding, fast and uneven.
“So, they’ve sent you in to soften me up,” he said at last, trying to sound as if he wasn’t intimidated.
Colby shook his head. “Their ways are a bit more direct than that. I’m just saying, make it easy on yourself and answer their questions.”
“And betray my pack?” Colby wasn’t sure if it was indignation or fear that cracked the prisoner’s voice.
“I guess you’ve never heard of loyalty or principles then.
But of course you haven’t, or you wouldn’t be with Cale.
” His lip curled as he stared at Colby. “And my name’s Tristan, by the way.
You might want to remember that for when my pack comes for me. ”
“Eat your damn food if you want it,” Colby snapped, unsettled by Tristan’s words.
Tristan might believe what he was saying, that only someone without principles could be part of Cale’s pack.
But it was because he didn’t know what Cale and Nico were capable of.
Everyone had a breaking point. Everyone.
It was just that some reached it sooner than others, and some only realized they’d passed it months after it had happened.
Tristan inched forward cautiously and picked up the bottle. “Guess you’ve got no need to drug me,” he said as he twisted off the cap and took a long, deep pull.
“Guess you’ve watched too many movies,” Colby said, and tried not to notice the grin on Tristan’s face as he lowered the bottle.
It was only for an instant, as if he’d momentarily forgotten where he was and who Colby was, but it was wide and open and genuinely amused.
Like he didn’t know he was supposed to be broken. Like hope wasn’t just another weapon.
Fuck. Colby ran his hand through his hair.
This had been a bad idea. This had been a stupendously bad idea, coming here and meeting Tristan.
It was bad enough to know that someone who didn’t deserve it was locked up here.
How much worse to find out he really was a clueless innocent, despite being part of Urban’s pack.
This would haunt Colby. Like so many other things.
He should never have come here, should never have seen that smile on Tristan’s face. Even when facing death, he was more alive than Colby could remember being.
“Eat your lunch,” he said abruptly. “I need to get back.”
TRISTAN
Tristan snatched up the stew and sat down against the wall, clutching the bowl to his chest as he realized it was warm. He’d gotten so cold in the night, and the room still felt like an icebox.
The guy standing in front of the door moved as if he were impatient.
Realizing he might take the stew away again if Tristan took too long, he picked up the spoon from the bowl and started eating.
It was gross—nothing like the food Jason made—but it was warm and he needed it because, if this guy was telling the truth, rescue wasn’t going to arrive in time.
He was going to have to rescue himself. Starting now.
“What’s your name?” he asked between spoonfuls. He recognized him from last night. He was the one Nico had wrapped himself around, all possessive confidence while the guy had stayed motionless.
“Colby Williams.”