Chapter Four
COLBY
What the hell had he thought he was doing, talking to Tristan? Now he couldn’t get those hazel eyes out of his mind, or the expression in them—fear mixed with confidence in his pack. Of course they’d come for him. Urban wouldn’t let anyone get away with a power play like this.
But there’d been something more than confidence in Tristan. A warmth, a belief in the members of his pack, not just knowledge that rescue might be on the way. Even in a cold, bare room, Tristan seemed to be bursting with life in a way Colby could scarcely remember.
He shook his head. He didn’t think he’d ever been that naive. If he had, boot camp had knocked it out of him pretty damn quick.
And Colby had threatened Tristan. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d had to.
If he’d left the bowl or the water bottle there, Nico would know he’d disobeyed him, and the consequences of that were something Colby didn’t want to imagine.
But remembering the way he’d used his position of power, his size and strength to menace Tristan until his hands trembled, his gut curdled.
In that moment, he’d been no different from Nico.
Desperate for a distraction, he ended up in the small overgrown paddock behind the barn, working out again.
It was all that was left to him. And if he pushed himself hard enough, his brain would switch off and all that would be left would be the burn in his muscles as he strained for breath. There would be no more thoughts.
He lost himself and all sense of time. All he knew was his body and the growing pain as he kept going, pushing everything that was circling his mind and his heart as far away as it would go.
“Colby.”
The soft voice, curling oily smooth around him, brought him to a halt, mid-crunch. Nico was standing over him, and how the hell had Colby not been aware of his approach? Colby scrambled to his feet, his arms and legs suddenly trembling.
Nico pivoted on his heel and caught sight of Jeff lurking.
He snarled, and Jeff slunk away, getting lost in the shadows.
Colby couldn’t tell what the snarl was for, but if Nico had seen the way Jeff looked at him, it would only be a matter of time.
And somehow, that would still be Colby’s fault. It always was.
The shadows were a hell of a lot longer than Colby had realized, meaning he should have been back at the house at least thirty minutes ago, waiting for Nico to return from the perimeter. Instead, Nico had to come and find him.
Colby swallowed as he trailed Nico across the compound, back to the house. There wasn’t much he could do about any of it now, except try and defuse whatever was going to come his way.
It was a vain hope. Nico kicked the door shut and shoved Colby hard enough that he slammed into the wall with a heavy thud and the sharp crack of drywall giving way.
Pain flared through his shoulder, and then Nico’s forearm was at his throat, pinning him fast. He strained for breath, pressure building in his skull and his pulse thudding in his ears.
Nico’s snarl was feral. “I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even do that right, you dumb shit.”
Colby tried to shape the word sorry, but no sound came. His mouth opened and closed like a fish hauled out of water.
He didn’t see the first hit coming—just the explosion of light behind his eyes as his head snapped sideways. The next strike hit lower, brutal and fast, a jab to the gut that made his knees buckle.
He hit the floor hard, but Nico didn’t stop. A kick drove into his side, another to his thigh, and Colby stopped tracking them, concentrating on the feel of wood under his cheek and the warm wetness spreading down the side of his face. The room seemed too quiet, too bright.
Then came the worst of it. The part he never let himself remember clearly. The part that blurred around the edges, except for the pain. Nico’s voice broke through the haze, as his teeth sank into Colby’s shoulder. A hoarse, triumphant, “Mine.”
Moments later, Nico kicked off his jeans fully and lay down beside him. His fingers drifted over Colby’s face with unsettling care, trailing over the swelling under his eye, the split skin over his cheekbone.
Colby flinched before he could stop himself.
“Why d’you do it, Colby?” Nico’s voice was soft, coaxing. “Why d’you do the things that make me mad? Is it just to get my attention? Because you’ve already got it, sweetheart. You know that. You know I love you.”
Colby didn’t answer. He’d learned silence could sometimes be safety.
Nico’s touch lingered, featherlight and familiar. Too familiar. Colby let his eyes slide out of focus, the ceiling soft and vague, until he found a crack in the plaster. Locking on to it, he counted the branches in it like steps away from the present.
The pain from Nico’s blows was nothing compared to the ache in Colby’s heart.
Lying here like this, he couldn’t help remembering how it had been at the beginning—how Nico’s hunger for him had felt like the best thing in the world, how his possessiveness had left Colby feeling wanted, valued and loved.
Colby had fallen swiftly and deeply in love, and the intensity of their relationship had been security and safety in a world that didn’t make sense any longer.
When Nico had brought Colby to his pack, that too had been everything Colby wanted. It had been somewhere he could belong after the Army had chewed him up and spat him out, leaving him confused and lost.
Even when Colby had made mistakes, Nico had forgiven him.
He’d sit beside Colby, all patience and care, stroking his hair and explaining that discipline was necessary because Colby couldn’t seem to get it right on his own.
It was just that Colby was stupid sometimes.
Nico said it like it was a fact. Like Colby should already know.
The harder he tried to get things right, the more he got them wrong because—as Nico said when Colby had pushed him to the limit once too often—he was just that fucking stupid.
And then he’d wipe the blood from Colby’s face and press a kiss to his lips, because he knew Colby didn’t mean to be stupid, and he loved him despite it.
Three long years later, things were different. At least, that’s what Colby told himself. He told himself Nico had changed. The pack had slid deeper into criminality, their fights meaner, their jobs dirtier, and Nico had gotten sharper-edged with every day that passed.
It was easier to believe that there’d been a line once, and they’d only crossed it later. But sometimes, when Colby let himself remember, he wondered if maybe nothing had changed at all. If Nico hadn’t changed at all, and Colby had just stopped making excuses.
It had become harder to ignore the violence of the pack as they stole from people, and harder to keep loving Nico. Until one day, he’d realized there wasn’t anything left. No loyalty. Not even hate. Just a kind of quiet, aching nothing.
But even that didn’t matter, because Nico was never going to let him go. Sometimes Colby wondered if that was what Nico loved most—not Colby, but the fact that he was his. The only thing Nico had that no one else could take.
“You know you’re all I care about, sweetheart.” His voice was quiet, soft, caring. “The only thing I’ve got left.”
Nico’s fingers drifted down Colby’s side, gentle over the bruises.
Too gentle. Colby stayed still, kept his breathing slow, because he’d learned that softness was just the pause before the pain.
Nico didn’t know how to be open without punishing someone for it later.
He didn’t know when Nico had learned that love was pain, but it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered, because there was no changing anything.
Nico traced one last line over Colby’s cheek before flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
“Cale’s back tomorrow.”
Colby nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack.
“They were all supposed to be at Urban’s ranch,” Nico muttered. “Don’t know what the hell that pup was doing wandering around.”
Even Nico was scared of something. Not that Colby blamed him in the least—Cale was terrifying.
He took whatever he wanted, and the more people who got hurt in the process, the more he enjoyed it.
Since Urban had beaten him in that fight, he’d become even more vicious.
The fact that Urban’s claws had cost him an eye might have had something to do with it.
“I don’t know what the fuck that whelp’s doing in Urban’s pack to start with,” Nico said, rolling over again and looking at Colby, a puzzled crease between his eyes. “He’s too soft to be any use. Maybe Urban just likes them young.”
Colby lowered his eyes, seeking to hide the emotion that flashed through him at the thought of anyone viewing Tristan like that.
God, he hoped Urban saw in Tristan all the things Nico couldn’t.
That it wasn’t just about age or looks or some idea of ownership.
That someone, somewhere, saw him and thought of good things.
And then the thought came to him, sharp and dangerous. What if he could get Tristan out?
He knew better than to suggest anything. Knew it. But still the words slipped out because the thought of Tristan—bright, brave Tristan—at Cale’s mercy...
“If Urban’s into him,” he said carefully, because some days talking to Nico was allowed and some days it wasn’t, “maybe we could trade him for the silver wolf?”
That would get Tristan safely back where he belonged. It would also make sure Cale wasn’t pissed at Nico for snatching Tristan in the first place, which would save Colby from a world of hurt, too.
Nico’s bark of laughter made him flinch.
“God, it’s just as well you’re pretty, Colby, because you really are a dumb shit,” he said, his hand tangling in Colby’s hair and tugging, bringing his face up so he was looking into Nico’s scornful eyes.
“You think any piece of ass is going to measure up to what the only Argent in the world could do for Urban? He’s not going to trade that for anything. ”
He leaned in and kissed Colby, his tongue mapping his mouth with the casual assurance of ownership.
Then he got up and dragged on his jeans.
“I sent two of the boys a couple of towns over for beer and pizza,” he said.
“The pizza’s going to be cold but it’s got to be better than that fucking stew.
You come and find me when they get back with it. ”
As Nico left the room, Colby lay on the sleeping bags, every bruise alive and pulsing. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before sitting up, slowly. If there was pizza left over, maybe he could get some to Tristan. It would be just food, nothing more. But at least it would be something.
TRISTAN
As the day crawled past, Tristan got colder and colder, until the chill settled into his bones. He’d stood by the window as long as he could, clinging to the futile hope that his scent might drift twenty miles in a straight line and lead his pack to him.
He ended up crouched in the corner, folded over, trying to keep warm. It wasn’t only the physical temperature that chilled him, but the fear that had taken hold deep inside.
He couldn’t see any way out of this, because nothing he’d tried had worked. He’d pulled at the boards over the window and pried at the floorboards, because if he could just get a piece of wood, then he’d have a weapon. All that did was give him sore fingers.
Throwing himself against the door in the hope it might dislodge the bolt hadn’t worked. It had merely left him bruised and breathless.
He’d considered smashing the light bulb, but what would that get him? A shard of glass sharp enough to cut himself when he tried to use it as a weapon. And he’d be left in the dark.
It was beginning to sink in—there was no way out. This was how he was going to die.
Resting his head on his knees, he thought about the pack. Grief caught in his throat as he thought what this would do to Bryce.
Bryce, who made the world steady and safe.
Tristan had never known his father—wasn’t sure his mom knew who he was.
And Bryce, even though he’d only been in his twenties at the time, had unhesitatingly stepped into that role.
He’d opened his home and his heart to a lost kid and never once made Tristan doubt he belonged.
His chest tightened with regret, not just for what he was losing, but for what he’d left unsaid. He’d never told Bryce how much it meant to know, without question, that he was loved.
Footsteps approached, and the bolt was thrown back. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed to his feet. He was stiff and cold and sore, but he made himself stand tall. He was a member of Matt Urban’s pack, and he’d act like it.
The door was wrenched open. Nico’s eyes were watchful and hostile as they flicked up and down Tristan. “So you’re still alive,” he said.
Tristan bit back the first response that came to mind.
Colby Williams’ warning made more sense now he could see Nico in full light for the first time.
This man didn’t do mercy. Viciousness overwhelmed the good looks—there was a mean pinch to the mouth that should have been full and sexy, and something dark and cruel in the thickly lashed brown eyes. Tristan suppressed a shiver.
The eyes that had been focused on him lost their edge as Nico’s nostrils flared. He took another deep breath, scenting the air.
“Oh, Colby,” he said, voice thick with mock disappointment that somehow breathed menace. His eyes locked back on Tristan. “Who’s been here?”
Tristan’s instinct was to answer honestly. But then he remembered how Colby had taken away the empty bowl and bottle, like he was clearing up evidence. Maybe the visit hadn’t been sanctioned. He didn’t want Colby to get in trouble for his kindness.
“It’s not rocket science, boy,” Nico said, prowling closer.
“I was asleep for some of the day,” Tristan said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t know.”
For a second, he thought it might work.
Then came the blur of Nico’s hand, and sharp, white-hot pain lit up his skull as he was slammed against the wall.
His knees buckled. The world tilted.
“You can’t lie to me,” Nico said. “Remember that.”
He turned and walked out.
Tristan stayed where he was, hands braced against the wall, dizzy, breathless, and sick.