Chapter 5
FIVE
Asha
From afar, I notice Max eyeing the three of us, as though newly suspicious of his team. It isn’t just the newcomer his dubious gaze attaches to, either. The way he looks at me sends a sharp pang of fear down my spine. Does he know about my brother? I wonder whether Braxton spoke with him about what he saw, if Braxton even saw anything incriminating.
Something is off, and I definitely need to shake the cobwebs away from my mind and focus. As close as I’ve started to feel to Max and Braxton, this is still a job. If they think I’m not on their side, they’ll turn on me, and soon I’ll find myself rotting in prison, unable to help anyone, including myself.
So, do they know?
I return to the moment, just after saving Max, when Braxton and my eyes locked. The knowing flicker in Braxton’s stare, the hint of distrust. Could he have seen what I did? Is he now wondering if the woman he and his brother shared is as evil as they think all my Blood Pack members are?
It’s definitely possible. Damn it.
I snap my attention back to him, my heart hammering, but he’s busy sizing up Orson. His arms are crossed, and a strange anger is hanging over him like a cloak. It’s as if this newcomer has wronged him somehow, but as far as I could tell when Max introduced them, they’ve never met before, so how could that be the case?
So, this man hasn’t wronged Braxton in some way. His anger isn’t focused on me like he’s sure of my betrayal, so I’m no closer to figuring anything out as before. All I know for sure is that I should be careful.
For Orson’s part, he just seems happy to have swapped handlers. His air is that of a man who’s happy to be here. Actually, that’s his entire demeanor, and no one should be happy to be here. I wonder where his path has led, the turns and twists that dumped him here.
The air between the four of us is leaden with mystery. There are enough elephants in the room to fill a safari. I guess it’s time to start poking at those elephants.
“So,” I draw out the word, feeling uncomfortable. “You two know each other?”
“No,” Braxton rushes out angrily.
I kind of suspected as much, but I was hoping their reactions would tell me more. Clearly, I’m not very good at this. I feel like maybe once upon a time I would’ve been able to handle something like this, but not now.
“We’ve never met,” Orson says, as if Braxton’s answer wasn’t enough, and his gaze sweeps to me. Those beautiful eyes of his locked onto me. “But I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”
Braxton makes a low, irritated noise.
It’s hard not to laugh, but I manage to swallow the sound down. So, Braxton doesn’t play nice with others. Interesting.
I file that information away for the future.
“Favorite colors?”
They both stare at me.
I shrug. “I heard learning each other’s favorite color could be a good way of getting to know each other.”
To my surprise, Orson smiles. “Mine is gold. Not yellow. Gold.”
Braxton scoffs. “Gold is not a color.”
Orson shrugs. “It is to me.”
“I guess we disagree on that,” Braxton says, his voice practically a growl.
This time I do laugh. Are they really arguing about a favorite color? Well, I guess Orson isn’t, but Braxton is looking for a fight.
“What’s your favorite color?” Orson asks, turning those stunning, mismatched eyes onto me.
It takes me a second to swallow. “I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it before.”
He nods, like that’s a perfectly acceptable answer. “Any siblings?”
I flinch so hard my entire body hurts.
“Asha?” Braxton asks, alarm in his voice.
I take a small step back from them, shaking my head.
“Well, someone, but not you, has a dog then,” Orson says, as if I didn’t just have a mini-meltdown.
A shuddering breath escapes my lips. “Trouble.” He already knew the dog’s name, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Are you okay?” Braxton asks, still seeming upset by my reaction. He reaches for me, but then drops his hand, as if unsure whether or not he can touch me.
I force a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
Max snaps his phone shut and charges back towards us. “Moving out,” he says, tracing a circle in the air with his index finger. Heading for the SUV without looking at us, he claps his hands twice together. “Chop, chop.”
I see him wave to Thomas. The big wolf shifter grins and waves back before refocusing on the laptop in front of him.
The others head for the SUV, but I linger for a minute longer, wanting to touch the trees, to breathe in the air before being pulled away so abruptly. This place is the closest I’ve come to being reunited with my brother. It feels wrong to leave, but if Max has a lead, it’s better than the nothing Thomas and his crew have.
It’s time to go.
Max places a warm hand on my lower back. His gaze finds Orson’s, and his expression is almost aggressive as he steers me to the front seat and opens the door. My wolf shivers inside of me, finding pleasure in his possessive movement. It surprises me. After being experimented on, I sometimes find it harder to connect with my wolf, to know what she wants, so it’s nice when I sense her there. Showing me instinctually what we want.
And, apparently, we like our romantic partners to show ownership of us. Interesting.
The others climb into the vehicle as Max twists the key, me in the passenger seat. Its engine roars to life and a second later, its tires gnaw at the dusty earth, hiding the tent and its busy bees behind a tan curtain. By the time it clears, we’re halfway down the road, Max speeding towards our next destination.
Wherever that may be.
Orson rides silently in the backseat beside Braxton, a contented expression on his face, unfalteringly calm even with Trouble’s tail slapping against his leg. Apparently, Orson knows better than to assault his new master with a bevy of needless questions. He’ll learn the details when he needs them.
Braxton, despite being Max’s twin, slots more evenly into a younger brother’s role. As such, he accepts the commands of his superior unquestioningly, interested only in the golden retriever occupying his lap. Or maybe it’s the soldier in him. Either way, everyone seems settled.
How the hell did everyone just jump into this car silently? Isn’t someone going to ask something?
Time ticks painfully by. Silence. Fucking silence follows.
Nope, apparently no one plans to say a thing…
Which leaves only me, probably the least ranking member of our foursome, to inquire about our new objective. Max grips the wheel in characteristic machismo, a mean stare leveled on the world through his windshield. He’s perhaps the least receptive person to pointless questions. Of course, I don’t find them pointless, but that’s a difference of opinion between the two of us. I like to know what the fuck we’re doing, whereas he prefers not to disclose.
He's irritating. All of this is irritating. Me hopelessly searching for my people. Finding my brother and losing him. Being in a powerless position when logic says I should be otherwise.
My life just makes me want to scream and scream until everyone feels the same pain inside of them as I do. Until they understand what it is to have no control over their lives, like I have since the day I was captured.
It takes effort to swallow down the scream building inside of me. More effort than I like. Enough that I realize just how much I need to shift into my wolf and forget what it means to be human for a while.
Calm. Just calm down.
I lean back towards the window, observing Max from the passenger seat. Veins rise beneath the flesh of his forearms, pulsating in rhythm with his heart — an organ I believe I’ve touched, albeit circuitously, via a separate organ. I have a right to know , I think, permitting a little umbrage to boost my confidence. We banged. Things are different now, dammit. “Max, you can’t just?—”
“It’s just another lead, Asha, no big secret.” The corner of his mouth pulls back in an almost-grin.
"How did you know I was upset?"
“Your indignation was palpable.” He turns to face me, amusement in his gaze. “You could have just asked.”
I can't decide if I'm insulted or uncomfortable that he knows me so well. “You didn’t let me get more than three words in?—”
He turns back to the road and raises four fingers between us. “Four words. And I spared the both of us a pointless fight.”
I tuck my fists under my armpits and scowl. Maybe I wanted a fight . But as I lean back in the leather seat, its cushions welcoming to my sore back and legs, exhaustion sets in. I don’t have the energy to fight. Maybe… maybe I just wanted to feel in control for a little while.
“You're okay," he says, his voice gentle.
"Am I?" I ask. Nothing about me is okay.
Max reaches over and pats my thigh, and even that minimal touch does things to me, quiets the fight in me. I feel my wolf padding around within, settling like a dog against the arm of a couch. An undeniable connection binds us together now. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I'm too tired to parse the emotions.
Unable to help myself, I glance in the rearview mirror and see that both Orson and Braxton have their gazes locked onto Max’s hand on my thigh. I feel my nipples harden, and draw in a shaky breath. I don’t know why the fuck my wolf likes her men to be possessive, but it’s clear that I like it too.
On some wolf-level, I want nothing more than to slide my hand up Max’s thigh, unzip his pants, take him out, and stroke his big cock. On that same level, I want to wrap my lips around him and suck him off while the men in the backseat are left hard and wanting.
I take a shaky breath, internally telling my wolf to calm down. She might want to follow her instincts and desires only, but I have other things on my mind. Not to mention the fact that I doubt Max would let me suck him off, if only because he wouldn’t want Orson seeing me like that.
Damn it. His possessiveness is far too sexy.
Braxton’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, and his mouth curls into a sexy smile. I hate that I suspect he knows my mind is in the gutter, and that his mind is right there with me. My only savior is that Max has no idea what his touch has done to me.
“This lead is a big one,” Max says, drawing my gaze back to him. “A better lead than any we’ve chased down so far.”
Hope blossoms inside of me. Was one of my pack members spotted?
Then, a chill rolls through me as past images flash through my mind of death. Of Clinton and those bastards who killed him. "Do we have to worry about–?"
"No one's going to hurt them," he reassures me, his voice barely above a whisper.
I get the sense he doesn't want Orson to know more than we have to tell him, but he doesn't need to say more. Those psycho Enforcers won't hurt anyone before we reach my pack member, and we have a lead. It's like a giant weight falls off my shoulders.
“Alright, Max,” I say, my voice fading. I want to lay my hand over his in my lap, hold it as I fall asleep, but I’m wary of what Orson will think too.
After a few seconds, Max removes his hand and I distract myself from the empty feeling in my chest with the passing scenery. Out there, somewhere, my brother Simon regenerates, the malignant sludge returning to strength. That unsettling thought spurs a question. “Any word at all about the Blood Pack member who escaped yesterday? He can't have just… disappeared.”
I spy the muscle in his jaw wriggling beneath his cheek. “We’ll find him,” he says, confident. Though I suspect his confidence belies a secret doubt in me, one he refuses to acknowledge, one that’s metastasized to our mission. To me. Please don’t hate me, Max . “Did you recognize him?”
Fear pricks my heart and quickens it. Is he fishing? Scrutinizing his expression offers no clues. He’s wearing a stony-faced look befitting a poker champion. “No,” I reply, hoping to mask the truth as well as he hides everything. “He was encased in that awful gooey shit. I couldn’t get a good look at him.”
There’s a long pause while I wait for his response and it dangles me over a boiling cauldron. “Hm,” is all he says, a brief noise of consideration. I wait for more, but nothing else comes. I guess I should be grateful there aren’t any follow-up questions.
“So,” says Orson, “I imagine our work will necessitate a lot of hours like this, on the road, the four of us sharing a single car. Lots of time we might forge bonds.”
His words are so unexpected, I almost laugh. What? I turn back and spot Braxton glaring.
“Wouldn’t count on it,” Braxton rebuffs.
“Initial rejection often melts in the face of social isolation,” Orson counters, “in my experience. I don’t suppose we’ll have much outside contact, leaving only our foursome to satisfy those needs.”
“There’ll be no foursome to satisfy your needs,” says Braxton, his voice dripping with venom.
Orson chuckles good-naturedly. “I suppose I asked for that. Braxton, I didn't even get your favorite color. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
“Because I don’t want to,” Braxton answers curtly. He slumps against his door and presses his forehead up against the glass in an attempt to get as far away from our gregarious new addition as possible.
Despite his gruff rejection, Braxton fails to dissuade Orson, who continues making efforts to befriend him. I snicker in the front seat while listening to Orson’s many failed attempts, not quite as sleepy now with something so amusing happening under my nose.
Why are you being such a dick, Braxton? I think fleetingly it might have something to do with me, the testosterone-mandated urge to snub other men in close proximity to your woman. Does Braxton think of me as his woman? Or at least half his, given our peculiar arrangement.
Property of the Blackwells. I think flippantly of getting a tattoo to that effect, like a brand. If men had their way . Our threesome still plays on a loop in the back of my thoughts. I can’t believe we did that. Yet, at the same time, I have to admit I crave more. I don’t know whether it will change things between us.
I don't know what to hope for either.
The drone of the rolling tires, and Orson’s voice, begins to lull me into sleep. I fight against it, but the magic I used against my brother, then again to save Max from the oily spear, followed by the all-night hunt for Simon, drained me of my last reserves. There’s no winning against my eyelids as they finally clamp shut, closing out the world.
In the darkness, my mind tumbles through surreal dreams. Simon appears. I think to call out to him, but my voice can’t reach across a wide ravine separating us. I glance down into the deep scar it carves into the earth, streaming through the gully like an oily black snake running a river of pitch.
When I stare into it, a cold sweat breaks out across my body. Then I hear something calling out to me. It’s not Simon, who’s now walking away from me, off into the desert. It's something from within, something I can’t quite make out, just itching at my brain. It’s important, and yet indecipherable.