Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CHRISTIAN
The bathroom smelled like bleach, and the lock on the door stuck, so Christian had to shove it hard with his shoulder on the way out.
He might just have overdone the shove, as the door ended up banging into the wall, causing a few heads to turn.
He ignored them. He didn’t like people much.
Except for Dave. He was like a port in a storm, never demanding anything from him and always there, that slightly lopsided smile on his face as he looked at Christian.
Dave was still at the bar, a glass of beer in front of him. No one was talking to him. Christian didn’t get it. He had the kind of face people should want to open up to, calm and patient. That soft mouth of his always looked like it was just about to say something kind.
He suspected it was the shirt that had put them off. Tonight’s monstrosity was something even Hawaii would disown, in purple, turquoise and orange. Or maybe it was the crystal on a leather string at his throat. People could be small-minded.
Dave was on his phone, probably catching up the pack on their progress so far. The pack WhatsApp could go quiet for days then blow up just because Tristan had spotted something weird, or Bryce would have to share a joke.
This was the first time they’d been away from the pack, and it felt strange.
Not bad, exactly, but like something was missing at the edges.
The noise, the teasing, the way he always knew someone had his back.
Still, it was easier like this. Things there had gotten complicated, and Christian didn’t like complicated.
He paused a little longer, watching Dave from across the room.
The jukebox was playing something sad and twangy, and the low amber lights made Dave’s blond hair look almost gold as it curled past his collar.
He had that Dave-slouch going on, loose-limbed and relaxed, like he didn’t even know how easy he was to look at.
Sometimes it hit Christian out of nowhere how hard and cold his life had been before this, before Dave.
How much he needed what only Dave gave him. How much he needed Dave.
And the part he couldn’t understand, would never understand, was that Dave seemed to want him too. Christian wasn’t easy to be with, not the way Dave was, but Dave never looked at him like he was too much. Dave made him feel like maybe he wasn’t a screw-up, that he wasn’t made wrong after all.
He was glad Dave had accepted his explanation of how he’d known the woman meant a fight ring.
The illicit excitement in her eyes would have given her away to anyone who was used to spending time around underground fights, and Christian had spent more than his share of time around them.
And in them. Not that he’d ever told Dave.
He didn’t talk about that part of his life. He didn’t talk about the fights, period—not the ones that had kept him fed, and not the ones he’d grown up with. The nights spent waiting for someone to come home angry.
Dave had never asked about his past, and Christian was grateful. Because if he did… Christian didn’t know what would be left of him if Dave looked at him differently afterward.
Then Dave turned his head and spotted him, and Christian made his way across the room.
“You talk to anyone?” he asked, sliding onto the stool beside him.
Dave shook his head as he put his phone away. “A guy told me the chili fries here are a war crime. That’s about it.”
Christian scanned the room again. A few older men in trucker hats were watching baseball on the bar TV, while a couple with matching tattoos were arguing in the corner. Nothing promising.
He glanced at Dave’s glass. “Is that the local pisswater special or are you treating yourself tonight?”
Dave snorted. “This is the good stuff. Top-shelf pisswater.”
Christian flagged the bartender down and ordered the same, then elbowed Dave lightly. “Tell me again why we’re drinking rotgut when Matt’s picking up the tab?”
“Tradition,” Dave said. “Besides, if we suddenly started ordering IPAs with herbal notes and grapefruit foam, people would think we’d been body-snatched.”
Christian grinned. “You remember that time Jason let Bryce buy the wine? Fancy label with gold writing, a picture of a French castle, and it tasted like feet.”
“It was imported,” Dave said solemnly. “From the garbage.”
The pattern of old jokes and bad beer was familiar and welcome, but Christian found he couldn’t forget why they were really here. He turned his glass in his hands, staring down at the amber liquid that looked barely drinkable, and drew a steadying breath.
“You’d think someone would remember a massacre,” he said quietly.
Dave shrugged. “Even if they do, no one’s about to bring it up to two strangers who just walked in.”
“Yeah.” Christian frowned. “We probably got lucky, back at the first place. Would’ve taken longer to find out about the pack without those women. Not exactly subtle, were they?”
“And you’re so good at subtlety,” Dave said, just dry enough that Christian smirked.
Still amused, Christian took a long pull of his beer and let the silence settle.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t their usual ease either.
Something in the air between them hadn’t righted itself from the last bar.
He didn’t know if it was being away from the ranch, or the reason for it, or the fact that Dave had looked like someone was slowly sanding his nerves down while Christian had been enduring the barflies earlier.
But he could feel it—a slight hum of tension under the skin.
“You sure you’re not mad?” he asked.
Dave looked at him sideways. “About what?”
“Earlier. The women.”
“No.” Dave paused an instant. “I know you weren’t encouraging them.”
Christian frowned. That should have been the end of it, but something in Dave’s voice wasn’t sitting right. “You were right there. You saw.”
Dave gave a noncommittal little nod. “I know.”
It still didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know why.
Dave wouldn’t lie—Christian knew that like he knew how to land a punch—but something was wrong.
It felt like a loose stitch in a boot he wore every damn day.
Nothing torn yet, but if he picked at it, the whole thing might come apart.
He couldn’t risk that, so he let it be and looked around instead.
“Hit one more bar on the way back?” he suggested. “But let’s not kid ourselves—no one’s going to give up a secret just because I’ve got nice arms.”
“I mean, they might,” Dave said. “But probably not twice in one night.”
Christian grinned, and the tension eased a little.
“C’mon,” he said, tossing a couple of bills on the bar. “Let’s call it.”
As they headed out into the night, he caught a glimpse of himself in the dark glass of the bar’s window. He looked the way he always did—all swagger and bite, like the world could throw whatever it wanted at him and he’d just spit it back. But he didn’t feel that way tonight.
Tomorrow, he’d have a chance to let some of this shit out. Tomorrow, he’d fight.
Tonight, though, he was just a little too aware that the one person who could see through his bullshit wasn’t saying much at all.
* * *
Dave did up his seatbelt as Christian pulled out onto the street. Christian always drove, and Dave always let him.
“We should’ve checked what the cover charge is tomorrow,” Dave said. “If it’s sky-high, we’d do better to hang around outside, get talking to people that way. I know Matt’ll cover us if we need it—”
“Yeah, but we don’t need him to,” Christian said.
Dave glanced at him. “Why not?”
Christian took the turn a little too fast, anticipation burning through him. “I’ve got a plan.”
“A plan?”
“One that gets us through the door without paying.”
It took Dave an instant to understand.
“Christian.”
No reason for Dave to sound so disappointed—what had he thought was going to happen?
“While I’m fighting, you get to talk to people and see what they know. Depending what cut the winners get, we might end the night with a profit.” He put his foot down to get through the light before it changed.
“Or in a hospital.”
Christian snorted. “Yeah, right. Haven’t met the shifter yet who can put me down.” Except maybe Matt, but that was because he was an alpha. And possibly Karl, only Christian wasn’t suicidal. Anyway, they were his pack—he wouldn’t fight to the death with them the way he would anyone else.
Heat sparked low in his belly at the thought of finally unleashing his strength and speed.
It had been too long since he’d been allowed to be what he was built for.
Too long holding back for the sake of pack unity, or politics, or peace.
He needed to cut loose awhile and to get out of him all the things that had been building since Tristan had been snatched by Cale’s pack.
Deep fury still burned in Christian that he’d been denied revenge on Cale for hurting one of their own. Tristan hadn’t been badly hurt as it happened, because fucking Colby Williams had gotten himself out from under a whole pile of abuse and rescued him.
But that didn’t matter. Christian wanted someone to pay for every scratch, every second Tristan had been held against his will, scared and alone. He was just a kid. And kids were supposed to be protected. Didn’t matter that he’d gotten out in the end—someone should have protected him.
Matt letting Williams stay in Elk Ridge hadn’t helped, because he was a constant reminder of Cale’s pack.
Of what had happened to Tristan, young, trusting, and so damn na?ve it hurt.
And he couldn’t take it out of Williams’ hide—each time he tried to start something, Williams rolled over in submission, ready to accept his punishment.
And Christian never beat down on someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t fight back.
Even if every time he looked at Williams, he wanted to punch him.
Now that he had the prospect of taking out all that frustration and rage on someone who was willing to fight back, something inside him was slowly unclenching.
Dave shook his head in defeat, with a rueful smile touching his lips the way it so often did when it came to Christian. He knew Dave wouldn’t say any more about it. Dave hated violence, but he understood what Christian needed.
Christian put his hand on Dave’s thigh, the ancient denim soft and warm beneath his touch, and it felt good, familiar, rooting him in a way nothing else ever had.
DAVE
“You want to check out the caves tomorrow?” Dave asked as he toed off his shoes. His buzz had mostly worn off, but his limbs still held a loose, end-of-the-night heaviness.
He was stretched out in the one comfortable chair, watching Christian move restlessly around the room like a wolf who hadn’t yet found a place to bed down.
“Might as well,” Christian said, picking up his phone, unlocking it, then locking it again without doing anything. “Talking to more non-shifters isn’t going to get us anywhere. And there might be something to tell us we’re in the right place.”
He didn’t sound like he believed it.
Dave didn’t, either. “Even if we are, all we’re gonna find are rocks and sun-bleached bones,” he said, rubbing a thumb over his temple.
Christian didn’t answer. He stood in front of Dave for a moment, then stepped in, planted one knee on either side of his lap, and straddled him.
Dave blinked up at him.
“Hey,” Christian said, voice a rough-edged drawl.
And then he kissed him. There was no hesitation, no teasing build. Just heat and tongue and the weight of Christian pressing down, mouth open like he needed something only Dave could give.
Dave groaned softly as Christian deepened the kiss, hips shifting in slow, unmistakable rhythm. His hands slid under Dave’s shirt, warm palms mapping familiar territory, leaving Dave weak and breathless.
When he finally broke away, Christian was flushed, his breath ragged. He stared at Dave like he was the only thing that mattered right now.
“Goddamn it,” Christian said. “I want you to fuck me.”
He rarely asked for that, and the trust laid bare when he did always left Dave breathless. Dave’s heart kicked once, hard. He nodded, thumb brushing over Christian’s hip as he leaned in again, kissing him until he couldn’t wait any longer.
They undressed without ceremony, tossing clothes aside as Christian moved to the bed. He stretched out on his back, eyes locked on Dave.
He took his time, working Christian open with steady fingers and slow kisses pressed to the inside of his thigh. When he finally pressed inside, Christian arched up with a broken sound, hands braced against Dave’s arms like he needed an anchor.
“You’re good,” Dave whispered, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
Christian didn’t answer, but the way he moved—desperate and open and still somehow in control—said more than words could have.
Dave kept his rhythm steady, every thrust grounding them both. When Christian came, it was with a soft, almost startled sound, a breath punched out of him. Quiet and private, like it cost him something to let it go.
Dave treasured that sound more than anything. Christian didn’t talk when he bottomed, as if he was already giving everything he could. He was letting Dave give him pleasure—and for Christian, that was close to surrender. The ultimate trust he could offer.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, breath slowing, skin damp. Christian rested against him, loose-limbed and open in a way he never was with anyone else. He never said I love you. He didn’t need to. Dave could feel it in every breath, every moment of trust.
That didn’t stop Dave needing to hear it, even just once, whispered into the dark. Something for him to hold on to.