Chapter Five
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The constant sound of water dripping from the ceiling would have driven any sane person crazy. But he was used to it. And to the dark, dank room. The thin mattress and the scratchy sheets. The windowless, white walls. And the metal door that would shriek to announce it being opened. How long had he been living in this room? No, it wasn’t his room. It was a cell meant to keep him and others like him locked up in The Facility. The walls may have looked like concrete, but they were reinforced with solid steel.
The boy sat on the bed, unmoving. He stared down at his hands, wrapped in clean, white bandages. But he knew they wouldn’t stay clean for very long.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he heard the footsteps outside the door. He didn’t normally have this reaction, even when they came for him. Usually, it was just his handler, Boyd, and he didn’t make him bristle like this. Someone else was out there.
A key turned in the giant padlock. The metal latch moved and the solid steel door screeched as it slid open. The boy looked up slowly. His handler, a short, squat, and balding Lycan dressed in a dirty jacket and stained jeans came in first. As he stepped aside, a chill blasted down the boy’s spine. The air in the small room grew thick with dominance as the hulking, red-haired man stepped in.
The boy was big for his age, one of the reasons he ended up here. But still, the red-haired man towered over him. He was nearly seven feet tall. He had wide linebacker shoulders and enormous arms, like thick tree trunks with corded veins bulging under the muscles. As he lumbered closer, his heavy boots stomped on the concrete and sent vibrations across the floor. Wild, red hair stuck out from his head and connected to a long, full beard that obscured most of his face. The man was scary enough, but the wolf inside him was terrifying. A big, dominant creature that the boy had only seen once and never wanted to encounter again. The man didn’t even bother to hide it, his eyes glowing like beacons that marked him as a Lycan.
“You ready for tonight, boy?” the red-haired man asked.
The boy said nothing as he looked at his bare feet.
“You answer me when I’m talking to you, boy.” A hand connected with the boy’s cheek and sent him sprawling to the floor. “Get up.”
He slowly stood up, rising to his full height, much taller than most boys his age. The muscles on his body had developed fast, and he easily outweighed any of the adult Lycans in The Facility. The doctor who patched them up after fights estimated he was probably sixteen years old, and he was going to keep growing.
“Good.” The red-haired man sized him up. “Boy, you’ve been undefeated for the last couple of fights. That’s not so bad, except you’re making things boring around here. And our customers ain’t paying for boring.” He spat on the floor. “Now, just to make things a little more exciting, I’m gonna make a few changes. Boyd,” he said with a nod to the handler.
Boyd stepped forward, taking something wrapped in a towel from his jacket. Stubby, meaty fingers unwrapped it, and, even in the poorly-lit room, the boy knew what it was. The blade of the knife glinted, the edges were serrated like shark teeth.
“This’ll kick things up a notch. Both you and Clyde will have one of these while you fight. But that’s not all.” The red-haired man took a small bottle from his pocket. “That edge is gonna be laced with this. A special potion brewed by some powerful witches. Illegal and very potent. Slows down healing. Cost me an arm and a leg, but that bitch who sold it to me said it’ll work like a charm. Make sure you bleed nice an’ good before your cuts heal up.”
The boy gritted his teeth. Clyde was the biggest and meanest Lycan in The Facility. He’d only faced him once before, during his first few weeks there. They squared off in The Cage, and Clyde beat him to a pulp. But the boy was determined. After all, he’d been training in the facility since he was a young pup. He rose to the top of his group because of his size and skill but, most of all, because of his grit. Clyde was the only fighter who he had yet to defeat.
“Ready, boy? Good. Don’t forget to give them a show and, when Clyde’s down, you go ahead and let out that monster in you.”
Connor awoke with a jolt, his entire body going rigid before he shot up. He placed his palm over the right side of his face, and, for a split second, he swore he felt the pain from the scar like it just happened. Examining his hands, he saw the wetness there was only cold sweat and not blood. He made a grab for the digital watch under his pillow and let out a long breath when he checked the date. But it didn’t bring him any comfort.
He glanced back at the watch, surprised at the time: 9:02 pm. Early still.
After the reaming from Sebastian, he had to stay and tour the theater with Aiden James, checking for weak spots and other security concerns. It took most of the day and, by the time they were done, the cast had already left, including Evie. Of course, he was thankful he didn’t have to see Janelle until the next day, but he didn’t know where Evie had gone. So, he decided to go back to his hotel to try and get some shut eye.
He’d only been asleep an hour, yet, it felt longer as his dreams made him travel back in time. His nightmares were filled with his time at The Facility. Training with a dozen other young Lycans who were barely old enough to shift. Coaxing their animals out. Teaching them to fight.
He had been there for so long he didn’t know anything but the cold, white walls of The Facility. He didn’t even know where he or the other children came from. Were they bred at The Facility? Stolen from their families? Plucked out of thin air? No one knew, not even Archie.
But he remembered that night he first saw Archie. It was the same night he got the scar from the poisoned blade. As he was lying down, blood pouring over his eye, he caught a glimpse of this strange old man sitting in the prime seats. While others stood up and screamed for his blood, the old man remained seated and looked at Connor with such sad eyes.
A low rumble tore from his chest. Shit. No. Not now. Archie. The Cage. The Facility. The red-haired giant. All his failures were coming back, and it was making the feral wolf rise up. The taste of blood from the other night sated it, but it wanted more. Was it a mistake to go after Boyd? It was easy enough to find his old handler, thanks to Archie’s list. It only took him five hours to drive two states over, to the run-down trailer where the bastard was living.
The envelope Archie had left him when he died contained a list of names and pictures of people connected to The Facility and background information on them. Most of the names were negligible—the old doctor, the name of the owner of the building where The Facility was housed (likely fake), the security guards, the cleaning crew. But two names stood out, and one was conspicuously missing. Boyd Russell, his old handler, who he had already taken care of. The next was David Booth, who Connor recognized as one of the men who trained him as a young boy.
The one name and picture missing from the envelope was the one Connor wanted the most. The red-haired man. Was he even still alive? He hoped so because Connor was going to get his revenge, before it was too late.
That meant keeping the feral wolf under control, at least when he wasn’t extracting vengeance. Archie had helped him all those years, but, since his death, his control was slipping. The wolf wanted more time with their body, and it was getting harder and harder to take it back.
And, when, not if, the time came that he couldn’t reign in the wolf, there would be only one solution. He would have to be put down. That was one of the reasons he agreed to stay in New York. He couldn’t ask any of his siblings to put him down. It would have to be someone strong and someone with reason. Grant Anderson, as the biggest and strongest Alpha of them all, would be the one to end his life, and Connor knew he would do it to save his city and his clan.
Connor wrestled control of their body, rolling over the bed and getting to his feet. He let out a groan as he clenched his fists, willing the wolf to submit to him. You’re in charge, you’re alpha, Archie reminded him. Tell the wolf who’s boss.
It was getting harder and harder to hold it back. The feral wolf was urging him on, spurring him forward to get dressed. To get out of this goddamn room and roam the streets. But where would he go?
***
Of course this is where his fucked up wolf wanted to go. Connor was standing in the park across from a building. It was one of those older brick buildings, around five or six stories tall with a small foyer in the front. He knew this place. He’d been keeping watch here for weeks.
The tree overhead casted a shadow that kept him hidden. Fucking broken animal. He kicked the tree trunk. He blew out another breath and slammed his palm on the trunk. The poor, hapless tree getting the brunt of his anger. Anger at what, he wasn’t sure. Was Evie even home? She must be. Rehearsals tomorrow started at seven a.m. sharp. Even when she wasn’t working on a show, Evie was disciplined, only staying out late if she was doing an open mic night and, even then, she went straight home to get her sleep. He overheard her saying she needed at least eight hours of shut eye every night to keep her voice and body in shape.
A movement at the front door of the building caught his eye. He had been here enough times that he knew most of Evie’s neighbors. The figure slipping his key in the front door was not a neighbor but definitely familiar. Jake? John? Jack. It was a warlock stripper from Merlin’s.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Connor said aloud. Motherfucker. And he had a key. Connor had stopped following Evie since the wedding and now … this happened? When? Goddammnit. Were they dating? Obviously. Why else would he have a key to her place?
With a huff, he pushed against the tree and walked toward the subway on 173rd street. Fuck this shit; he was done. Done with Evie. Screw the feral wolf. Even thinking of them together would bring out the animal.
“What the fuck?” Instead of walking south, his feet somehow brought him directly in front of Evie’s building. “Goddamn shit.”
He took the lock-picking tool from his pocket, silently thanking Archie and his lessons long ago. The lock clicked and the door opened. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the front of Evie’s apartment.
There were voices inside. A male and female, who was definitely Evie based on the familiar, light-hearted laugh his sensitive ears picked up. The fury building inside him was so thick it nearly choked him, and his pulse was beating erratically as he pounded on the door. He heard scrambling inside and footsteps coming toward the front part of the apartment.
Cracking his knuckles, he prepared himself. He took a long sniff—tea and mud, not Evie’s sweet scent, so it wasn’t her opening the door. The lock turned and the door opened, and Connor didn’t even wait. He barged in, grabbed the figure by the shoulders, and pushed him up against the wall inside the foyer.
The towel wrapped around the figure’s head dropped, revealing short, dark hair. Two blue eyes peered up at him from behind a mask of green goop. A mouth opened and let out an unearthly shriek.
“Aaaaaaiiiyaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” The scream was deafening. “Do you want money? We’re poor, starving actors! We don’t have any money! You can take the TV!”
“What. The. Fuck?” Connor leaned down and peered at the figure. It was definitely male. He was wearing a short, terrycloth robe and nothing else underneath. The shit on his face smelled like tea and mud and, other than that, he didn’t smell like anything else. “Where’s Evie?”
“Connor?” Evie was standing by the doorway that led to the living room, her mouth in a perfect “o” shape and her eyes wide as dinner plates. “What are you doing here? And … Jack! Let go of him; you’re hurting him!” She walked to Connor and tugged at his bicep.
Connor released Jack, who slumped against the wall. “You brute! How dare you assault me in my own home!”
“Your home … what the fuck is he talking about?”
Evie let out a sigh. “Jack is my new roommate. Remember? I told you about him?”
“You said you had a roommate,” Connor groused. “Not that it was him.”
“What does it matter who it is?” Evie asked. “And what are you doing here?”
“I …” Connor looked at Evie and then at Jack. “You don’t … never mind! This was a mistake.” He shook his head.
“Oh my God,” Jack exclaimed, then let out a laugh. “You thought … me and Evie. Gross! Sorry, big guy, I’m afraid you and I don’t play on the same team.”
“What?” Connor scratched his beard. “What team are you talking about?”
“Well, I prefer playing with baseball bats.” Jack winked at him.
Connor’s brows drew together. “Do you have something in your eye?”
Jack let out an exasperated sigh. “No. I mean, I don’t like to drink from the furry cup. I’m a friend of Dorothy.” Connor looked even more confused. “I’m gay,” Jack exclaimed. “Get it?”
“Oh.” Shit. “Uh, I’m sorry?”
Jack sighed and closed his robe in a dignified manner. “Well, I suppose I could forgive you since that’s about the most action I’ve seen all week.” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he sized up Connor, and then bit his lip with his teeth. “I don’t suppose you’d consider batting for my team?” A low growl made him wince. “Right, well, I’ll leave you kids to it.” Jack tossed his head and made his way back to the other room.
Evie turned back to Connor and crossed her arms over her chest. “Connor, what are you doing here?”
“I needed to make sure you were okay,” he said. Technically that was the truth. “After what happened today.”
“I’m fine,” she said with a shrug. “It was … scary. And I’m kind of glad you’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t get to thank you for saving my life. Again.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Would you like to come in? I have some … tea or pop. Or snacks?”
Evie’s soft brown eyes looked up at him, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms again and bury his nose in her hair until everything—the nightmares, the memories, the list in the envelope, the entire fucked-up world—melted away. But he couldn’t. He had one single goal, one purpose. And when he was done, it would be the end.
“I can’t.” He turned away.
“Connor. Connor!”
But he ignored her calls and picked up his pace, racing down the stairs and out into the warm spring night.
***
Evie stared after Connor’s retreating back, her mouth open. After a few seconds, she shut the door and let out a sigh. What the hell was going on?
She walked back into the living room, where Jack was sitting on the couch, still in his robe, slippers, and face mask, his arms crossed over his chest.
“So, what did Mr. McBroodypants want?”
“He just wanted to make sure I was okay,” she said. “I told you about the accident at the theater.”
“Wasn’t that hours ago?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “What did he really want?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.
Jack let out an exasperated sound. “Really Evie? Him trying to kill me with his bare hands didn’t give you a clue?”
She stared at him, mouth open.
“C’mon. He was jealous. Greener than my green tea mud pack.”
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head. “No way.”
“Jesus, Evie.” He sighed and put his hands up. “I know you’re not stupid, but are you blind? That man has is baaaaaaad for you. And you have it bad for him.”
“I do not,” she denied.
He laughed. “Ooohhhh, Evie, I hope you have good health insurance.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause that man is going to wreck your pus—”
“Jack!” Evie blushed. No, she shouldn’t be thinking of that. But the thought of having sex with Connor made heat creep up her neck and sent her cheeks aflame. That almost-kiss from the wedding replayed in her mind, and she found herself wondering what would have happened if she had just moved her head forward a few inches … No, she shouldn’t think about that.