Chapter Six
Hollis watched the interplay between his packmates, his cell phone to his ear. While they were swapping jokes and laughing, he was trying to get work done. Important work. He cleared his throat, again, hoping they’d take the hint and leave the room.
“Did you get the attachment?” his assistant, Kim Su, asked.
Anders punched Dante in the shoulder. Dante pushed Anders off the arm of the chair, sending him onto the floor.
Hollis sighed. “I did. I wasn’t expecting the numbers to be this good.” He scrolled through the spreadsheet, highlighting cells with the highest numbers. “Great work.”
Kim laughed. “Thank you, Dr. Robbins.”
“If I’ve been sparing on the praise, I apologize.” He clicked through the other attachments.
“‘Sparing on the praise’?” Anders asked from his place on the floor. “Who the hell talks like that?”
Dante and Mal laughed.
Thankfully, Kim didn’t seem to hear them. “The paycheck makes up for it. Please email or IM me if you want to go over any of the data or have questions,” she said.
“Will do.” He hung up and sat back. “You guys are a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Yep,” Mal agreed, tossing a wadded-up piece of paper at him.
“What are you working on?” Finn asked, working on his laptop across the table from him.
“Stem cells. I’m beginning to think they might save the world.” He shook his head. “You?”
“Sending all the information we’ve collected on the trafficking ring to Gentry’s man in the FBI.” Finn ran a hand over his face and yawned.
Hollis frowned. The Others’ involvement in sex trafficking had been one more black mark against the pack. Werewolf or not, they could choose to be good. Finn had. Their pack was. They had incredible strength and heightened senses, but, for the most part, they were still decent people trying to do good things. The Others didn’t seem to understand that concept. Kidnapping, trafficking, murder—Cyrus and his pack weren’t discriminating. If it got them what they wanted, they did it. Now that Finn’s pack knew that, they were doing what they could to stop him. Like preventing his trade of women to the highest bidder.
“Gentry? Our gun-loving, shoot-em-up, explosives guy?” Mal was skeptical.
“You mean he’s good for more than destruction?” Anders asked, leaning over Finn’s shoulder.
“Wait, Gentry has someone on the inside at the FBI?” Dante asked. “I thought the FBI was the best of the best. How the hell did that happen?”
Anders laughed.
“He’s smart. Very smart.” Finn sighed. “He was recruited by the FBI but went Special Forces instead. We’re damn lucky to have him on our side.”
Hollis nodded. He didn’t always get their weapons expert’s sense of humor, but he’d proven his loyalty time and again. Considering the Others vastly outnumbered them, they could use all the support they could get.
“What’s left?” Mal asked, sprawled in the chair at the end of the table.
“California is pretty locked up. The Texas border is still an issue, but that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Cyrus.” Finn sighed, running a hand over his head. “Cyrus and the Others are done in Chicago, period. They’re on every watch list out there.”
“No shit?” Mal asked.
“No shit.” Finn nodded.
Finn and the pack had learned about the Others’ human trafficking dealings when Mal had been their prisoner. He’d been kept in a cage, repeatedly skinned and tortured, until he was able to break out. With a fellow captive in tow—Olivia. It was her brother who helped Cyrus with the girls, her brother who had left her to be taken by the Others, and her brother who Mal wanted to kill. But, for Olivia, he’d restrained himself.
“Can you arrest a werewolf?” Anders asked.
Everyone looked at him.
“Are you seriously asking?” Dante asked.
“If a wolf is foolish enough to be caught and arrested, it’s possible.” Ellen chose that moment to walk into the room.
Hollis forced his attention back to his laptop. Since their encounter in the shower, he’d been more aware of her. So had his dick. Which could be problematic, to say the least. She, on the other hand, treated him exactly the same.
“But they’d have to be kept collared with silver to keep them weak and prevent them from shifting.” She stretched, moving with her normal predatory grace that warned a person away but was, oddly, impossible to resist. Especially when she stretched her arms behind her back, pulling the thin cotton of her tank top tight across her full breasts. Shit. No bra. Of course not. Not Ellen. He knew how she felt. How deceptively soft she was in his hands. The last few nights he’d dreamed of little else.
Hollis cleared his throat, flexed his hand, and stared at the spreadsheets, the numbers blurring before his eyes.
“Cyrus did that?” Finn asked.
“Regularly.” She nodded. “He was researching injections that contained slight traces of silver to keep a wolf weakened. Everyone he tried it on died while I was there. But he believed it would be successful.” She bit into an apple, the crunch drawing his gaze back to her.
A drop of juice hung from the corner of her mouth. His chest compressed, a hollow, aching heat taking up residence deep inside.
“Jesus.” Dante shook his head. “He’s one sick fuck.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?” Mal asked.
Dante glared at her. “And you want to go back to that?”
Ellen glared right back. No, she didn’t want to go back, he knew that much. It was more than that. Not that she was going to tell him about it. “I have unsettled business with him.”
“Speaking of business. If Cyrus keeps turning people, might be a new industry. Like a ‘How to be a Good Wolf’ training camp, you know? Once he’s dead and all.” Anders picked up.
“Your brain is a mystery,” Dante muttered, shaking his head.
But Hollis kept watching her. The slow ease of her posture as she regarded each member of the pack. Her expression remained closed, until her eyes met his. For a brief moment their gazes locked. Long enough to make it hard to breathe, let alone think. Then her gaze fell away from his. But, still, he couldn’t look away.
“Gentry’s contacts know what they’re dealing with?” Mal asked.
Finn nodded. “As much as you can know before you come face-to-face with them.”
Ellen was staring at the apple in her hands, turning the red fruit with unsteady fingers. “When you killed Byron—” Her mismatched eyes homed in on Mal.
Mal nodded, his dark gaze meeting hers.
“Did he suffer?” she asked, her chin thrust out in defiance.
Mal cleared his throat. “Not enough.”
“He should have suffered.” Her voice was edged with fury. And grief. “He’d done unspeakable things to so many. His death should have reflected that.”
Mal studied her for some time. “I agree. But Olivia was in danger—”
Ellen interrupted, “Your mate’s wolf is more capable than you give her credit for.”
Mal’s jaw clenched, something that caused most people to back off. Not Ellen. No, her eyes narrowed and her hands fisted. And, damn it all, she was gorgeous.
Olivia rested her hand on Mal’s arm and, with that touch, stole Mal’s wrath. “You can protect yourself. Your wolf is a badass, I know that.” He spoke to his mate before turning back to Ellen. “But you wouldn’t stand by and let your mate fight if you knew the opponent didn’t fight fair. It’s not about trusting her, it’s about knowing them.” He shook his head. “When you have a mate, we’ll talk.”
Hollis was all too familiar with the hard smile she gave Mal. It was a defense mechanism. Mal had hit a nerve. Something that had Ellen’s eyes blazing and her cheeks flushing a deep red. He waited, hoping the storm brewing inside would spill out into the room. If he knew what demons still tormented her, maybe he could find a way to help chase them away. But she bit, angrily, into her apple and stalked from the room. Leaving more questions than ever.
…
Claws. Flaying skin from her body in long, fine strips.
Her blood scenting the air.
Teeth.
Biting her. Tearing flesh away in chunks. So deep her nerves jumped and quivered from each new assault.
Cold chains around her wrists and ankles kept her secured to the stone floor.
There was no escape.
She was trapped, their prisoner. Images, sounds, scents pressing in on her until she wanted to cry out. But she wouldn’t give Cyrus more satisfaction.
Her lungs were too empty too scream. And there was no one to scream to. No one would help her—she had no one. Cyrus had made sure of that.
This was her fate. Facing death. Alone.
She couldn’t see through the bag over her head. For that, she was thankful. She’d know some of her tormentors. Maybe Cyrus was right, maybe being blind kept the victim consumed by the pain. But seeing those she’d healed, shared a meal with, or comforted through grief as one of her assailants was a suffering she’d been spared. Besides, they’d been on her so long, pain no longer registered.
This was a game to Cyrus now. Power. Dominance. She was a means to an end in his eyes. As long as she was alive, she’d bleed. And her blood was all that mattered to him. For that reason, he would never let her go or kill her.
“The hole,” Cyrus’s calm announcement broke her then, forcing a long, rasping cry from her lips.
No.
She couldn’t do it, not again. And Cyrus knew that.
The hole was complete blackness—the only light a pinprick far overhead. One she’d stared at for hours, waiting, hoping, for some sort of relief. It never came.
The diameter of the hole forced her to stretch her arms up, over her head, to fit. Each breath was constricting, removing the slight space between her and the walls of her prison. Her bare feet sunk into muck below her. Climbing out was impossible, the walls slick with damp and too slippery to find traction. Still, she’d torn nails free and dislocated fingers trying to escape the black cold. Staying calm was key. Keeping her wolf under control. She couldn’t shift here—too many bones would break.
But her wolf rebelled, wanting to break free, believing she was capable to climbing out, reaching freedom. Calm. She had to stay calm.
But the confinement wasn’t the worst of it. Alone, in the dark, time ceased to exist. The mind wandered when left to its own devices. And that was when true punishment began.
Memories were far more torturous than anything that could be done to her.
“Ellen?” The voice was soft. Not Cyrus. “Ellen, open your eyes.”
Open her eyes? Didn’t he see the bag?
But something changed.
It wasn’t cold. Her feet were dry. The air smelled clean, not dank and earthy. Only the blackness remained. Partly because her eyes were pressed shut. What would she see? Could she bear it? She sucked in a deep breath, searching for scent—hoping.
Nothing.
No scent of Cyrus.
She lay absolutely still, letting the here and now replace the hellish remains of her nightmare. That was all this was, a terrible dream. No memory, not nightmare. Still, she could wake from it. No cold. No moisture. No difficulty breathing. Her fingers moved, tracing the skin of her forearm. She wasn’t chained. Her arms weren’t pinned overhead.
“Ellen?” the voice again.
The fingers that encircled her wrist were familiar. But they weren’t offering her support. They were taking her pulse. Odd that such a clinical action eased her panic.
“What?” she snapped, knowing exactly who was speaking to her. “What is it, Hollis?” She rolled onto her side, away from him, tearing herself free from his assessment. Breathing was easier now. Thoughts of Cyrus, the hole, pain, and fear fading. “Leave me.” Breathing. Calm and steady breathing.
“You were talking in your sleep.” Ever calm and emotionless.
She sat up, glaring at him over her shoulder. Unless she was screaming, he had no business coming into her bedroom. “Perhaps you should stay out of my bedroom. Then I wouldn’t bother—” She realized she’d passed out in the lab. Again. Not the sanctity of her bedroom. “I disturbed you?” That was why he’d woken her.
His green eyes studied her, like the specimen she was to him. Since her humiliating attempt to seduce him in the shower, he was more reserved than ever. Still, she’d caught him looking at her more than once. “You seemed agitated.”
“Then the answer is yes, I disturbed you.” She pushed off the floor, tugging on the sweater she’d used for a pillow, and crossed her arms over her waist. “What time is it?”
“Two. I think.” He turned back to the table covered with his laptop, files, computer printouts, and an ancient volume of folklore he insisted on using as a reference. He was always hunting, always seeking. His brain was never quiet. It was exhausting and oddly fascinating. Of all Finn’s pack, Hollis was the only one she didn’t understand. As frustrating as his refusal to consider nonscientific solutions was, she respected his ability to remain calm and analytical under the most challenging of circumstances.
He fascinated her.
More so with each passing day. Maybe it was her wolf, sensing something more. Or maybe it was the lingering effects of that embrace in the shower. He should never have held her close, never have acted as if her well-being mattered. But, for whatever reason, she liked that he saw her as the woman she was, not an enemy. When she was with him, she liked feeling like a woman.
She studied the man. He wore his daily uniform: a starched button-down oxford and pressed slacks—as if he were on his way to an important business meeting somewhere. For a man so immaculately dressed, his hair was as tousled as ever. She smiled, resisting the urge to smooth the thick copper hair. Always rumpled, it was if he’d lost his comb or forgotten to brush it altogether. “Two in the morning? Or the afternoon?”
He glanced at his watch. “Morning.”
She chuckled. “You weren’t sure?”
Green eyes settled on her. “No. I was working.”
His curiosity was back. The few instances they were alone, he’d begun to question her about what he’d witnessed in the field—what had happened between her and Byron. She’d yet to give him a straight answer. “Always. You are an odd man,” she murmured. “Your poor wolf must resent you for that.”
His gaze remained on her, his expression as guarded as ever. “He might. If he existed.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “You have a wolf, Hollis. You are a wolf, whether you like it or not. A heart defect can’t stop that.” She dismissed the ailment Hollis insisted prevented his ability to shift. There was more to it than that, there had to be. Shifting would likely cure him from his heart murmur. But that was one topic Hollis refused to discuss with her. Or anyone.
His left eye twitched, signaling his irritation. It was a small thing, but it was enough. She enjoyed these small victories, pleased to know that he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he pretended. But then, she remembered just how indifferent he’d been in the shower. It—he—had taken her breath away.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “First, I disturb your work, then I insult your pride. Tell me, are you angry with me?” She leaned against the table, watching him closely.
“I’m not angry,” he grumbled.
She grinned. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He sighed, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “You want me to be angry?”
“I want you to react,” she countered.
With a simple shake of his head, he dismissed her and turned back to his work. One long finger trailed over notes, handwritten in red.
“Is that Jessa’s file?” She came around, leaning over his shoulder to read their notes on the Alpha mate’s file. One note jumped out at her. The same note, every time. Hollis’s script was tiny and careful: “Compare bone with blood samples of J. and baby.”
The bone. The bone Cyrus wanted more than anything and must never get. In her time here, she’d heard no talk of it—had no idea where it was kept. But Finn and his pack were smart enough to guard that information. As long as it never fell into the Others’ hands, there was no cause to worry.
“It is.” Hollis never offered up more information than was requested. It was tedious. But she’d learned to accept it was the only power he wielded in this pack. Since he refused to fight the defect that prevented him from becoming his wolf, information mattered most to him. Not just acquiring it but understanding its significance to the smallest detail.
“Still looking for a biological explanation?” Her restlessness had returned, making Hollis easy game. Hollis ran a hand through his hair, his scent distracting her. Clean. Male. Good.
This close it was impossible to resist him. She ran a hand through his thick hair, pushing his head—playful. Her wolf loved these simple exchanges. It gave her a chance to be close to him, to touch him, and breathe him deep without suspicion.
He turned on his stool, putting them face-to-face.
She stepped forward, wedging herself between his legs before she could stop herself. He reacted as he always did when she ventured outside his comfort level. With his green eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched so tightly she wondered the bone didn’t splinter. “Some answers can’t be found in books, Hollis. Is it truly so hard to accept I was right?”
One copper brow arched. “You think this is about you being right?”
“Yes.” She chuckled. “Because it means you were wrong.”
He shook his head, stiffening as she placed her hands on his shoulders.
Her gaze searched his, wishing their wolves could communicate. It would be easier between them. She teased him because she liked him. On second thought, maybe it was better their wolves couldn’t communicate. If they did, he’d know her wolf liked him far more than she should.