Page 29 of Lone Wolf
So I did the only thing I could do and nodded my agreement. “Tell me about David. And why he has no pack.” He wasn’t the only one who could figure things out.
His eyes widened and his nostrils flared slightly. “Thought you said he didn’t tell you anything?”
“He didn’t.” I stared back, because it was one thing to be cautious, and another thing to look weak. “But it all adds up. Did he run away, or did they kick him out?”
Oscar looked at me with a new respect. “Neither.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I’ll get us some waters, shall I?” And without waiting for his response, I got up from the bed and walked over to the little refrigerator. My hands shook as I picked out two bottles and cracked the tops on them, but by the time I’d turned back to him I had myself under control again. “Here,” I said, handing him one. “This sounds like it’s going to be a long story.”
“Something like that.” But he took the water from me and drank. A sign of trust. Or power.
I sat on the bed and made myself comfortable. “Then let’s not waste any time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Oscar had left him sitting in the back seat of the car, parked outside the Nevada Ashes enclave. No one had a gun on him—they’d traded out the ziptie on his wrists for one on his ankles, which were a lot harder to work around. Not that he was going to try anything anyway. Here, in public, with three of them watching him? His mama didn’t raise no fool.
And Oscar had said he was going to go in and “see this omega that’s got your thinking all twisted” with his own eyes. So maybe, just maybe, things might not be so bleak.
The phone rang for the guy in the front seat. He answered it, “Yeah?” then listened. “It’s a fucking whorehouse. You expect it to be quiet at night?” A few moments later, he told whoever was on the other end of the line—probably Oscar, from the few words Damian got to listen to—”All right, I’ll deal with it.” He put the phone away and turned in his seat to look at the three of them. “I’m gonna go talk to the gate guard. He tries anything, you shoot him.” He looked Damian up and down, then added, “In the leg, if you can. Oscar wants him alive.” He disappeared toward the gatehouse.
Damian closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest. Like a good soldier, he could sleep anywhere, and that’s just what he did.
“Get up, Damian, we’re moving.”
Damian snapped awake and batted away the hands shaking him. “I’m up, I’m up,” he muttered.
Oscar was staring in the open car door at him. “Put your feet out here, I’ll get that tie off you.”
Mutely, Damian did so, but he watched Oscar’s face the entire time, hoping for a clue as to what was coming next.
“Get him his shoes,” Oscar snapped and then tossed a wet towel into the back seat. “Clean yourself up. I’ve got us a room in the guard house for a while—we’re going to hash this out one way or another.”
Damian cautiously picked up the towel but it didn’t smell like anything but wet cotton. He worked around the bruising and the cuts as well as he could but he knew he probably still looked like something out of a horror movie. Or the losing end of a car chase. Though, when he looked at it, he thought the towel had come out of it the worse of the two of them. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Oscar stared down at him, then leaned into the car and spoke softly, for Damian’s ears alone. “You should have come to me. I could have fixed this. Now, I don’t know.”
Damian shook his head and even to his ears, his voice sounded tired. “Thanks, but I doubt it. I know what we are to you.”
“Not me,” Oscar insisted, then gave him a hand out of the car. “You okay to walk?”
“Just stiff. You guys were pretty careful not to break anything.” He’d realized that at some point during the night—they’d had a few opportunities to immobilize him with a well place kick or a bit too much pressure on a joint. And they hadn’t.
Oscar confirmed it. “I gave them strict orders, no more damage than necessary. Just in case.”
Just in case. In case he wasn’t really lunar? Or in case they could still find a use for him? “Thank you.” They were here, weren’t they?
It was probably both.
They flanked him once he was out of the car and marched him double-time through the night, over to the side door of the guardhouse. Whatever Oscar had done, the men just nodded at them as they blew through the door.
The hallway they followed ran along the front of the building, with doors leading into rooms on the enclave side. “This way.” Oscar stopped at one particular door and opened it. “You boys can wait outside,” he said. “There isn’t enough room in here for all of us.” He pushed Damian in ahead of him and shut the door firmly in the faces of the others.
Damian came to a halt just inside the room. Salem was at the window, the bright florescent lights picking out the golden-honey of his hair and the straight jaw, the dark shadows under his eyes. He’d been peering out between the slats of the blind when they came in, but let his hand fall and turned to face them at the sound of the door.
“Yes, that’s him,” Salem said in a cool voice. “Now what?” His belly bulged ahead of him and a rush of guilt sickened Damian’s stomach, while at the same time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the evidence of the pup’s existence.
“Now we talk,” Oscar told him and took a seat at the head of the table. “Both of you, sit down.” He indicated the chairs on either side of him.
