“I give one damn order, and you decide you know better?”
“I’m sorry,” Colby said, stuttering over the words because he hadn’t seen this one coming, and a quiet Nico was the most dangerous sort there was. But then, he kept thinking that about all manifestations of Nico, when the truth was, there was no safe version of him.
“Oh, Colby.” Nico’s hand wrapped in his hair and tugged his head back, baring his throat. Colby swallowed, keeping still and lax. It was the safest way. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I’m sorry,” he forced out again through a dry mouth.
“I know you are, sweetheart,” Nico said. His hand loosened, releasing Colby. “You’ve got to learn, though. You understand that, right?”
Colby dipped his head in acknowledgement, unable to breathe through the fear gripping him.
“Say it.”
Somehow, Colby forced the words out, barely above a whisper. “I understand. I’ve got to learn.”
“And?”
“Thank you.” Colby’s voice shook.
Nico turned his attention back to his pizza. Colby’s punishment was apparently on hold until Nico could take his time over it. Make sure Colbylearned.
He swallowed painfully. “Can I?” he asked, nodding toward the house. He needed to get away, but he needed permission more.
“Run along,” Nico said, before he tore into the pizza.
Colby sought the sanctuary of the house. It would be empty for a while, at least. He looked back when he reached the doorway. Pietro was sitting where Colby had been, leaning in close to Nico and saying something that had Nico laughing. Behind Nico, Jeff lingered, his eyes on Colby.
Maybe Pietro would keep Nico entertained tonight, because he loved sex and power and Nico offered both. Maybe Colby’s punishment would be postponed a while longer. And he didn’t know if that would be better or worse.
Suddenly, he couldn’t face going inside, to yet another prison. Instead, he found himself behind the house, where no one could see him but he could look out at the mountains and imagine what it must be like to be out there, running free.
The noise from the group around the fire grew—raucous laughter and raised voices as the alcohol was passed around. Colby was thankful Nico had put a ban on contact with Tristan until Cale’s return, because if not for that, the chances would be high that as the night wore on, Tristan would be dragged out of the brig and become the entertainment.
Instead, he’d be sitting on his own in there, wondering what a bunch of drunk shifters who wished him no good might do to him, while he waited for tomorrow and what would be his execution. Colby remembered that smile, the life and humor in it. This shouldn’t be happening to him.
Sorrow rose in Colby until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He moved silently toward the ominous outbuilding he hated so much, slipping in through the doorway like a shadow and sliding the bolt open as quietly as it would go. He didn’t know what he could do, but any contact, any comfort, had to be better than being there alone.
The room was dark, so he reached back and flicked the light switch, only for Tristan to make a pained noise as light blazed harshly. As he saw the way Tristan was curled up on the floor, holding his head with fresh blood painting his face, he realized just what he’d done by taking him lunch. Nico would have even more reason to let loose on him tomorrow.
“God,” Colby said, crouching down beside him, sick and cold inside. “I’m sorry.”
Unfocused hazel eyes stared at him. “You didn’t do this,” Tristan said confused, and then he seemed to come back to himself, because he stood up, clutching at the wall beside him to steady himself and put his shoulders back until he stood there, trying to look calm and sure and confident. His attempt at dignity when fear and pain were rolling off him nearly broke Colby’s heart.
But then Tristan’s gaze sharpened and Colby realized he was looking at the open door. He rose to his feet again, putting himself between Tristan and the door, because there was the whole fucking pack out there.
Except… Something rose in Colby’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. What if they were complacent enough to think Tristan was locked away safely and to forget everything else except fighting and fucking for a few hours? And the smoke from the fire would mask Tristan’s scent, and they wouldn’t find out he’d gone till later, and…
And Nico would carve the skin from Colby with his knife and his claws, an inch every hour. He wouldn’t let Colby die quickly. Nico didn’t do that.
But as he looked at Tristan’s face, those hazel eyes stubbornly defiant despite everything, he knew. If he did nothing, if he let this happen, the last part of him that still wanted something better, something different, would shrivel and die. And maybe that would be worse than Nico’s knife.
“Go,” he said. “They’re already deep in the beer, and they’ll stay that way a while. There’s a red Ram in the corner of the yard—you can climb the hood and get over the wire there. It’s set up to keep people out, not in. And then run as far and as fast as you can, and if you think they’re going to catch you, you doanythingexcept let them.”
Tristan’s breath caught. “You’re serious,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
Colby stepped back, so he was no longer between the open door and Tristan.
“Run,” he said.
