Panic gripped him low in the gut, and he gasped for air until he was light-headed. He had to get out. He had to warn Matt.
But the boards across the window were solid, as was the door. He laced his hands firmly together, trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating. Eventually, he calmed enough to reason again.
He thought about shifting, about attacking the first person to open that door in the morning and going over the top of them, but he quickly abandoned that idea. They’d be expecting it and be prepared. He’d do better to use his head and play it smart.
Because the one thing he was absolutely sure of was that they didn’t plan to let him walk away.
* * *
By the time the big lights in the yard were turned off, gray light showed through the cracks in the window. Tristan was freezing cold and beyond exhausted. He used the bucket, determinedly telling himself that if he allowed himself to feel humiliated, he’d be giving them another weapon to use against him.
Then he curled up beneath the window so his scent might somehow still get out there, clinging tightly to the knowledge he wasn’t alone. His pack always came.Brycealways came. And until they did, he’d keep his head high, and hewouldn’tgive in.
Chapter Three
COLBY
Colby was restless. He’d been unable to settle all morning and ended up doing a longer than usual workout behind the barn, where he was least likely to be disturbed. Somehow, Jeff had found him anyway and stood watching for a while. Sooner or later, Nico was going to notice the way Jeff had taken to staring at Colby, and when he did, things would get messy.
Nico had headed out earlier to check the perimeter and remind everyone who was in charge during Cale’s absence. They’d been here six weeks with no action—and no women either—which meant the fights between pack members were escalating. Boredom and aggression were a bad mix. Cale’s pack wasn’t built for waiting but for taking. Huddling here playing hide and seek with another pack was wearing thin, and a weaker leader than Cale would have lost them weeks ago. The muttering had only stopped after Nico killed Kowalski, one of the mouthier ones.
Colby was probably the only one who didn’t mind being here. Sure, Nico’s frustration at the lack of action meant he was constantly walking a razor’s edge, but at least this way, no one else was getting hurt. The pack left a trail of destruction wherever they went. Worse, they liked it that way.
He shivered slightly and tried to concentrate on the weights, one of the few things Nico let him use unsupervised. Now that Nico had taken one of Urban’s pack, everything was going to change. They’d either be moving on, or they’d be dead.
Colby let the dumbbells drop as the truth hit him—for the first time, he knew which of those outcomes he’d choose. He used to believe that he’d find a way out, that he’d no longer be the property of a psychopath with a charming smile. But it had been more than three years now, and he’d finally understood therewasno way out. So maybe the alternative wasn’t that bad.
He pulled a fleece sweatshirt over his workout shirt and headed back to the house. At least being with Nico came with perks—one of the few mattresses, and access to the kitchen. He helped himself to a bowl of stew from one of the deer they’d brought down days ago, warmed it on the gas burner, and sat in a patch of sun spilling through the broken window.
But the chill had followed him inside, clinging to his skin, curling in his gut. And he couldn’t stop wondering how cold it must be in the brig. It was nearly a month since he’d last been shut in there, but it was a place that was impossible to forget. Hopelessness seemed to breathe from its very walls.
He pushed the bowl abruptly away from him. The prisoner had looked too young, too clean. He should be at college, squabbling with his friends over whether to go to Starbucks, not locked in a dark room, waiting to die.
Colby scraped back his chair. He didn’t think. He just moved, before he could talk himself out of it.
He reached the outbuilding unchallenged, even with a bowl of stew and a bottle of water in his hands. Probably because if anyone interacted with him past jeers and laughter, the chances were high they’d end the day with Nico’s blood-stained fangs the last thing they saw. No one took what belonged to Nico.
Suppressing an involuntary shudder, he walked through the doorway of the outbuilding that housed the brig and flicked the switch to turn on the light inside the room. He banged on the door to make sure he had the prisoner’s attention.
“Get back from the door,” he said, his tone brooking no opposition. The last thing Colby wanted was for him to make a break for it. He wouldn’t get far, not with half the pack around and bored, but Nico would have Colby’s hide for allowing the attempt.
He heard a slight shuffle from inside.
“Okay?” he checked.
“Yeah.” The voice was low and strained, but the important thing was that it was avoice. Colby wouldn’t have put it past him to shift and try to fight his way out.
He pulled back the bolt and opened the door, careful to close it again behind him. Even though the prisoner would have no chance of getting past him, he knew how it felt to be locked up here, so that the sight of an open doorway, a way to fresh air and light and freedom, couldn’t be resisted. It didn’t matter that there was never any hope of reaching it—it wouldn’t stop someone desperate enough from trying.
He turned his attention back to the figure by the window, who was squinting against the light, his body held tensely. His dark hair was messy and a little long, and he was lean, with the kind of build that would likely fill out in a year or two. Then Colby remembered—he wouldn’t have the chance.
He shouldn’t be here. Should’ve run faster.
Colby could nearly taste the fear rolling in his direction, but something kept the guy’s shoulders back, and once his eyes adjusted to the light, there was a confidence deep in the hazel gaze that made no sense to Colby.
“I brought you some food,” Colby said.
The prisoner ignored the bowl he was offering. His eyes were steady on Colby’s. “Why am I here?”
