Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence (6 page)

we
could not condone any such thing. The only option, the only right thing to do, was to let Harley return to his world, and hope he doesn’t expose us to those who would destroy us, which would be pretty much every human being alive. They’d fear us, and what humans fear…”
“They destroy unthinkingly,” Nathan finished. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “And maybe we aren’t so different, but I really don’t want to be hunted down and experimented on and all that shit. I want to live my life here, with my mate, with our friends and family, and I want to help Marcus keep us all safe. But, even so, Harley had to be freed.” And now Nathan looked at him, pinning him with those intense gold-flecked green eyes. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Harley. Not just for our own good, but for his. There are definitely shifters who would kill him without hesitation if they get the chance.”
“I imagine there are,” Val murmured, frowning as he realised the truth to Marcus’ claim that this might be a lifelong job. He would need to keep Harley from blabbing about them and he would need to keep him alive—which could pose an ethical problem. Val canted his head to the side and traced over the scar running from his eyebrow to his jaw then down to his neck. “And if a shifter does try to eliminate Johansen…”
Marcus didn’t flinch at all when he answered. “Kill the shifter. All who know of him have been given orders to leave Harley alone. Anyone who goes against those orders goes against me. I will not tolerate any disobedience in this matter, and I need someone I can truly count on to see to it that my orders are followed. There are other things developing with a pack in Europe that may or may not affect us, and it’s looking like Nathan and I might be taking a trip very soon. I expect you to keep that information to yourself.”
“Yes, sir, of course I will.” Val didn’t ask about the European pack and the goings on there. Marcus would have told him as much as he wanted Val to know. But this Harley Johansen, he was either very lucky or he’d somehow come to mean something to Marcus. Although… Val sneaked a peek at Nathan, who was nodding in agreement. Perhaps it was Nathan who was fond of Harley. Then again, Marcus was nothing if not fair, and it wasn’t like this mess was Harley’s fault. Still, if it came down to pack safety—hell, all of shifterkind’s safety—wouldn’t Marcus do what needed to be done, and terminate Harley Johansen?
One look at Marcus’ icy brown-black eyes and Val had his answer. Marcus would be as fair as he could, but if it came down to Harley’s life or being exposed, the guy was toast. Val hoped Johansen knew that.
“Am I to simply observe?” Or what? Ingratiate himself to the guy, seduce him with his good looks and charm? Val gave himself a mental eye roll. There was his answer, he was just to observe. He was fucked up and blind in one eye and wouldn’t be able to seduce anyone with a lick of sense or decent eyesight.
“Nathan? What do you suggest?” Marcus asked. Val saw Marcus’ expression soften as he looked at his mate. Nathan glared at Val.
“Don’t fuck with Harley’s head or any other part of him,” Nathan ordered crisply. “It’d be best if you could stay in the background. I wish I believed Harley wouldn’t freak out and run you off—or try to—if you showed up and explained you were only there to help. Unfortunately, I know better. Harley would shit bricks if he found out you were keeping an eye on him, even though we warned him that would likely happen.”
Val had never considered himself a particularly deep or compassionate man. He hadn’t been cruel or anything, but he’d been content to focus on serving his Alpha Anax and not give a great deal of thought to anything else. It was much easier to just follow than it was to think for himself.

How have I become such a brainless sheep? Was I serving with devotion or is it because it was easier to let someone else make all my decisions?
Val hadn’t done anything different than the other members of Marcus’ guard, but it was his reasons for doing what he had that he now questioned. There was no dishonour in serving because he loved and respected his leader. But Val was afraid that wasn’t why he’d done it, at least not wholly.

Hearing his name said in Marcus’ stern voice snapped Val out of his ponderings. “I’m sorry,” he said as he folded his hands in his lap and kept his gaze on his bitten fingernails. “Maybe I’m not the best person for this job. Sometimes my mind drifts—”

Marcus cut him off with a look. “Nonsense. You are exactly who I want watching over Harley. You need to know you can still be useful to this pack, and until you recover your confidence you will be a risk. I hope knowing that Nathan and I have faith in you to do this will help you.”

It didn’t make sense to Val. Marcus said he was a risk, and yet he also said Val was the person for this job. Val’s head began to throb as it often did now when he became confused or angry. He wanted to rub at his temples but didn’t dare show any sign of weakness.

“And we wouldn’t have asked this of you if we believed you would be putting Harley at risk,” Nathan added. “Harley didn’t deserve anything that happened to him. I am sure had he known the consequences of it, he’d never have brought Alex home with him and had sex with him.” He clucked and shook his head. “Amazing what can happen because of a single choice we make.”

Well, that was too deep of a thought for Val to dwell on, especially when his head was pounding like some evil little elf was inside his skull hammering at his brain. “I will not let you down,” Val promised, to himself, too.

“I know you won’t.” Marcus stood and Val took it for the dismissal it was. “Get your things ready. We’ll be moving you into an apartment in Harley’s building the day after tomorrow. We’ll talk again before then about anything else you need to know. Nathan has a picture of Harley he’ll show you, too, at that time.”

“Yes, Alpha Anax.” Val bowed slightly to Marcus then Nathan. He was relieved the meeting was over. Now he could get back to his room and try to convince himself he was indeed strong enough for the task he’d been chosen to do.

Harley woke up to the God-awful sounds of thumping and cursing in the hall outside his apartment. He sat up and groaned, his head pounding. His jaw ached. What stupid shit had he got up to last night? Harley touched his jaw. No swelling, just that blow job kind of sore, then. What wasn’t clear was why the fuck someone was bouncing bowling balls in the god damned hallway.

Struggling to sit up and keep his head from exploding while he did so, Harley cradled his noggin carefully and gulped against the nausea swirling in his stomach. Too much alcohol, too few poppers, he figured. Guilt tried to slap at him but Harley ignored it. He was coping the only way he could.

“God, would you stop it?” he whimpered when another loud thud sounded from outside his door. Harley stood then yelped. A certain part of him was stuck to the inside of his boxers, or had been. Apparently he’d come sometime, probably in his sleep. The fact that he’d shot a load at all made him kind of dizzy. He hadn’t had an erection since before—well, just before.

“Mighta just ripped off my dick,” he mumbled. Harley let go of his head long enough to unfasten his pants and take a peek down there. “Looks okay.” He dabbed at the spunk on his skin and in his pubes. Some of it was still not fully dried. “Like it matters.” He glared at his traitorous dick. That part of him hadn’t worked for weeks, and he didn’t give a shit if it never worked, or he hadn’t. But for it to work when he wasn’t aware of it just seemed cruel, no matter how much he’d decided he didn’t care. “Bastard.”

Harley shoved his pants and boxers down, grunting when he had another couple of uncomfortable pulls, then he kicked his clothes aside. He was already shirtless, so he stood nude in the living room. Sunlight poured in the long windows of the wall facing west. Probably, it was late afternoon. Hard to tell, what with him being hungover and all. A hot shower would help, though, then he needed to decide where to go tonight. Staying in wasn’t an option. Harley hadn’t managed to spend a night here yet, nice as it was. And he’d not stepped into the bedroom at all. There was a nice guest bedroom now, something he hadn’t had before, but Harley just avoided that as well.

The bathroom had somehow moved twice as far away as it had been yesterday, Harley was sure of it. It had nothing to do with his aching head and jaw and—well, he reached behind himself and touched his ass, then his hole. Nothing tender there, and he was relieved and mad about that at the same time.

“And I am done thinking about it already,” he snarled then immediately regretted the emphasis he’d placed on the words. Harley whimpered and entered the bathroom. He avoided glancing at the mirror. No doubt he looked like death warmed over, and that would be an improvement from how he felt. He did grab the toothpaste and squirt some right into his mouth, because, ugh, that was just nasty in there. Gingerly brushing his teeth, Harley leaned over and started the shower. The room tilted and he gasped, choking on toothpaste as he flapped his arms, trying to keep from falling. He ended up slamming against the toilet, his ribs going bright hot with pain while he coughed and coughed, splattering paste everywhere.

Then he sat there, somewhat on the floor, an arm over the toilet seat, and he wondered if he had a punctured lung or something, because damn he hurt. “Such a pussy.” Harley closed his eyes then jerked them back open. He pulled and shoved until he was on his feet, then he very carefully made his way into the shower. It dawned on him that he’d had his toothbrush in hand minutes ago, and now he didn’t. Oh well, he’d just buy a new one. His other must have fallen somewhere, behind the toilet most likely.

The dual shower heads battered his worn-out body with hard, stinging spits of water. Harley turned his aching side to it, hissing and leaking a few tears when the pain shot out from his ribs. He deserved it, every bit of the pain. He’d gone out again, blown whoever he could in whatever club he’d been in. The only way he could get through that was with copious amounts of alcohol. It made him feel ill, dropping to his knees for some stranger, but being alone throughout the night was unbearable. Harley knew he wasn’t going to find a guy who would just chat with him for hours to pass the time. At least, not at the bars he went to.

But old habits died hard, and even though he felt a strange sense of betrayal over sucking some random guy off, he didn’t know what else to do to alleviate his fear and loneliness. A part of him was aware that he was probably only making it worse, yet he couldn’t seem to stop. So he went out, hooked up. Got drunk, used drugs that were handed to him. Did he have a death wish? Harley didn’t think so, but he couldn’t see what use he was. He couldn’t even get fucked, couldn’t stand to.

Harley grabbed the shower gel and poured it right into his palm. He slathered it over his arms and chest, ignoring the sharp protuberances where his bones seemed to want to tear right through his skin. Always thin, Harley was now well past that and into gaunt. He knew it, and figured he was lucky anyone would mess with him at all.

Harley stopped mid-scrub, a shocking thought coming to him. If he looked sick, who would take a chance on him but someone else who was ill? Had he used condoms? Had he insisted on that? He’d never worried as much about blow jobs as he should have, because the stats were low, but he hadn’t gone out sucking cock like he had the past few nights, either.

Jesus, he was a fucking idiot! Maybe he really did have a death wish. Harley mechanically scrubbed himself clean, then he scrubbed again, harder, this time with a cloth that felt like it was made of sandpaper. His skin stung and was pink and even bleeding in a couple of places, but Harley didn’t care. He felt dirty, inside and out, and had since Dobson had laid his hand on Harley’s throat and called him a filthy whore.

Why hadn’t he remembered that before now? “Because I don’t want to fucking remember any of it!” Harley threw the rag then balled up one hand into a fist and hit the tile wall. “Ouch! Fuck! Ouch! God! Ow!” He shook his hand and cursed some more, until his knuckles weren’t throbbing. Then he looked at his hand. “What is wrong with me?”

Inspecting his hand, Harley figured he’d have some bruising to go along with the little scrapes on his knuckles, but nothing worse, which was a damn good thing. It wasn’t like he had health insurance, and with the way he’d been so careless the last few nights, he didn’t want to risk exposing anyone to anything.

He would need to get tested, then do it again, and again and as many times as it took to know he was healthy or not. Or he could just keep doing like he was doing, and he’d die soon enough, wouldn’t he? Probably not even from any disease, he’d OD or someone would just kill him. Was that what he wanted?

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Harley washed his hand and tried not to think, but he couldn’t shut his brain off this time. He didn’t think he wanted to die, but he felt useless, worthless, and angry—no, more than angry. There was a rage building inside him, growing every day. It’d started there in his bedroom, and grown around the fear, the hurt, the abuse—at Dobson’s hands and his own. It had the power to destroy him, if he let it, and Harley wasn’t sure he’d fight against that end. Didn’t know if he had the strength to.

Didn’t know if he was worth the effort.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He was getting sick of it, of hating himself for not being man enough to fight off Dobson that night, or any of the lackeys he’d let torment Harley. Granted, he’d never had the highest self-esteem, had barely scraped through high school and had been lucky to work at the gas station, but he hadn’t loathed himself like he did now.

Harley forced himself to look in the mirror. He deserved the dark bags under his eyes, but the fact was, despite those, he was probably more attractive to a certain sort of man than ever. He looked young, fragile, and almost model-esque, though he’d never judge himself that handsome. Still, the thinness accentuated the sharp blades of his cheekbones and made his eyes seem even bigger, his lips fuller. With some photo touch-ups, he wouldn’t be so bad. The green tint to his skin was icky, though.

Harley quit looking at his face. His chest was scrawny, his arms toothpicks, his dick, flaccid. At least he still had a little bubble to his butt, nothing like it used to be, and not that it really mattered. His eyes lit on his knuckles and he sighed before towelling off sloppily.