His finger slowly traces lines on the desk blotter calendar before him. “Not wanted by the law?”
I shake my head. “Never even got a speeding ticket.”
“How’d you end up here?”
“I took a risk and sent an e-mail. Used a throwaway account. They gave me the name Bushville City and nothing else. Literally, that’s all their reply said: Bushville City, Florida. I spent the better part of a week getting here.”
We sit in silence for another few minutes because I can tell he’s thinking.
“What’s your plan?” he eventually asks.
“I don’t have one beyond ‘stay alive,’” I admit. “I stopped at the library in Brooksville.” I tell him about the dairy truck. “Do you know if they’d pay cash to work? I don’t mind sleeping in a barn, or I have my tent. Or if there’s any place around here that needs a farm worker, or I can work with horses—I’ll do anything.”
The sudden, stinging prickle of tears hits my eyes and I don’t bother holding them back. “I just… I just want to hide, work, earn money, and maybe at some point be able to move to the other end of the country where he’ll never find me.”
“You sound like you’re from Georgia.” Then he holds up a hand when I hesitate to respond. “Don’t tell me. Don’t need to know. Less I know, maybe the less I gotta lie at some point. Less chance of tripping you up with anyone.”
I nod.
He stands, and when I start to stand he waves me down. “I need to make a phone call. You don’t need to know who, but they’re a local. Not the law,” he adds. “Keep an eye on the monitors. Anyone walks in, knock on the window to get my attention. Feel free to grab sodas or water out of there.” He points to a small fridge in the corner, then heads out, closing the door behind him.
Not one to refuse a free soda, I open the fridge and grab one and a bottle of water. He walks to the far end of the back of the building, near open loading bay doors, and he’s on his cell phone.
Even with my wolf hearing, the office walls and small air conditioner that’s running and keeping it comfortably cool in here, along with the heavy rain on the building’s sheet-metal roof, make it impossible for me to hear. He stands with his back turned to me so I can’t read his lips.
He returns ten minutes later. “I close at six. I sent my guys home because I knew with the rain we’d be dead, and they got obligations of their own. Still, don’t like closing early if it’s not an emergency, in case someone’s expecting me to be open. You wait around here and I’ll drive you somewhere safe after I close. They’ll pay you cash, give you room and board. Not fancy, no questions. Free to leave whenever you want, or stay as long as you want. Meanwhile, I’ll hand you a broom and duster. You can tidy the shelves for me. I’ll give you a twenty and dinner in exchange. Deal?”
I’m so grateful I nearly burst into tears again. “Deal. Thank you so much.”
“Now, I’m not sayin’ you’ll find a forever home here. People around here have their reasons for staying private, same as you. But…” I sense this is big because he’s obviously trying to figure out how to phrase it. “But,” he continues, “while no one will ever force you to do anything you don’t willingly agree to, if the powers-that-be decide after a while that they think you’ll fit in, you will be required to live by our pack’s rules. That includes initiating you. Nothing illegal, mind you. And you’re free not to do it and amicably part ways. But our pack is one of choice, not blood. As such, we’re all bound to each other. Every adult not born into our pack and who asks to join goes through it.”
A tingle starts at the base of my spine, but it’s not bad because I get a whiff of desire, hear his blood pounding a little faster through his veins, see his pupils dilate.
I’m pretty sure he just popped a chub, too.
Annnnd belatedly I realize the other scent tickling my nose is sex.
“Did you go through it?” I ask.
He nods. “I did.” He smiles, and this time it’s a cocky smirk. “Enjoyed the hell out of it. And I enjoy the hell out of initiating new packmates, too.” His smile fades. “But that’s the easy part. It means you’ve worked your ass off and earned trust. We’re a safe place here. You don’t get to learn more until people trust you.”
I fight the urge to squirm because my cock’s trying to stiffen. “I’ll do anything to earn people’s trust.”
He looks down, obviously eyeing my package, before his gaze finally rises to my eyes. “You can call me Davis, pup. What would you like me to call you?”
“Mal’s fine.”
“Okay, then. Your stuff is safe in here. Come with me.”
He turns, and before I start to follow I reach down to give myself a quick adjustment so my cock doesn’t get pinched in my briefs.
For the first time since I escaped Atlanta, I’m feeling…hope.
I just pray it’s not misplaced.
Chapter Seven
Mal
