Free Texas and Tarantulas by Bailey Bradford Page B

unwilling to return to his pack.
    So how many others had he been told lies about? At least he hadn’t been ordered to kill—before this job.
    He didn’t think he could trust anyone but himself, and even that was an if. If he wasn’t being manipulated by anyone else, if he could think for himself, if he knew what he needed to do, if he knew what was right. If he’d known about the abuse Diego’s pack had meted out, would he have come to fetch Diego? Would he have seen that Diego hadn’t been brain-washed if Diego had refused to return with him?
    Finn Beckett. His mind latched onto the subject of a name. He’d tried to ignore the fact that he was one of a label of six. The offer to be someone, someone just him, was very tempting.
    Not Finn Beckett. That was a name someone else had chosen. He kept thinking about it on the ride to Joe and Diego’s, then again as he waited for them to figure out how to use the chain.
    “Fuck it, bub. We can lock him in the attic, since it’s got that thick plywood down for flooring. Otherwise we’ll have to cut chain, find locks—that’s a lot more work than I want to get into at almost midnight. We’ve got work to do tomorrow, and someone needs to find Mahon here some clothes.” Trent pointed at him. “If we put you up there, it’ll be hot, but there’s one small AC vent that blows up there. Stay by it.”
    “I’ll stay,” Mahon said. He didn’t want to run or kill. He wouldn’t mind more sex, but thought that wasn’t likely, given he’d admitted to being sent to murder Trent. That had to be a surefire way to douse a libido.
    He was shown into the attic by Trent, or rather, he went first, with Trent holding a shotgun behind him. “Are there any tarantulas up here?” Just asking made him want to shiver.
    “Nah. They like being outside best, and when they do come in, they don’t go looking for the ladder to the attic.” Trent flipped a switch and a dull light bulb came on.
    “The only way out is the way we came down. I’ll be back with blankets and a pillow, some clothes, and food, since your stomach keeps pitching a fit. And water.” Trent pointed. “Vent’s over there.” He backed out of the attic, going down the ladder while keeping his gaze locked with Mahon’s.
    When Trent was out of view, Mahon carefully walked over to the vent.
    “I’m standing guard down here,” Joe called up.
    Mahon ignored him. He was still surprised he hadn’t been killed, in a way. Then again, Trent, Joe and Diego, they all seemed like decent men. His mind raced over the details he’d been told, and his own impressions of the three. Always, he kept going right back to Trent. Would he have been able to kill him, to buy the reason he’d been given, the lie that it was for the safety of all shifters?
    He’d let Trent fuck him, let Trent plow into him like he owned Mahon’s ass.
    That was instinct, he realized. That had been his gut, his beast, telling him he could give himself to this one human man.
    Mahon’s heart beat heavily, his stomach calmed from the growling and aching. He felt peace so deep into his soul that he wanted to slide to the floor and sleep for days.
    There was something he wanted more than that.
    He wanted Trent.
    Mahon knelt on the floor by the vent. Cool air whooshed out of it. The attic itself wasn’t hot, but neither was it cold. A little movement, and he’d be sweating.
    He listened for Trent’s return. Mahon went back and forth with himself, but in the end, when Trent came back, Mahon’s mind was made up when he noted the lack of weapon in Trent’s hands.
    Trent carried blankets, a pillow, some clothes, and a grocery store bag bulging at the seams. “Midnight snack is here,” Trent teased, and there in his eyes was something that gave Mahon more hope.
    Trent handed him the blankets, pillow and clothes. “If you eat like Diego does, then this bag of food might tide you over for a few hours.”
    “He eats a lot?” Mahon asked.
    Trent’s