“What the hell!” Wilbur sputtered as the cold water splashed over him. He tried to blink the water out of his eyes as the room came into sharp focus. There was a chill in the air, making him shiver as the water seeped beneath his clothes and clung to his skin.
Where in the hell was he?
“So glad you could join me.” A man with piercing hazel eyes moved into view. He was imposing and a bit on the scary side. His black T-shirt stretched across an expansive chest and his muscles rippled as he moved.
Wilbur shook his head like a dog shaking the wetness from his fur. He couldn't wipe the water away considering his hands were tied behind his back. How he'd gotten like this was anybody's guess. Gazing around the room, Wilbur noticed concrete walls, a steel door, and a large mirror like the ones used in those detective shows. Was this guy a cop? Since when did a cop splash water on people or tie them up?
Each ankle was bound to one of the legs on the chair he was sitting in. Wilbur wasn't getting up anytime soon and his nose was itching.
“Now, Mr. Reno,” the stranger said as he set the bucket aside. “Let's not waste your time or mine.”
Time was going to be wasted because Wilbur had no freaking clue who this guy was or where they were. And who was Mr. Reno? That wasn't Wilbur's last name.
The last thing Wilbur could remember was leaving the office building where he worked. It had been late and he had burned the candle way past midnight. After shutting everything down, he'd walked out into the parking lot and…
Things were a bit fuzzy from there.
The stranger slowly circled Wilbur's chair like a vulture honing in on roadkill. The man's eyes were flat, cold, holding no compassion whatsoever. There was something lethal stirring behind those hazel eyes. Wilbur had a terrible urge to scream, “Don't peck my eyes out!”
“All you have to tell me is where you stashed Ms. O'Connor and we can end this.”
Wilbur could end this sooner because he had no clue what the guy was talking about. Who the hell was Ms. O'Connor? This was obviously a case of mistaken identity. Wilbur tugged at the binding tape. It didn't budge. “I don’t know what you're talking about. I don't know any Ms. O'Connor.”
The man's laugh was sinister as he placed his boot on the chair between Wilbur's legs. The stranger leaned his bulky arms on his knee as he smirked at Wilbur. “Come now, Mr. Reno. Your little innocent act isn't going to wash with me. If you don't start talking soon, I can make you talk.”
The stranger's voice was feral, deep, with an edge of danger that said he would go through with any threat he handed out. The man stood over Wilbur like a dark warrior who'd escaped hell. His features were closed but his eyes still held a promise of torture if Wilbur didn't cooperate.
He was at of loss of what to say or do. Somehow he knew denying knowledge wouldn't mean anything to this guy. Wilbur's body continued to shake as he wondered what was going to happen to him. Whether he continued to plead innocent or fabricated some story to please this man, things were looking pretty grim. Would his captor kill him? Exactly who was Wilbur dealing with?
Wilbur cried out when the stranger grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Their faces were inches apart, the man's warm breath skittering across Wilbur's lips. It smelled minty. “Silence is not a wise tactic, Mr. Reno.”
The stranger's eyes held no mercy, no understanding that this was a big mixup. Wilbur started to tell the guy this but his voice caught in his throat. Fear strangled him and his head ached with the pain of the man's tightly held grip on Wilbur's hair.
“Where. Is. Ms. O'Conner?”
“I–I don’t know,” Wilbur whispered. He was staring into his own death. He fought down the urge to beg this man to believe him. If the guy killed Wilbur, who would feed his goldfish? Harry would starve to death. Then again, Wilbur had had three goldfish die on him in the past two months. Maybe he should reconsider being a pet owner.
Wilbur swallowed tightly, the move hurting since his neck was bent all the way back. On the bright side, he was no longer cold because the man was sharing his body heat with him standing so close.
“Do you really want to play this game with me?” The man's fingers tightened painfully. “Trust me. You don’t want what I have to offer.”
“Could you offer me a bathroom? I really have to go.” Wilbur tried to forget about his bladder but the asshole yanked at his hair again and for some weird reason the move made Wilbur's bladder twinge. Strange but true. “Easy,” Wilbur shouted. “That really hurts, you know. You have very bad manners.”
The guy snarled as he released Wilbur. “Fine, we'll do things the hard way.”
Wilbur wasn’t sure what that meant. He watched as the man left the room, slamming the door behind him. When the bastard didn't come back, Wilbur glanced around and said, “Hello? Can anyone hear me? I'm tied up and I really have to pee.”
He tried to scoot his chair across the floor and made it about an inch when the door swung open. The stranger was back. There was another bucket in his hand and a piece of cloth. “Have you ever heard of dry drowning?”
Stripper, Shott, and T-Rex were gearing up to go meet Gator when the scent of hot summer rain and licorice filled his lungs. Stripper glanced out of the room where the weapons were kept to see Wilbur heading his way.
Guilt ate at Stripper. Guilt for shutting Wilbur out, for getting the man pregnant, for putting his very life in danger. After nearly losing Mason last night, the fact that he could lose Wilbur had hit home. Stripper was being an ass and he knew it. He already loved the human beyond words but was trying to shut the man out because he was terrified of going through what his father had gone through.
Stripper didn't want to know that pain.
“Can I talk to my mate for a moment?” Wilbur asked T-Rex and Shott.
“We really need to get going,” T-Rex said. “Can this wait?”
“Unless you want me to neuter my mate, no.” Wilbur was tired of playing nice. He was finished with trying to appease everyone. Being nice was getting him nowhere and he really did want to talk to Stripper.
Shott smirked as he stepped out of the room. “I'll be outside.”
Was that admiration he saw in T-Rex's blue eyes? Wilbur wasn't sure and right now he didn't even care. He was ready to take on the tall dinosaur if he had to.
“You got five minutes,” T-Rex said before he walked out.
When T-Rex's back was to Wilbur, Wilbur flipped the man off. He turned to see Stripper smiling at him. Wilbur felt disoriented, almost dizzy at the power of standing up to someone bigger than him. He liked the feeling.
“My mate is turning into a little pit bull,” Stripper said as he leaned one arm against the shelf. “But I really do have to go.”
Wilbur jabbed his finger into Stripper's chest. “Not until we settle things between us.”
“There's nothing to settle.”
“Stop acting like this and pretend you give a fuck to what's happening all around us, Wilbur. If we don’t stop Reno—”
“I actually give lots of fucks. Tons of fucks. I'm a prostitute of feelings,” Wilbur said. “But if we don’t settle things between us, what Reno does won't even matter. I want you to stop shutting me out.”
“I have to go.” Stripper tried to push past Wilbur but Wilbur blocked the man's way.
Wilbur was ready to hit something. Namely Stripper. “No, I still have four more minutes and you're going to listen to me.” Wilbur change tactics and let go of his anger, letting the pain in his eyes show. “Don't you think I'm terrified? Has it ever occurred to you that I'm downright scared of what could happen to me?”
Stripper's jaw clenched as a mask fell over his face. His hazel eyes turned dark. “You didn't grow up in a house of mourning. You have no idea what it's like to be the survivor, to live with that loss every day of your life.”
Tears gathered in Wilbur's eyes as he pulled his hand back and slapped Stripper across the face. “I'm not dead so stop treating me like I've already died!”
Stripper's eyes turned lethal. “I've shut you out for one single night and you're flipping out on me?”
“Hormones,” Wilbur argued. “Deal with them. But what do you expect me to do, wait until this has gone on for an entire month before I say something? I don't think so, buddy. I'm not a masochist. I'm not into torturing myself. Either we clear the air or I make your life hell.”
Stripper seemed to deflate. “I don't want to argue with you.”
“And I don't want to live with someone who's afraid to love me. I'm carrying your child, Stripper. I need someone at my side, not a shadow hiding in a corner. Be a fucking man and step up to the plate.”
Stripper grabbed Wilbur and shoved him into the shelf. His canines were showing in his eyes held a slight glow. Wilbur thought he had pushed the man too far. He'd never had a lover's spat before and wasn't sure if he should have been so aggressive.
His mate gave a low growl before their lips collided. Wilbur gasped and then wrapped his arms and legs around Stripper, clinging to the man, desperate to get closer.
Stripper reached out and slammed the door closed, locking it. Wilbur was in heaven. He sucked Stripper's tongue down his throat as he ground his erection into the man's stomach. This must be the makeup sex Wilbur had heard about. He loved it.
“Three minutes,” Stripper panted into Wilbur's mouth. “Get ready for quick and hard.”
“But we don't have any lube,” Wilbur reminded the man.
“Then spit will have to do. But you're about to get fucked.” Stripper yanked Wilbur's waistband down until his ass was exposed. Wilbur still had his legs wrapped around Stripper's waist and held on for dear life as his mate unbuckled his pants.
Stripper spit into his hand and used the moisture to wet Wilbur's ass. He repeated the process two more times before he lined his cock up and drove home.
“Son of a bitch!” Wilbur shouted.