Slade's Desire (White River Wolves Series, #2) (2 page)

“You save him, Doc,” Aiden demanded through clenched teeth.  “Please, you have to save him.”  Josie nodded, determination flaring in her eyes, as she turned and walked quickly to where Xavier lay without another word. 

Stepping back toward the door, Aiden watched while the doctor and several nurses went to work on his brother.  “I will find whoever did this to you, little brother,” he vowed in a low, hard voice.  “I promise you, I will find them.”

D
ark, it was so dark.  Her body shook with pain and fear.  She was so hungry.  Her stomach felt horribly empty after not eating for the past two days.  Unfortunately, that was normal now.  The bastards waited days before feeding her, keeping her weak and unable to defend herself.  She was miserable, and had been for several months.  She prayed someone would save her, but they never did.  Every day she would wake up in the same hell, terrified it would be her last.  She couldn’t die.  Her sister needed her.  Gypsy vowed she would live, and somehow free both Sari and herself.

Hearing the door at the top of the stairs open, Gypsy scooted back into a corner and huddled into a ball.  She could not bring attention to herself.  That was when they hurt her.  Facing the wall, she began to rock back and forth, crying softly.  Her heart raced at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs as her tormentors made their way down them.  She screamed silently inside when they reached the bottom of the stairs and then walked in her direction. 
Don’t let them hear you,
she told herself softly. 
Stay quiet.  Don’t draw their attention. 
How many more beatings would she have to survive from them?  How much more suffering would she have to go through?

The footsteps stopped at her cell, but after a few moments they moved on to the cell next to hers.  Gypsy froze, listening intently.  There was the sound of a key in the lock and then the cell door creaked open loudly.
 
She heard a harsh laugh and the sounds of a struggle.  “
No,”
she murmured quietly to herself.  “
No, please no.” 
Hadn’t the man already been through enough?  Trace was tortured at least every other day.  How much more could he take?  Why the hell were they doing this to them?  And it wasn’t just them.  At any given time there were normally at least two more prisoners down in the Dungeon with them.  The guards seemed to take extreme pleasure in picking their next prey to put on the torture block.

Turning around slowly, Gypsy slid back toward the wall until her backside rested against it, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her chin digging into the tops of her knees.  Grasping her hands tightly together, she prayed for her friend.  He was a good man, a man with a mate at home who needed him.  She prayed that she and Trace would both escape their hell soon.  Letting her hair fall forward until it covered her eyes, Gypsy peeked through the dirty, tangled mass of dark brown strands to watch what was happening on the other side of her cell.

Two men had managed to drag Trace over to the table where they liked to restrain their prisoners while inflicting pain on them.  He fought weakly when they hefted him up on top of the table and hooked the heavy chains that surrounded his body to heavy metal rings bolted into the four corners.  Trace did not say a word as the men jeered at him, calling him names and laughing loudly, letting him know what they had planned for him this time.  He was so strong and fierce, ignoring their snide comments as he glared at them, his eyes full of hatred.  The chains dug into his wrists as he tugged uselessly on them.  Her heart ached at the thought of the pain he was about to endure.  She knew he would suffer in silence, but inside he would be screaming. 

Struggling to her feet, Gypsy moved to the front of her cell and gripped the bars tightly.  She could not just hide on the floor while they tortured Trace.  If it wasn’t for him, she would have lost the will to live a long time ago. 
“Stop”,
she cried out as one of the men slammed something down on Trace’s leg.  “
Stop, dammit!  Leave him alone you bastards!” 

She stilled, her hands tightening on the bars as one of them turned to leer at her.
  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,”
the man sneered darkly,
“Your turn is next.” 
Gypsy’s whole body shook at the threat.  It would not be the first time they had come for her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.  Tearing her eyes from his, she returned her gaze to the only friend she had, tears sliding down her cheeks at the sight of the blood and bruises covering his body.

Trace locked his eyes with her, shaking his head slightly in warning.  Grasping the bars tightly, she glared back at him in defiance.  When Trace refused to look away, his gaze demanding she back down, Gypsy fought with herself before finally sighing in defeat.  Knowing she would only piss him off more if she continued to yell, Gypsy stood and watched in silence as tears streamed down her face.  Trace took blow after blow to his abdomen and legs, his body bowing up in pain.  Not once did he utter a sound.  She knew he would not give the bastards the satisfaction of letting them know how much pain he was in, but she knew.  She was in his mind, feeling each blow as if it were her own.  She always stayed with him, a subtle presence in his mind, while he was being tortured.  He hated it, but there was no way in hell she was going to let him go through that alone, and he wasn’t strong enough to push her out.   

Gypsy’s heart ached as she stood watching her friend, vowing to stay connected with Trace while he went through hell no matter what.  She wanted him to know that he was not alone.  When he tried to shove her out of his mind, just like he always did, she fought him, stubbornly refusing to allow him to suffer by himself. 

When they decided they were finished, the men removed Trace from the table and shoved him roughly to the floor.  Grabbing him by his arms, they drug him back to his cell, throwing him inside and hooking his chains to the hooks on the wall before slamming the door shut.

Moving quickly back to the far corner of her cell, Gypsy cowered as far away from the men as she could.  Sitting down, she pulled her legs up close to her body and rested her forehead on her knees, allowing her dingy hair to hide her face.  She prayed the men left her alone this time.  So far all they had done was beat and starve her, but she was afraid one of these days it would escalate into more.

Gypsy cringed when she heard the key enter the lock on her cell door.  Chuckling lowly, one man said, “
It’s your turn, bitch.  Come here and take your punishment like a good little girl.” 

Her whole body shaking, Gypsy raised her head and glared at them.  If Trace could be strong, so could she.  Slowly standing, her whole body shaking in fear, Gypsy clenched her trembling fingers tightly into fists. 
“Fuck you,”
she snarled, her dark brown eyes snapping in anger. 
“If you want me, come and get me.” 
Staring into the man’s evil gaze, Gypsy almost wished she had stayed curled up on the floor, but she was so tired of living in fear.  It wasn’t going to change the outcome.  No matter what, these assholes were going to hurt her.  However, when one of the guards reached out and grabbed her arm, squeezing it tightly, she could not stop the terrified scream that escaped.

“Hush, Sweetheart,” Gypsy heard a low voice say as she reared up in bed, screams tearing from her throat.  Eyes wide in terror, she flinched from the hand that gently stroked her arm, trying to pull away.  “Look at me, Gypsy,” the deep, male voice commanded quietly.  “Look at me.  You are safe, Mate.  No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Mate?
Gypsy thought as she struggled to focus on the man standing beside her.  What was a mate?  Hell, she didn’t know.  She didn’t know much of anything.  She wasn’t even sure she remembered her own name.  Everyone kept calling her Gypsy, and since they acted like they knew her, she assumed they must be right.  Not only that, but it felt right. 

Sighing in frustration, she leaned back against the bed, resting her head on the pillow. Skimming her eyes discreetly over the man, Gypsy felt her heart flutter when their eyes met.  Who was he?  She could drown in his deep, chocolate-colored gaze.  Her eyes wandered over his thick, dark hair to his strong jawline, finally coming to rest on his firm, sensual lips.  She had seen him before.  He’d been in her room several times when she had woken in the middle of the night.  Normally he stood by the window, looking out into the darkness. 

The first week in the hospital, Gypsy had floated in and out of consciousness, always losing her hold on reality before she could question him.  She had been so weak and malnourished that her body required an enormous amount of sleep.  The last time she had seen him, he was talking quietly with the doctor.  Not wanting to interrupt, she tried to stay awake to find out who he was, but ended up falling asleep again, and he was gone the next time she came to.  She felt as if she knew him, even though something told her she’d never met him before coming to the compound.  That’s what they called the place where she was currently staying; the White River Wolves compound. 

Glancing out the window, Gypsy frowned as she realized it wasn’t dark outside.  Normally, the man only came at night as far as she knew, but the way the sun barely peeked through the blinds suggested it was early morning.  As much as she wanted to find out who he was, she was suddenly aware of how she must look to him.  The swelling on her face had lessened, but several dark bruises remained.  The nurses had helped her shower and wash her hair, so at least it wasn’t the ratty, dirty mess it had been when she arrived.  The blankets hid the dark bruising that covered the majority of her thin, battered body.  Lowering her head, she rubbed self-consciously at the cast on her arm, wincing in pain.  She wasn’t sure why it mattered.  She didn’t want anyone looking at her twice after the hell she had just endured.  Her brow furrowing, she wondered exactly what that was supposed to mean.  What hell had she been through?  Her mind was one messed up, confusing place lately.  

Narrowing her eyes, Gypsy struggled to recall what had upset her in the first place.  Why had the man felt the need to try and calm her?  What had she been screaming about? 
A dream
, she thought, her brow furrowing.  She’d had a dream. 
More like a nightmare
, she thought with a grimace.  Images of someone in unbearable pain as he was beaten over and over again with a tire iron flashed through her mind, and then there was nothing.  Her head pounding, Gypsy fought to bring the images back, but the harder she fought, the harder it became to concentrate.  The nightmare was just lost to her. 

Groaning softly, Gypsy tried to get more comfortable in the hospital bed, fighting to push back the pain that flowed through her.  Her entire body ached, and no matter which way she turned, there was no relief.  Closing her eyes, Gypsy took a deep breath, trying to relax her tense muscles.  Feeling the hand still stroking her arm lightly, she allowed herself to take comfort from the stranger’s gentle touch.  “Who are you?” she asked softly as she struggled to open her eyes again. 

Her head pounded as she tried to remember something...anything.  Not for the first time, Gypsy wondered if she should know the man with the captivating eyes and deep, sexy voice.  For some reason, she felt like she should.  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she cried out as a bolt of pain shot through the back of her head.

“Nurse!” the man yelled, his hand tightening slightly on her arm.  “I need a nurse in here!” 

She heard the soft pitter patter of feet as someone quietly entered the room.  “What can I do for you, Sir,” a soft, timid voice asked.

“She’s in pain,” he growled, his voice low and demanding.  “Get her something for it, now.”  Gypsy felt sorry for the nurse, but the man’s gruff, commanding tone somehow made her feel safe.  She had a feeling she had not felt that way in a very long time.

“Your name?” Gypsy whispered again, moaning as another sharp sliver of pain sliced though her head.  For some reason, it was very important she know his name before she lost the fight and succumbed to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

“Slade,” she heard him mutter from his position by the side of her bed.  “Slade Dawson.”  She could tell he’d moved away slightly, but he had not left her.  As the shooting pain in her head became almost too much to bear, Gypsy softly whispered his name before finally allowing the darkness to overtake her.

S
lade sat in a chair by the hospital bed watching Gypsy sleep. The nurse had given her something for the pain immediately after she’d lost consciousness.  As his eyes traced the pale, bruised features of her beautiful face, Slade growled lowly, his hands clenching and unclenching in anger.  His tiny, delicate mate lay in pain and fear, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.  The men who hurt her were already dead, killed by RARE when they rescued Gypsy and Trace just days before from a Colombian drug lord.  If not, he would hunt them down and take out every last one of them himself. 

Fuck, he had never thought he would actually find his fated mate.  Not all shifters did.  Some searched their whole life for their mates, only to end up living, and dying, alone.  Some fell in love and married, even knowing their mates could be out there waiting...like he had. 

Leaning forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, Slade bowed his head, sighing deeply.  He felt guilt pour through him as he remembered his sweet Sarah.  Sarah may not have been his mate, but he had loved her since the day they met.  A young lady of seventeen years, she was sweet and innocent.  Her long, light blonde hair and bright blue eyes were what attracted him to her at first.  Her large heart and gentle nature sealed the deal.  Once he had her, he was not able to let her go.  Slade married Sarah and loved her for the three years they’d had together.

After Sarah’s death, Slade wanted to die himself.  Even though they did not share a mate bond, he had been deeply in love with his wife.  After losing both her and their baby in childbirth, he lost the will to live.  Merely existing, Slade roamed the countryside, drinking and getting into trouble for several years.  Looking back, Slade was not proud of some of the things he had done, but at the time, he had a death wish of his own.  His wife and child were dead, and he wanted to be too.  Life wasn’t worth living without Sarah by his side.