Undercover Lovers [Urban Affairs 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (11 page)

The scotch made Jaxon’s head spin, or maybe it was because Slade was pressing his rigid erection against Jaxon’s groin while his tongue explored Jaxon’s mouth. The man was an aphrodisiac. His musky scent make Jaxon’s cock leak.

Slade slipped his hands inside the waistband of Jaxon’s jeans and squeezed his ass as he pulled Jax closer still. Jax moaned at the friction between them, all thoughts of the trouble they were in gone like so much drifting smoke.

Slade’s hands kneaded and caressed his flesh. One long finger circled his hole. Slade’s lips moved over his cheek, his jaw, his neck, licking and sucking his sensitive skin.

“Slade …” Jax seemed incapable of stringing two words together. All he could manage was Slade’s name.

“What, baby?” Slade murmured. “Tell me what you want.” Slade’s finger teased Jaxon’s hole. His tongue teased Jaxon’s ear. 

Jax shuddered and ground his hips against Slade’s body. Slade’s finger penetrated his hole, and Jaxon’s legs went weak. A moan slipped past his lips.

Slade held him up. He pulled his finger out then thrust back inside.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Jax muttered harshly.

“Do it.” Slade pushed his finger deep, searching for Jaxon’s prostate. He stroked the sweet spot at the same time he sank his teeth into the tender skin between Jaxon’s neck and shoulder.

Jaxon’s knees gave way, and he held on to Slade as he went off like a rocket, howling out his release. “Oh, fuck.” That was new. He’d never in his life come without touching his dick or someone touching it for him. “I think I need another drink now.”

“I think we’ve had more than enough to drink.” Slade kissed him. “And I don’t want to fight with you again.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

“Better me than Mike.”

Damn, he’d almost forgotten about his mate. “So now what?”

“Now we meet Mike and figure out how we’re going to get out of this shipwreck.”

Jax pulled back. “Don’t know if I’m ready to see Mike.”

“He’s pretty torn up over this.”

“He’s been lying to me all along. Why should I believe him now?”

“Whatever he did, it was because he loves you.”

Jax sighed. “Where?”

“Do you know how to get to Hoboken?”

“Yeah, I can get us there.”

“Good.” Slade kissed him again. “We have some time. Whatta ya say we rest a few hours. You can kiss my booboo and make it all better.”

It was 1:00 a.m. in Dogtown, and inside The Kennel Club the wolves still partied. Nobody danced on the stage, but electronic music played and men weaved and swayed with their partners in a mating dance. Foreplay, that’s all it was. Pressing up against a sexy partner, caressing and stroking his body, it all led to the bedroom. Sometimes a guy couldn’t wait. Sometimes he didn’t want to wait. If a couple liked to be watched, there was always somebody who would enjoy the show.

Slade watched for a few minutes then slipped out the back door before anyone saw him. The streets were dark and empty. Perfect. There were day people, and there were night people. Slade was a night person—but then most predators were. The city was quiet. All his wolfish senses were sharper because there were fewer distractions. He was in his element.

Slade started up Jaxon’s Toyota and pulled around the front of the building to wait. Despite the mess they were in, Jax insisted on doing his last-minute bullshit and giving Quinn orders on locking up. Slade happened to glance up at the abandoned warehouse across the street. His keen eyesight picked up a man’s shadow in a second-story window. A human wouldn’t notice it, but few could hide from a wolf.

Hurry the fuck up, Jax.
Finally, Jax walked out of the club and Slade leaned over to open the passenger door. “Get in the car,” he said through clenched teeth.

Jax leaned down and looked at him. “What?”

“Get in the fucking car,” Slade said louder. “Now.”

Jax got in, and Slade pulled away with a squeal of tires. He looked at the building as he passed, but all the windows looked dark and empty. Still, the knot in his gut didn’t go away. “Keep your eyes open, Jax. Someone’s watching us.”

Slade glanced over at Jax in the passenger seat of the Toyota. The man looked exhausted. He wished they could just go somewhere safe and sleep for a week or two, but that wasn’t happening. It looked to be a long night.

The glare of headlights in the rearview mirror told Slade he was right. They were being followed.
Shit.
Spotting a tail wasn’t difficult when the streets were empty, and Slade knew all the tricks. He ran a red light, and the dark sedan behind him followed. When he drove the wrong way on a one-way street and the sedan did the same, he knew for sure. Speeding up, he cut across sidewalks and drove through alleys. As soon as he had a chance, he made a bootlegger’s turn and took off in the opposite direction. Jax clutched the seat and hung on for the ride.

Slade slowed down and checked the rearview mirror. It looked clear. “I think I lost him.” He pulled his cell out to call Mike then circled around and drove toward the Holland Tunnel.

* * * *

The Sleep Inn, a bare-bones motel five miles from the Holland Tunnel, had a queen-size bed with a pink, orange, and green spread, a recliner, a dresser, two night stands, and a small desk with a straight back chair. Jordan Kendall turned the desk light on and shuffled aside the stationery and takeout menus to make room for his tape recorder. He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked at Mike.

Mike reflected for the hundredth time on how nerdy Jordan looked with his flattop haircut, horn-rim glasses and preppy clothes, khaki pants, and an Oxford shirt. He hoped his friend wouldn’t get freaked by the big bad wolves. “Sorry about the accommodations,” Mike apologized profusely.

“I’ve seen worse. As long as we’re not bothered it’s okay with me.”

Mike sat on the bed and checked his watch for the hundredth time.

“It’s still twelve thirty,” Jordan told him.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You’re doing me a big favor. This article will make me a household name. Just promise me I get all the exclusives coming up.”

Yeah, if we live that long.
“Sure. It’s a promise.” His head jerked around at the sound of footsteps, then a rap on the door. “It’s gotta be them.” Slade had called to say they were on the way, but for a few seconds he didn’t move. He didn’t know how Jax had reacted to Slade’s confession, and he was afraid to find out.
Can’t put it off forever.
Forcing himself to get off the bed, he looked through the peephole. Only Slade was visible, and his expression gave no clue to Jaxon’s mood. Mike opened the door and Jax slipped in behind Slade. He tried to catch Jaxon’s eye, but the man wouldn’t look at him, so he introduced them to Jordan and stepped back.

Jordan approached Jaxon with a smile and an outstretched hand. The wolf ignored him.

Slade stepped between them and shook the reporter’s hand. “I’m sure you can understand our reluctance. Weres don’t normally get a fair shake in the media.”

“I do understand, but I’m only interested in the facts and my article will be an unbiased account of them. Have you ever been interviewed before?”

Both Slade and Jax shook their heads.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I have a lot of questions, and I assure you I’ll report exactly what you tell me without changing or embellishing a thing.”

“Why?” Slade asked.

Jordan gave him a blank look. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re putting your life in danger. Why are you doing this?”

“My grandfather was an old-school reporter. He taught me that a good story is powerful enough to overcome adversity. This is a good story, and I’m a good journalist. I’m not afraid to challenge authority. I can help you, and your story will help me. Newspapers are in a death spiral. Readers are migrating to the Internet, and there’s a lot of competition online. This story will have them buying my paper and logging in to our website.”

“Okay. Let’s get started then.”

Jordan gestured toward a spiral notebook and a pen on the desk. “I take good notes, but I don’t know shorthand. I’d like your permission to record this interview as well, so I can keep all the facts straight.”

Slade and Jax looked at each other and nodded. “Turn on your recorder,” Slade told Jordan.

“Good. Anybody want coffee?” Jordan pointed to a Box O’Joe from Dunkin’ Donuts sitting on the dresser.

“Thanks.” Jax walked over to fix a cup while Slade chatted with Jordan.

Mike approached Jax with a lot of apprehension. “Jax…”

“I’m not angry.” He turned to face Mike. “I’ve done a lot of thinking on the way over here, and I understand why you didn’t tell me. But it still hurts. I need a little time.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He put a hand on Jaxon’s arm. Jax looked down at it, and Mike pulled back. “I’m going to get you out of this, get all of us out of it.” His voice broke. “That’s why I took the assignment in the first—”

“Fuck.” Jax pulled Mike against him. Jaxon’s mouth covered Mike’s, swallowing a moan. When they broke for air, Jax shook his head. “This is crazy. The only reason you’re in trouble is because of me. You should run as far and as fast as you can.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Behind them, Jordan was clearing his throat. “We really should get started.”

Mike looked at Jax. “Are we okay?”

“We’re good.”

* * * *

“If the public doesn’t know about the corruption behind closed doors, how can we fix it?” Jordan was sitting on the desk chair talking to Slade, who was pacing the small room like a caged tiger. “Tell me about your childhood.”

“I just don’t understand why you need all the personal stuff.” They’d been at it for a
brain-wrenching
hour and a half.
The others seemed to be holding up better than him.
Slade felt as empty as an
exhausted oil well.
He needed to pack it in, but Jordan wouldn’t let up.

“Putting a real face with the story will get readers sympathy. Isn’t that what you want? To win more supporters to your side?”

Of course it’s what Slade wanted, but he never talked about his roots, not to anyone. He didn’t have much of a childhood. He’d grown up in a hostile environment. A kid grew up fast when he had to take care of himself. His education consisted of learning how to fuck people over when he had to protect himself, and he’d grown into a distrustful loner. Strange that he ended up in law enforcement, but he always had this need to make things better and take care of the underdog. Somehow it all made sense.

“I don’t like talking about my feelings.”

Jax got up off the lounge chair and came over to rub his cheek. “Why is that?”

“I’ve always been a lone wolf. When I was a kid we were put into an internment camp, rounded up like cattle. I buried it all a long time ago.”

“Dig it up,” Jordan said, his voice high with excitement. “This is exactly what we need to tell the world.”

Jax had a sad look on his face. So did Mike, sitting on the bed, propped up on two flat pillows. He didn’t want them feeling sorry for him, but if his story got them out of this jam, so be it.
“It was the seventies. Weres had been migrating from overseas for years but in small numbers, and they were scattered around the country.”

“When did you come here, Slade?” The recorder was on, but Jordan still wrote furiously.

“I was born here. My parents came in 1970 and settled in Wyoming—” He put his hands up. “Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.”

Jordan nodded and he went on. “I was born in 1976. That’s when the trouble started. Persecution and economics abroad got worse, and shifters came here in greater numbers. Suddenly the Feds took notice. Quotas were imposed, but more and more illegals still managed to get over here. God knows why they came. They didn’t fare much better here than in their homelands. Hope springs eternal, I guess.” A sudden wave of sadness flowed through his body, and he had to stop.

“Do you want to take a break?” Jordan asked him.

“No. Let’s get this over with.” If he didn’t keep going, he wouldn’t get it out. “The humans were scared. The politicians were more scared. We were poor, but physically stronger and healed faster. Those of us who were legal could vote. That was first thing they took from us. The young people were incensed. They held protest demonstrations around the country. There were riots and arrests. State politicians lobbied for internment, and everyone jumped on the bandwagon. They were forced to move into camps.”

“I wasn’t born then,” Jordan said, almost apologetically. “There’re all kinds of stories on the Internet, but the history books say the shifters were living in districts.”

“Districts?” Slade laughed. “That’s what the Feds called them.
Abandoned military bases that were turned into prisons.
Civilian contractors made a fortune building camps based on designs for military barracks.
They were essentially concentration camps.”

“Christ. How did they get your people to move into these places?”

“Shifters were r
ounded up by marines with stun guns, the same kind used to stun cattle in slaughterhouses before they’re processed. These marines had been taught to never question their orders and their commanding officers told them if anyone resisted, kill them. Sometimes they made examples out of innocent people. Sometimes they killed for the hell of it. Many shifters never reached the camps alive.”

“This is good stuff.”

Good stuff? This is my fucking life.
Slade bit his tongue. Jax, sprawled on the lounge chair, watched him intently.
The other wolf was nodding. No doubt Jax had some stories of his own. Slade took a swallow of cold coffee and went on. “We were placed in a relocation center in a remote area far from any human population. Our camp was surrounded by barbed wire. We lived in tar-paper-covered barracks with inadequate plumbing and cooking facilities. We slept on cots and ate food rations. Armed guards were posted all over to keep us in line.