Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(53)

Hawk lived in a one-story house with a grand-fucking-piano and a fireplace. Tweety’s fingers were too fat for playing the piano, and Isabelle didn’t have a musical bone in her body. As he looked around at the expensive paintings and sculptures, Jericho came to the conclusion that Hawk was a collector.
He wrinkled his nose at the décor. It looked like a box of SweeTarts had exploded in there.
Jericho whirled around when glass crunched and the door shut behind him.
“Am I late to the party?” Wheeler twirled a small flashlight in his hand.
“Get your ass over here and watch my back.”
Wheeler shone the light in Jericho’s face. “It’s not your best side, but I’ll give it a whirl.”
Wheeler stalked forward like a dark avenger, and they headed down one of the hallways to the right. Two doors were open and three were closed. All the rooms they looked in were empty, including a bathroom and closet. One door was locked and they passed it by. At the end of the hall, Jericho wandered into a bedroom with the same ugly décor. He lifted a delicate bottle of perfume from the dresser and held the sweet floral fragrance to his nose.
Isabelle.
The metallic taste of blood settled on his tongue from biting his lip.
“The other side of the house is clear,” Wheeler said from the doorway. “When you’re done sniffing her panties, why don’t you come watch me kick down the locked door in the hall.”
Jericho snorted and followed behind him. “This I need to see.”
Wheeler stood with his back against the wall. In one swift motion, he kicked the door, which resulted in a shattering sound.
The second time, Jericho stood beside him. “On three we’ll both go. One, two…”
Before he hit three, they kicked in the door and busted the frame. It swung open and hit the wall before closing again. Jericho pushed it open and they looked inside, Wheeler shining the flashlight around the room.
“What the hell is this?” Wheeler said, stepping in the center of the room, his voice reverberating off the walls. His shoes scratched on the gritty concrete as he turned in a slow circle, shining his flashlight across the floor.
On the cement floor were two metal pins with chains attached. It looked like something you might see in a zoo. Wheeler kicked the animal crate on the right, and Jericho shuddered when he saw a broken fingernail by the door.
Isabelle had never seen this room. She couldn’t have known the vile acts Hawk had committed. Jericho became nauseous when he bent over to get a closer look at the fingernail. Isabelle’s were painted green the last he remembered, and this one was red.
Wheeler squatted down and held the chain between his fingers. “What do you think he was doing?”
The room closed in and Jericho found it difficult to breathe. “Maybe just keeping them for his twisted perversions.”
The chain clattered on the floor as Wheeler stood up. “Maybe he was selling them on the black market. That would explain why he’s hiding on the human side of town.”
“Fuck you,” Jericho whispered at the insinuation that she could be gone for good.
Wheeler folded his arms and lowered his chin. “Everyone knows it still goes on, although they prefer selling young girls and not someone as seasoned as her. Packs living outside the Council’s reach are always looking for submissive bitches. They can’t find any locally without getting caught, so they fork over a big wad of money and—”
“So help me, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to staple your lips together and chain you to the floor.”
Wheeler scratched his chin and turned around. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
They were all aware of rogue packs run by the same men who had lived during the time when no Breed laws existed. They claimed land outside civilized society and made up their own pack rules, sometimes attacking organized packs and claiming their land. They were men who believed beating a woman into submission was the Shifter way. Barbaric men who did the unthinkable to women in order to establish rank among their pack.
Terror consumed Jericho as he looked at the ugly secret within the exterior shell of an extravagant home, knowing someone could be holding Isabelle captive in this dark underworld.
Wheeler stroked the hair on his chin. “We need to report this. Not just to Austin; this is bigger and the local Councilmen need to know what’s going on and put a stop to it.”
A door slammed in the other room and a light flipped on, illuminating the hall. Jericho spun on his heel and faced the door with all senses alert.
“Whoever the fuck is in my house is going to get a bullet in the head,” Hawk shouted in a gravelly voice.
Wheeler appeared on Jericho’s right and tossed the flashlight noisily on the concrete floor. “And boom goes the dynamite.”