Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(58)

She began singing a Pink Floyd song, except with numbers.
“Isabelle?” Something wasn’t right. Hawk must have drugged her, but he didn’t see any track marks on her arms.
“One hour, Reno said. Denver made me sing it,” she said incoherently.
When she sang another verse, he realized it was a phone number. Reno knew how to run a trace, and that’s what he must have been setting up.
Jericho covered her legs with a sheet and leaned close to her ear. “Stay here, Isabelle. I’m going to call for help.”
That was a promise.
But first, he had to leave her alone for ten minutes. He had something more important to take care of, and that something was time alone with Hawk—no holds barred. Carnal thirst consumed his wolf, one that wouldn’t be sated if Hawk were given the option of life, even if it were for a few more days in a basement. That animal didn’t deserve an easy death.
As Jericho arrowed down the hall, he shifted into his wolf and then back into human form. This happened twice as man and animal became one in thought. He dialed the number Isabelle had been singing, and when Reno answered, Jericho dropped the phone and made his way down to the basement.
Shifters played by a different set of rules than humans did. Wolves avenged those who were abused in their pack, and with the full support of the law. Although Isabelle wasn’t legally part of his family, she was in his heart, and that’s all that counted. Justice would be served, no matter the consequences.
Jericho entered the basement and moved like a predator into the room, closing the door behind him.
Hawk’s eyes widened with terror when Jericho’s savage wolf emerged, pink tongue passing over his sharp fangs, promising a brutal death.
***
When I woke up, it wasn’t to a hard slap on the ass and ridicule followed by laughter. It was to the smell of maple bacon and fresh coffee beneath my nose. It soothed me and I stretched, slowly blinking my eyes open.
The first thing I did was chuckle when I saw a Led Zeppelin poster on the wall. A plate of food on a bedside table tempted me, but I glanced around at my surroundings. There was a door on my left, and as I sat up and pulled the sheet away from my legs, I noticed someone had dressed me in a clean T-shirt.
“I told them you liked sleeping in big shirts,” Jericho said softly.
He sat in a beanbag chair to the right of the door, arms draped over his knees. A lava lamp bubbled on a small table to his left. Clean hair fell to his shoulders, and I smirked at the sleeveless shirt he had on—someone had done a terrible job of cutting the sleeves off it. He must have shifted and fed, because he looked fit and healthy again.
I tucked a pillow against the headboard and moved my sore body to sit up, looking at the marks on my wrists.
“Austin forced you to shift. Do you remember?”
I shook my head. “Just bits and pieces. Where am I?”
“My room.” His voice was flat and deadly as he stared at me with jade eyes. “Isabelle, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly.”
“Okay.”
The way he looked at me, with his hands resting on his knees, made me shudder. When he spoke, his lips peeled back, and he quickly relaxed his face. “Did he rape you?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “No.” When I opened my eyes, I tried to show him a smile. “But I kicked his ass, and if he had tried, I would have made him regret he had ever met me. Nobody messes with Izzy Monroe.”
He threw his head back, staring at the ceiling with relief in his voice. “You always were a tough girl.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You look okay, but…”
“What you saw on that television was a lie. It was a trap to lure him into the room.”
He always was a smart wolf, I thought to myself.
The shifting hadn’t happened soon enough. The marks on my wrists would either fade or scar.
“Lexi’s mom dressed you, by the way. The girls took care of you. Lynn washed you up a little, but she’s going to run you a hot shower when you’re ready. I’ll help you to the bathroom. Eat.”
I pulled the plate onto my lap and chewed on the crispy bacon. My eyes floated around the room in wonderment. He lived a simple life. A dresser sat at the foot of the bed, and the walls were covered with various rock posters. It felt like home.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” I said, pointing to a poster of the Stones on my left.
Below it were two guitars—one an acoustic and the other a Les Paul. He had amplifiers, cords, straps, and a few shirts sitting in piles around the room. Several guitar picks were scattered on the small table to my left. Still as messy as ever.
“Why don’t you sit up here with me?” I offered, tired of staring down at him on the floor.