Page 46 of Feels Like Home

Breathy, Jace returned to the office and handed over his phone, but not before unlocking the device. Even with danger lurking just outside the bedroom door, his mate was reluctant to talk to anyone not in his comfort-zone circle.

Ian dialed but heard the same call-failed sound. He tried again with no success.

“Is it this room?” Jace asked. “Maybe try stepping out of your office.”

“I’ve made calls sitting at my desk.” Ian doubted changing location—no matter how minuscule the distance was—would help. But to appease his mate, he walked to the bed and tried again with both phones.

Still nothing.

No matter how well a person could defend themselves, being cut off from the outside world was unsettling.

“You’re only prolonging the inevitable,” Nolan taunted from the screens in the office. “Owen wants Jace to pay for getting him fired”—Nolan’s tone conveyed how little he cared about the human’s grievance—“and I want to end your life, Ian.”

“I was willing to do things your way, kitten.” Ian tossed the devices onto the bed, grateful his phone hadn’t failed him before he’d locked down the bedroom. “Now I’m going to do it my way.”

On one of the screens, Nolan had his arms out, a sneer on his face. “You’re going to pay for what you did, Ian.” His arms dropped to his sides. “If you come out of hiding, I’ll kill you quickly. If you don’t, I’ll make you wish for death long before I give it to you.”

In the kitchen, Owen skimmed his fingers along a row of glasses in the cupboard over the sink, making them crash to the floor one at a time.

Ian had no idea what Nolan was talking about. He hadn’t done anything to Nolan.

“Why does Owen look like he’s savoring every shattering glass?” Jace whispered from the doorway, his lips trembling, unshed tears in his eyes. “What kind of person gets off on destruction?”

“Somone who wasn’t hugged enough as a child,” Ian snarled. “I need you to be absolutely quiet, kitten. I’m about to use the microphone to talk to Nolan.”

“And say what?” Jace spun around and stare wide-eyed at him. “I don’t think you can reason with either of them.”

Ian sat at his desk. “I want to know what Nolan is talking about. I’ve never done anything to the jackass to warrant him hunting me down.”

“We can’t call anyone for help…” Jace said more to himself than to Ian. “Nolan is fixated on your death. Owen wants to beat the daylights out of me, or maybe even murder me.”

“Babe, we already know all of that.”

Jace stepped farther into the room, his lips flat, his gaze narrowed. Ian had no idea what was going through the guy’s mind, but he didn’t say anything, allowing his mate time to work out what he wanted to say.

Slim shoulders pulled back. Hazel eyes concentrated on the monitors. Despite the dire situation, Ian sat there captivated as his shy little kitten steeled his spine. It was like watching a tiny bird bravely facing a mighty storm.

Resolve filled Jace’s eyes. “If it’s between our lives or theirs, we’re the ones who are going to walk out of here alive.”

In that moment, Ian couldn’t have been prouder of Jace. His mate was timid and anxious, yet fierce and determined. But his mate was merely coping the best he could under such stressful circumstances. As brave as he appeared, it wasn’t his default setting, and Ian was concerned that Jace’s courageousness would come at a price.

That it would in some way leave a stain on his beautiful soul.

Regrettably, Ian couldn’t protect Jace from the ugliness of the inevitable battle. If his phone had been working, he would have locked his mate in the bedroom—even knowing how helpless and angry Jace would have felt—and faced Nolan and Owen on his own.

“Try to get your answers.” Jace moved to stand next to him.

Ian turned on the microphone. “Since you’re so thirsty for my death, you could at least explain why you have such a hard-on for me, Nolan.”

As Nolan glanced around, his eyes turned to slits. “Maybe because your recent trip cost me everything.”

What was he talking about? The last trip Ian had taken was to Springrest to help Deputy Wyatt Birch rescue his mate. Ian had reached out to Solomon Turne—a wealthy fashion designer and repulsive, deviant scumbag who’d been seen at the very auction where Alister had been unwittingly sold.

The same pompous, skin-crawling creep who’d had his lecherous eye on Ian for years. Solomon, a dominant male consumed by his own desires and oblivious to other people’s needs, had continuously failed to realize that Ian was strictly a top.

Ian had invited Solomon to lunch under the false pretense that he wanted to sleep with the amoral pervert. The thought still made bile rise to the back of Ian’s throat.

Their lunch date—Wyatt sitting at the table right next to theirs, listening to the entire conversation—had been a ruse to try and uncover the identity of Alister’s buyer.

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