No Time to Lie, page 1
No Time to Lie (Reclamation Book 2)
BA Tortuga
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Copyright ©2016 BA Tortuga
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Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
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Table of Contents
No Time to Lie (Reclamation Book 2)
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
BA Tortuga
No Time to Lie (Reclamation Book 2)
BA Tortuga
Jakob has been stolen from his pack, beaten and starved, and convinced that loving two men is an atrocity for which he has to pay. Now he’s been sent to beg his old mates for forgiveness, but Jakob doesn’t know if he can.
Ben and Marshall have finally managed to balance their lives even without Jakob. They left the pack, thinking their mate was dead. Now Jakob is back with an incredible story and no life left in his eyes. Can Ben and Marshall bring their mate back completely, or has Jakob run out of time?
Preface
“Jakob, Father Vincent says you must.”
“But…” He couldn’t go back. They hated him. Both of them. They had to. They’d allowed the pack to send him here, to this very private hell.
He had survived his trials, hadn’t he? Survived the pain and the fear and the tearing ache.
“You want to advance to the next level of enlightenment, don’t you? It’s been two years since you came to us. Two years since your… rebirth. You must face your demons.” Sister Abby reached out and patted his hand, her lean face a study in love and care. She was his savior, the one source of comfort in a world of agony. She was peace and hope, and her touch never brought pain.
Abby handed him an envelope. “Money for your ticket to Phoenix and your paperwork. Have them sign it. Don’t wait, brother. There’s a bus leaving soon. Tonight. You should be on it and make your apologies before the moon comes.”
“Tonight?” But they’d made him leave. They’d condemned him to this because he was unnatural, because he’d committed atrocities against the order of things, mating with two males. Two.
How could he go back and face them all now? Especially his old mates?
“Tonight. Make your apologies and return with your proof. Then you never have to leave again.”
“Thank you, Sister. Thank you.” He took her hand, grateful to have her.
“Have strength, brother. Have strength and do as you’re told. Come.” She grabbed her cane and stood, leading him through her cabin to a fence, a waiting truck. “Phoenix. Go make your peace.”
He stared at the truck, nausea rising in his throat. He almost threw her away from him and ran.
“Be strong. You have survived the trials, an entire year without giving into the wolf. You can survive this.”
He straightened his shoulders. “I can. They can’t hurt me more than they have.”
She kissed his cheek, the touch feather light, gentle. “Go. Go, dearest boy.”
Jakob turned on his heel, the old man in the truck impassive, never speaking a word. He supposed he understood. He was a skinny, bruised guy who lived in a cult compound and he knew it.
What on earth was there to say?
Chapter One
Marsh hated phones. In fact, he didn’t have one anymore. He and Ben had radios if they needed each other, long-distance beauties that would cover a lot of ground.
They’d also given Marci at the trading post their frequency just in case they did get a phone call. Which was what she was telling him right now.
Fuck-a-doodle-God-damn-doo.
He sniffed, his nose wrinkling as he drew in scent, searching for the musk and cinnamon of his mate. He didn’t want to go into town, but if he had to go, they should take the truck and resupply.
Ben had an uncanny sixth sense when Marsh needed him, and maybe five minutes later he arrived, no radio needed.
“Mate. Phone call.”
Ben nodded and sighed. “Bad news, I think. I’ll get the truck.”
“Okay. I’ll get some cash.” They kept what they had in a box in the bedroom. No one was going to try to steal from them. The locals were too superstitious.
They’d left the low desert, heading into the high desert mountains of New Mexico, hiding in the sage and the prickly pear, soaking up the miles and miles of sky at nine thousand feet so they could lick their wounds in private. He and Ben, they’d been hit hard when Jakob left, and they were still recovering.
Ben waited in the truck, the huge dually rumbling like a dire wolf in heat. He loved that sound, deep and raw. Loved it.
“Come on. Marci is waiting.”
“I know.” Marsh hopped in, his gut churning a bit. Who would call them but the pack?
“We won’t go back.” The words were firm, sure, and utterly undeniable. “No matter what.”
“Never.” No, the pack could go fuck themselves with their politics and judgments. They would listen, but that was it.
They would listen and then they would buy a 2-liter of Coke, ten pounds of hamburger and three dozen tamales.
“Mmm. Tamales.” Ben reached over to squeeze his thigh.
“Yes, love. Tamales. I bet they have canned chili too. For emergency hot dogs.”
“We got those in the freezer still?”
“Mmm. Along with ten pounds of beef and two pork loins.” Something like fifteen pounds of bacon too.
Winter would come eventually, right? They’d been caught a little unawares their first year up here and had been reduced to super-expensive cans of overly-salty soups for a month and a half.
He had no idea why the trading post would put so much fucking clam chowder on the shelves.
Ben chuckled softly. “This year we’ll gather more wood too. I found that book about card games. How do you feel about canasta?”
“What the hell is that? Why can’t we play poker and hide the sausage?”
“Fiend.” Ben coasted down the curvy road to their cabin, then turned on the state highway that led to the res.
“Yours. It means basket. It’s a card game. I was reading about it. It was that or The Shining again.”
“I love The Shining. We should get it on audiobook.”
“We should.” They had satellite internet. No phones, but Marsh needed his Kindle. There was nothing like snuggling before the fire, rocking together, listening to something wonderful.
It almost made losing Jakob bearable.
Almost.
Ben pulled up in front of the store, and Marsh hopped out. Ben had taken the last call. His turn to take the hit.
Marci stood there, button eyes twinkling from her round face. “Finally. Took you long enough. You got a call from home. Said it was important. Left a number.”
“Thanks, lady.” While the tribe rarely encouraged outsiders to learn Tiwa, he knew thank you, and it always made Marci smile.
He grabbed the card she handed him and walked back to the pay phone. He would call collect, which served them right.
Someone answered immediately and accepted the charges, no question, then he heard a soft voice, one he’d known since birth. Granny Wendy. “Marshall? Marshall, son? Is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is everyone all right?” Usually the Alpha was there, barking orders about them coming home.
“No. No, I… Jakob was here. I thought he was dead, lost to us.”
His heart dropped right to his feet. Boom. Dizzy, Marsh groped out with one hand. “What?”
“He was here. He came here, son. He looks… he’s a ghost, lost, broken, but he was here.”
“Was.” He made his dry lips move. “Where is he now?”
“I told him where you were and he ran. He was hunting you and Ben.” She dropped her voice. “I’m not crazy, Marshall. I’m not imagining it. He was here, he hugged me, he let me hold his hand. Someone cut off one of his fingers. If I imagined him, I wouldn’t know that.”
“Jesus. His finger?” He searched for Ben, needing his lover. Now.
“Yes. I -- He was scared of the pack, Marshall. Said he could only talk to me.”
“Scared of the pack? Our pack?” Nonsense. They’d left, of course, but only because they were broken, cracked at the cellular level. They needed to be free. That was the only way he and Ben could work without Jakob. They couldn’t indulge the pack structure and be mates.
“Yes. Terrified. Ashamed. Scared.”
“Do you know how he meant to get here, Granny?”
“He was on foot. Wearing a pair of coveralls like an inmate. Skinny, gray -- he was heading for you.”
“We have to find him.” They -- Not dead. Jakob wasn’t dead. Why had he left? Where the fuck had he gone?
“Find who? Marsh? What the ever-loving fuck?” Ben’s eyes burned, stared into him.
“I have to go, Gran. I’ll call you after we find him.” He hung up, then turned to Ben, anguish making him nauseated. “Jakob came to her today. He’s alive.”
Ben stared at him, a dull flush climbing up his neck. “No.”
“She says it’s him. Someone cut off his finger, babe.” He could hardly take it in. “She says he’s coming to find us.”
“No. No. You saw the body. We saw the body.”
“I know. But it was so burned…” Could this be real? They had to check it out. Had to. They couldn’t just leave it to chance if Jakob was looking for them. Poor baby had no sense of direction at all.
“It’s not possible. He wouldn’t leave us.”
“Why would he do that?” He started to shake, but Marsh wasn’t sure if it was sorrow or rage.
“He wouldn’t. He’s dead. I’m going home.”
“Ben! When has Granny ever lied to us? Ever? She swore she wasn’t crazy. Said he was wearing like a prison jumpsuit. What if something awful happened?”
That seemed to get through to Ben, who blinked and nodded. “Where is he? With her?”
“No, he’s coming to find us.” That would be a disaster. A terrible one.
“Our Jakob? He couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a handful of fishhooks.”
“Exactly.” Marsh knocked Ben on the shoulder. “Get road snacks.”
“Pork rinds, Cheetos, and beef jerky?”
“And Cokes.” They would need the sugar if they had to head toward Phoenix.
“I’m on it.” Ben looked at him, his lover’s eyes like holes burned in the snow. “Do you believe it?”
“I want to. I mean, not that he just left, but that he’s still alive. I want it bad, babe. Think how strong we were.”
Together they had been unbreakable.
“Promise me you’ll stay no matter what.” Ben stared into his eyes, serious as a heart attack, and he grabbed hold of his lover’s ebony braid, pulled them close together, nose-to-nose.
“You and I are forever. Do you understand? Forever.”
Ben nodded, relief flooding his fierce golden eyes. “Yes. Always. Nothing else matters if this goes badly.”
“Nothing.” He would never let Ben down.
“Okay. Let’s go figure out what the ever-loving fuck is going on.”
That fucking worked for him. Marshall hated when shit was up in the air. They just needed to get this settled.
* * *
Ben looked over at Marsh. “You think he’d fuzz out and head for the national forests or stick to I40?”
Marshall shrugged, and Ben could see the tic in his mate’s jaw. Marsh was deceptively small, but he could kick ass with the best of them, little fiery redheaded fuck. How many redheaded shifters were there, for fuck’s sake?
“I think he’ll do it the most human way he can. He was always afraid to let out the wolf.”
“It’s five hundred miles. He’ll have to hitchhike.”
Marsh nodded again, his expression grim. “I just hope we get to him before some asshole bashes him -- or worse.”
Ben hoped they didn’t pass on the highway. How the hell were they supposed to find him? How the hell were they supposed to figure this out? What if Marshall’s granny had just lost her mind? Jakob was dead, for fuck’s sake.
“Stop it. You’re making my head hurt.” Marsh pinched him on the leg. “We’ll know when we get close if it really is him and you know it.”
“I don’t know anything anymore but you, mate.” Not a thing.
“I know. You have me, lock, stock, and barrel.” Marsh’s voice was steady. Sure.
“And you have me.” And now they said Jakob was out there. He’d finally gotten used to the idea that their third was never coming back. Their Omega. Now he was back from the dead? Shit, that was so not fair.
They’d finally found a rhythm, a way to survive. They didn’t need this shit.
“We have to be sure,” Marsh told him. “We can’t chance him being alive and not see.”
“I know. If he’s alive, we’ll bring him home.” They had to. Jakob was theirs.
Marsh stared at the road, lips pursed. They were somewhere the other side of Gallup, right off the New Mexico-Arizona border. There wasn’t much out there.
There wasn’t much and what if Jakob was in a semi-truck, heading to Albuquerque? To Las Vegas? God knew their boy was -- had been -- directionally challenged.
“We should have stopped in Gallup,” Marsh said suddenly. “At the McDonald’s.”
“The McDonald’s? I can go back.” He pulled off at the exit that was in front of him, crossing over three lanes of traffic to do it. Not that anyone even seemed to notice. No one out here knew how to use a turn signal.
He headed back toward Gallup, his heart beating faster with every yard they traveled back. Marsh was right. Something was there waiting for them.
Jakob. Please. Please, let him be there. They’d survived, sure, but… Please.
Marsh glanced at him, and hope surged in his chest. Marshall always knew shit before he did, although Marsh always said Ben knew when they needed him.
He pulled off the Interstate in Gallup, the weird, crescent-shaped town having one exit at either end, all along the same road. The McD’s sat right in the middle.
“Okay.” They pulled in, both of them staring at the joint like if they watched long enough a sign would pop up saying, ”Find your mate here. Over one million mates rescued under the golden arches.”
Nothing happened, so Marsh squared up his jaw, which Ben knew was a sign of readiness. “Come on, babe. We have to see.”
“I know. We should grab a burger and a shake too. Who knows when we’ll --” He stopped short, the sight of a slip of a man heading from the glass doors stealing his good sense. Jakob was dead. Dead and walking about on two feet.
Ben moved before his mind caught up, jumping out of the truck and running to Jakob. He reached for their mate, wanting to -- what? Shake him?
Jakob stared up at him, and Ben stopped short. The eyes were wrong. Jakob’s eyes were green, not gray.
Green.
The scent was off too. Medicine and despair.
“Who are you?”
“Ben Walkingtree.”
“No, that’s me. Who are you?”
The lean chest began to shake. “You forgot me? Already?”
“No. No, you look like Jakob but you can’t be him. I saw his body and your eyes are wrong and --”
“Ben.” Marsh put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s Jakob. How, Jakob? Why would you leave us?”
“It’s not Jakob. His eyes are wrong. His smell.”
Jakob looked to him, to Marshall, back to him, then the gray eyes rolled back and the man collapsed in a heap.
“Motherfuck. Get him in the truck, Ben.”
“What?”
“Put. Him. In. The. Truck. He always has been a goddamned drama llama.”
Ben hoisted up the too-skinny body, knowing this wasn’t their mate. He couldn’t be, but Marshall was so determined.
“Trust me. Let’s take him home.”
“Home? No. No, this isn’t him.” A close approximation, sure, and no wonder Granny was confused, but that wasn’t their mate.
“I swear to God, Ben, I will beat you. Stop fucking arguing with me. Someone has done something awful to him and we need to figure out how to help him.”
