Besides, Jazz looked more upset than Huntley that he'd fallen. We fucked with each other, mercilessly and often. Before Jazz, there had been days when we'd only spoken to each other to call the other rude names. But Jazz never let the teasing get to him and, more often than not, defended whoever was being teased.
He liked to be helpful. Which was why he was currently on his knees trying to clean up the pizza bits that had fallen. But he had a problem accepting help for himself. Instead of asking for help, Jazz's MO was to run. Chasing him had been difficult for that reason. Jazz had an ability to sense danger before it fully presented itself. By the time it did, he would be gone already. That answered how he'd been able to stay one step ahead of his father for so long. Jazz had filled me in. His father had been trying to catch him since he turned eighteen, though Jazz had left home the day he'd turned thirteen. My jaw clenched tight any time I thought of thirteen-year-old Jazz, wandering the country alone.
It wasn't until Jazz turned eighteen that his father started sending men to catch him. The same number of years that we'd spent trying to discover who was responsible for killing our pack, Jazz had spent on the run, pausing only when he had a long enough head start between himself and whoever was after him that week.
I'd just add these questions to the rest of the pile of mysteries. Why wait until your child was a legal adult before trying to force him home?
"Okay, well, one of you has to take me," Jazz said from the door. I'd been too lost in thought to notice him moving across the space.
Huntley, Jagger, and Faust looked at me. I must've been asked a question. "What?"
Faust smirked. "I mean, if no one else will take you, I can."
Take him?
"I don't care which of you does it, but one of you needs to take off my mitt and stand on the other side of the door listening to make sure I don't try crawling through the toilet." Jazz stepped out to the hallway.
Faust leaned forward in his chair like he planned on following Jazz.
I growled sharply.
"Hey, you weren't offering." Faust shrugged. "Poor kid has to go."
"I still do!" Jazz hollered from the hallway.
I caught up with Jazz halfway to the bathroom, the guys snickering at me the whole way. Jazz stuck his mitt out for me to remove, and I held it while he went inside. He could try to use the free hand to undo the other, but such a task would come with some pretty obvious noises, and besides, I needed to start giving him opportunities to prove we could trust him.
He washed up and came out, holding his arm up patiently.
As I reattached the mitt, he silently watched my hands work. He didn't complain or whine. When his eyes lifted to my face, I felt his gaze, but he was just as silent. What did he see? A monster? A man?
I wanted him as much now as I had the first time I'd pressed him against me. But was that all I wanted? My way with his body?
And why should these urges feel any different than any other time I'd wanted something? Maybe it was just the way he took everything in stride. He'd found out we were wolves and, so far, had zero questions about that fact. The questions could still be coming, but I figured he was just good at accepting things outside of his understanding.
Hiding what we were in a world that might turn on us if they knew was easier than anyone expected. Especially in recent times. People were so convinced men couldn't turn into wolves that when it happened, they latched onto any excuse to keep from the truth: the world wasn't what they knew it to be.
"You've been very good, Jazz." That sounded too much like what you'd say to a well-behaving animal. "You've earned a reward."
His face lit up before quickly dimming. "Is this some kidnapper's trick? Promise me something so I'm compliant? If you're just going to dangle it over my head so I jump when you tell me to, then don't bother."
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall.
My frustration had nothing to do with what Jazz was saying and everything to do with why. "Dammit, boy, I'm not trying to trick you."
"Sure. Is this the old bait and switch? Promise me something awesome, but really it's a piece of trash?"
I would've laughed at that if my protective instincts weren't going haywire. "Who hurt you?" We hadn't researched the teams that had been sent after him in the past. He said none of them had gotten close, but what if…?
Jazz's eyes darted to mine, likely drawn by my tone.
I wasn't joking, but he wanted to believe I was.
"Hurt me? Mr. Magic Fingers?" He unclenched his arms so he could wiggle his hands on either side of him. If they weren't bound, the fingers would've been wiggling as well.
He was trying to distract me, either with humor or his cuteness. I wasn't above fixating on either of those traits, but at the moment, I needed him to know that I was not on that list of people who he couldn't trust.
What if you end up sending him back?
The thought was enough to propel my hands toward the wall. They landed on either side of Jazz's head, and I leaned in.
Jazz gulped and looked up at me, his eyes wide. He licked his lips.
I hadn't meant to kiss him until I watched his tongue peek out. My lips collided with his.
His mouth was soft and tasted sweet. But his body was pure fire. He lifted his arms, winding them around my neck as I deepened the kiss.
Seconds ago, we'd stood in casual conversation, but the memory of that moment was gone, replaced by a desire that burned through us both.
I cupped his nape with one hand and gripped his thigh with the other. He curled his leg around my ass and whimpered as his hips gyrated.
Holding him felt like waking up after a nightmare to realize everything you dreamed about hadn't happened. I hadn't had a dream like that in a while. When I woke up, everything was the same.
I eased our mouths apart, allowing Jazz's leg to find its balance before releasing him. It took Jazz a few extra seconds to stop his hips and open his eyes. Passion made his gaze unfocused.
My forehead pressed against his. "Answer the question."
Jazz sighed slowly and let his gaze fall. He seemed to need an extra second to find his words, so I gave it to him. "What's my reward?" he asked softly. Stubbornly.
I frowned. Why wouldn't he just tell me who hurt him? I'd make sure they never hurt him, or anyone else, again. Even though I wanted to know, I wouldn't do exactly as Jazz had suspected and use his reward as a tool.
He'd earned it through his actions to this point. Whether he answered my questions now had no bearing on that fact. "I know you lost your clothes and hate the soap—"
"You mean rock?"
"It's a natural method that leaves behind no scent."
"It's a rock. Anyway, continue," he said sweetly.
"Tomorrow, we're going shopping."
Jazz's eyes lit up, and I committed the expression to memory. I hated dampening it.
"But there will be rules."
Jazz frowned, some of his earlier suspicion returning. "I hate rules."
I stepped back and wiped my hands together. "Then I guess we don't have to go. You could tell me what you want, but I thought you'd enjoy being there much more. I guess I was wrong—"