Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

Pain awoke Jag with a sharp stab into his side, but when he opened his eyes, what he saw wasn’t the roof of his home or Dane’s handsome face, but white tiles. He flinched at the steady beeping somewhere close, but the sense of panic starting to simmer under his skin dissipated at the sound of snoring.

Dane?

Jag’s head spun, but he forced himself to look toward the noise, spurred by the need for Dane’s touch. He deflated when he spotted Dex dozing in an armchair in the corner of the pale, lifeless room.

Blurry memories crashed over Jag in waves, and while his mind felt like a disorganised pile of rubble, they soaked through the cracks, bringing the truth of what happened. Dane had tried to leave him. They had a fight. And then—

The electronic signal that had been a constant presence was now speeding up in sync with lines appearing on a machine by the bed, and when Jag tried to rise, he realized cables were attached to his torso. Had he been… abducted by aliens, like in the movie he’d watched with Frank a while back? And if so, why was Dex here of all people?

Dex opened one eye and jumped to his feet, rubbing his face lazily. “Oh, fuck. You’re awake. That’s so good. How are you feeling? You were so lucky. The surgery was successful, and the metal rod didn’t puncture any important organs.”

When Jag didn’t immediately answer, Dex scowled at the machine, which lamented at an ever-more frantic pace.

“Oh, here it is,” Dex muttered and pressed a button at the front of the device, killing the annoying sound. “I’m slightly hungover,” he explained, offering Jag a sheepish smile.

Jag frowned and sat up despite the pain. So this was a hospital. That explained the sharp, unpleasant scent in the air. “Where’s Dane?”

Dex pushed his hands down his pockets. “Your lover boy bolted. Frank’s not happy.”

The news hurt more than the wound in his side, which had been covered with a pristine dressing. “No… I remember he was in the car.”

Dex pouted, raising his shoulders. “But then you fainted. Shane was supposed to look after him, but the bastard called in security and disappeared on us. Seems he’d been planning this all along.” Dex’s eyes widened. “Not to stab you though… I think.”

Jag bit his cheek to stop the sob pushing at his throat. He was strong. He was a leader, and the kind of man who took care of things, not cried over losing a friend. “I need to find him.”

Dex spread his arms. “Don’t get up. Frank and Shane are looking for him.” He raised his brows, as if he’d just remembered something. “But they didn’t have much to go on. I bet you know his name, right?”

Jag nodded, frowning at the cables attached to his bare flesh. Had they taken his clothes?

Dex cleared his throat, rolling back into the chair. “Then we should tell them! Otherwise, they’re gonna have to contact the guy who brought him over, and I bet they don’t want to have that conversation with a member of the Demon Brethren MC who thought his problem was solved.”

Jag ripped off one of the cables attached to him only to find out that unlike in the movies, it actually hurt. “No! You can’t tell them anything until we find him!”

Dex cocked his head with a little smile. “‘We’? Go on, I like the sound of that. Just don’t overexert yourself.”

“Yes, we. They could hurt him. His name is Dane Whitaker. He has five siblings and lives in… a house,” he finished flatly.

Dex opened his mouth, but then his phone made a noise, and he seemed to have forgotten what he’d intended to say. “Yeah… you should… tell them,” he said, leaning forward as he typed something. Why was he smiling when their situation was so serious? Frank and Shane were in trouble because of Jag, and his mate had escaped!

“Is there a book in which you could look for his name and address?”

Dex laughed. “Nah, there’s no book like—wait! There’s Facebook.” He started tapping something on his phone, so Jag took the opportunity to check the dressing on his wound and detach himself from all the machinery, because—dizzy or not—he was leaving.

He flinched when pain shot through his midsection, forcing him to keep his torso rigid. It was as if he’d been stabbed all over again, but this time there was no blood seeping out at least. The spot where he’d seen the iron bar emerge from flesh earlier was covered by bandages and tape, and he figured he’d be fine as long as it stayed in place.

“Shane told me he has white and brown hair, split in the middle. Is that him?” Dex asked, shoving the phone in Jag’s face.

The picture should have made Jag angry, but seeing Dane smile as he stood in front of a colorful wall, dressed in a red cape and a T-shirt that imitated armor made his throat swell with emotion instead.