20. Chapter 20 #2
Cyrus’s jaw tensed. “No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t.”
Jasmine looked him up and down. “What is it?” she asked. “You have a minute to tell me why you’re here and get lost.”
Cyrus sighed and stepped closer. “Do you have to be so aggressive?” he asked, “You’re Alpha. You’re supposed to keep things cool, calm, collected. Listen to what others have to say. Is all you can do roll your eyes and insist on patronizing me?”
Jasmine’s jaw shifted, and she folded her arms.
“Fifty seconds,” she replied.
“Of course,” Cyrus mumbled and cleared his throat. “What I have to say won’t take even ten seconds.”
Jasmine tilted her head to the side.
Cyrus’s pulse was quick and heavy.
“I want to challenge you. Winner takes all,” Cyrus said.
Jasmine’s eyes widened slightly. “All of what?” she asked.
“The pack. You win, you get Crimson, I win, we get Lotuslacker,” he explained.
Jasmine took a step closer. “You’re not even Alpha,” she reminded him. “You can’t challenge me.”
Cyrus looked to the side for a moment. Oliver was watching with bated breath.
Cyrus took a slow breath. “Yes, I can,” he said slowly. “I’m second in command. If the Alpha is not present to accept challenges, I can do so for him.”
“Oh, so if…I challenge you while you’re here alone… Could you accept it?” she asked, her voice like bitter honey, misleading.
Cyrus nodded.
He felt a presence behind him, but he had been focusing on Jasmine and Oliver, having not seen anyone else in the room. Even aware of his surroundings, he couldn’t risk acting impulsively and hurting someone, ruining his plan.
Unfortunately, this bit him in the ass.
Several pairs of hands suddenly pulled him back, and he felt a needle plunge deep into his neck. He gasped, choked, growled as he reacted quickly, but his head was already going fuzzy.
“You’re the stronger of the two. Fighting Gabe would be so much easier,” Jasmine’s voice came from the side of him. “Why would I agree to challenge you when I could just take him out quickly?”
“Fuck,” Cyrus grunted as he felt himself slowly losing control. Not in the way that would help him in this situation either. His eyes drooped closed, and his entire body started to feel weighted. He slid to the floor, and the next thing he knew, it was dark.
Cyrus’s eyes opened, Heavy. Groggy. His mouth was dry.
His entire body ached from head to toe. He could feel his pulse thudding in his ears, forehead, temples.
His head was pounding. He could feel the cold hard ground underneath him—wet.
He groaned as he reached for the floor or a wall.
He wasn’t entirely sure. He attempted to push up but found himself unable to do so.
His arms shook in weakness, and his feet felt stuck in place.
He blinked rapidly and attempted to rid himself of the blurry vision that kept him from completely seeing his surroundings. He licked at his dry lips, and as his vision cleared, he saw he was in a basement. Cyrus looked down. Several heavy chains bound his ankles.
“Oh…right…” he mumbled to himself.
He looked at his arms, legs. They were covered in shallow cuts. Bruises.
His shoulders and back as well. It strung when he leaned back against the dust cement wall. Cyrus hissed.
It wasn’t the first time he was waking up there, but it was the first time he had woken up confused that way. Almost not remembering.
Cyrus has been there for four days.
On day one, he wasn’t surprised anyone had found him. Day two, he could give it to them. On day three, he was frustrated. Did they think he’d run off?
Day five—of which he could only count via light that came in through small one-foot by six-inch windows at the very top of the basement walls on the left, right, and above him. The sunlight shone down and cast just in front of him. Today, it seemed the sun was hiding—daylight, but grey and cold.
His skin was covered in goose bumps. Normally he could handle the cold, but the basement was not just cold. It was freezing. No heat came in through the vents, and several bags of ice were empty around him. He looked down once more—the wet, half-melted ice.
He sighed and brushed his fingers through his gnarled hair. His hands bound as well, but not as fiercely as his feet. Cyrus was certain his legs could carry him should he get away, but his arms felt like they could barely lift themselves.
Cyrus’s stomach growled.
He didn’t bother shouting for help when he heard the door creak open some yards away.
“Still alive?” Jasmine’s voice came from the stairs.
Cyrus huffed out a breath as she came into view, Oliver and Judas following close behind.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She chuckled and continued down the stairs.
“Bitch,” Cyrus spat out at her.
Jasmine stepped closer to him, revealed a familiar golden dagger from her waistband, and leaned down slightly. She pressed the tip of it right underneath his chin.
“Your friends still haven’t found you.” She clicked her tongue. “You’d think they would be smarter.”
Cyrus growled. “You’re tellin’ me.” He looked down at the knife.
He didn’t dare take it from her, though he knew he likely could. His arms weren’t as well chained. Oliver and Judas would be on him immediately, and he knew he couldn’t fight them.
Jasmine cut slightly right underneath his chin.
Cyrus hissed, his eyes burning even though he was pretty sure he had no more water left in his body. It felt like it anyway.
“Why don’t we give them a call?” she asked.
Cyrus’s jaw tightened.
“They don’t care about me that much,” he insisted.
“You keep saying that, but…” Jasmine shook her head. “I have a feeling they’ll come around.”
Cyrus huffed. He glared at the concrete.
While he was frustrated, no one had gotten to him yet. Frankly, he was glad. It meant Gabe was out of harm’s way. Jasmine had been trying to wait for them to show up when they didn’t…well, she was undoubtedly going to make sure they did.
The last thing Cyrus wanted. He didn’t trust them to play fair.
While he didn’t want to admit that, he wasn’t sure that Gabe could beat Jasmine.
He wasn’t. He had beaten Liam, but Liam hadn’t been prepared for someone to challenge him, much less a stranger.
Jasmine was no doubt prepared for something of the sort.
Cyrus knew Gabe was strong, but most of all, he was concerned that Gabe would end up in a situation he couldn’t get himself out of.
Like him.
He was chained up in the basement, starving, covered in cuts and bruises. Barely strong enough to push himself up off the ground, even if his ankles weren’t tightly chained.
“Oh, well, no, this certainly isn’t Cyrus,” Jasmine said on the phone. Cyrus then realized it was his phone she had in his hand. She must’ve used his finger to unlock it while he was passed out. “It’s a shame that you didn’t catch on quicker, you know, I’d think you were smarter than that.”
There was a pause. “He’s just fine,” she insisted, her gaze drifting from the floor over to Cyrus. “If you think this is fine.” She moved the phone just long enough to snap several photos of Cyrus and then send them off. She lifted the phone to her ear and seemed to wait.
“Well, well, that’s no way to talk to someone who is in charge of whether your lover boy lives or dies,” Jasmine chuckled. “Oh, I know. I have eyes everywhere, don’t you remember?”
Cyrus looked to the side as the stairs creaked. Patrick. Standing there looking as gloomy as ever. Dark hair was an absolute mess on his head.
“Patrick,” Cyrus growled. “Fucking…bastard.” Patrick must have retreated to Lotuslacker after coming there the first time.
That’s why they couldn’t find him before when they needed to question him, make sure he was or wasn’t the spy of sorts.
They knew that Liam had been interacting with Patrick, but Cyrus hadn’t been entirely sure he was who was warning Lotuslacker until that very moment.
“Come get your boy, or he’s puppy chow, got it?” Jasmine chuckled and then hung up the phone. Cyrus noticed that when the screen went off and on for a second, there wasn’t a lock on it anymore. He cursed under his breath.
The only time someone was right about the fingerprint lock being a lousy idea…