Chapter 54
JULIET
“You should’ve driven straight through town.”
“And have someone see what’s in my back seat at a stoplight? Or have someone clock my license plate? No thanks.”
“Would’ve been quicker. This roundabout way is slowing us down. Besides, they’ll know who took her. We just need to get back to my territory.”
“I live there too.”
“It’s different for you. Territory means something to us.”
“I hate when you say us, like I’m not in this shit with you right now.”
I know both those voices, and neither one helps make my headache go away.
Cory and his human half-brother, Larson.
Shit.
If there was a list of the ways I’d prefer to be woken up, this would be at the absolute bottom. My mind struggles to make sense of how I ended up in this situation. Slowly, memories resurface.
Baking in my kitchen.
A sound at the back door.
Cory.
I barely stop myself from groaning, realizing at the last second that it’s better if they don’t know I’m awake.
Instead, I keep my eyes shut, breathe through my pain and panic, and take stock of my situation.
The world bumps and sways around me, and something cold and metal digs into my back. Pair that with Larson worried about stoplights, I’m guessing I’m in the back seat of his truck.
In addition to the throbbing at the back of my head, my mouth feels weird. I realize there’s duct tape plastered over my lips.
Maybe I can rip the tape off and scream for help.
But as I carefully shift my hands, I realize something holds them immobile.
Risking the smallest crack of my eyelids, I discover my guess about the truck was right. Glancing down, I fight another urge to moan.
My hands are covered in duct tape. And not just a few wraps around my wrists. No, they’ve gone full-on mitten level with the stuff. My hands exist inside a sticky silver ball.
Maybe if my mouth were free, I’d be able to bite through the stuff. I work my jaw, feeling my saliva loosen the adhesive, just slightly. Enough for me to work my lower lip, then lower teeth, just past the edge of the tape.
That’s all I can get, and it’s not enough to do anything other than let out a muffled sound of protest. But I keep quiet. I don’t want to show my hand before I have a chance to play it.
“How long before you think they’ll find out?” Larson asks, his voice tight with nerves.
Again, using my lashes to shield my gaze, I take in the two men.
Larson has always been average. Average height, average build, nondescript, run-of-the-mill brown hair. From my angle, doesn’t look like much has changed.
The only thing that has ever made Larson stand out is the fact that he’s brothers with Cory. Being so closely related to a pack member, especially such a high-ranking one, gave Larson a boost in Bear Valley.
I’d also guess he’s dealt with years of barely suppressed jealousy. Cory is tall, movie-star handsome with styled blond hair. He’s also ripped and well endowed—facts currently on display as he sits naked in the front seat.
Still, I know that no matter how envious Larson is of his brother, he’d never cross him.
Too much fear lives behind his human eyes.
“They probably already know,” Cory finally answers. He doesn’t sound nervous. “But they didn’t count on you.” The wolf slaps the human on the shoulder. “Bet they’re chasing their tails, trying to find her trail. That is, if they’re even bothering to look.”
A long-fingered hand reaches into the back seat. I slam my eyes shut and use every ounce of strength I have to relax my body as if I were still knocked out. When the touch comes, it’s heavy. Expansive. Possessive. Cory grips my hip, then runs his palm up and down my thigh.
“No one loves Abby like I do. They’ll probably accept that she’s gone without getting too pissy.”
His words bring a thickness to the back of my throat. I beg the universe that he’s wrong.
Just because I turned down the idea of mating Roderick doesn’t mean he’ll let me be kidnapped, right?
I would bet money that Cory is wrong—at least about that.
But he had the right of it that Roderick likely doesn’t know about Larson.
He doesn’t know anything about my past because I was too scared to tell him.
My anxious brain told me silence was the best way to keep myself safe.
But the danger didn’t stay buried, and the people who care about me now won’t know what or who to look for.
Which means I’m on my own.
And I’m dealing with a sociopath.
There’s only one goal I should be aiming for—escape.
The same rules that were supposed to keep me protected in Pine Falls will work against me if Cory can get me back to Bear Valley.
I have no idea how my ex crossed into Pine Falls without immediately setting off alarms, but that’s not something that matters right now.
If I want the answer, I can discover it later when I’m back home. When I’m safe.
Another realization batters me then.
Pine Falls isn’t safe anymore. My home has been invaded. Even if I make it back to my little house, Cory will always know where I am.
Am I going to have to leave Juliet Adair behind, just like I did Abby Green?
The sorrow of that is too much to deal with at the moment, so I focus solely on my anger.
Get away. Somehow, I have to get away.
My mind jumps from plan to plan, but they all seem hopeless. No matter how I might escape from this car, the werewolf will catch me. He’s strong and fast, and he can follow my scent. That’s why I had to use trickery the last time.
As I struggle to come up with some idea to outwit them, there’s the sound of heavy coughing from the front seat. I risk cracking my eyes open now that Cory has removed his grip from my thigh. Sneaking a peek, I watch as my ex hacks into his hand. He sounds like he’s choking on something.
Could I be that lucky?
“Hey, man, you okay over there?” Larson asks, hesitation in each word.
Cory pulls his hand away from his mouth. His fingers are coated in blood.
“Wha—” He can’t even finish the question before he’s wheezing again.
“What the hell?” Panic seeps into the human’s voice. “What’s going on? Cory?”
My wild hopes snag on an idea.
It’s reckless.
It might just get me killed.
But I’d rather go out trying than wait patiently for whatever hellish retribution Cory has planned.
As Cory’s coughing fit distracts the brothers, I carefully shift until I’m sitting upright. My head still pounds, but I ignore the ache, needing my full focus on maneuvering correctly. Sucking in a deep, bracing breath through my nose, I make my move.
Lunging forward, I slip my bound arms over the driver’s headrest and hook them under Larson’s chin.
Then I pull back hard, like he’s a bottle of beer and I’m looking to pop his cap off.
The car descends into chaos. Cory curls in on himself, coughing blood over his naked chest as his hands scrabble at his throat.
Larson is having his own trouble breathing as I cut off his air supply with my duct-taped hands.
Trying to steer and pull my arms away at the same time is no easy job.
The human might normally be stronger than me, but I have better leverage.
Digging my knees into the seat, I wrench harder.
Larson gives up driving, fully in pursuit of breathing. Nails tear into my skin, fingers prying the steel hold I have on him.
The winner of the battle is never discovered. Without a hand on the wheel, the truck veers to the side, the wheels rattling over gravel before leaving the pavement completely.
We careen off the side of the road, landing hard in a ditch. The impact slams me against the back of the driver’s seat, knocking the wind out of me.
Still, as I gasp in air, a part of me acknowledges how lucky I am I didn’t go through the windshield.
As a dazed Larson fights against an air bag, I retrieve my sore, bloody wrists. In his mad clawing to get rid of my choke hold, Larson tore into the duct tape covering my hands.
With jerky movements, I rip my hands the rest of the way free, all the while keeping a slice of my attention on the two men in the front seat. Larson is still struggling with the air bag, his breaths wheezing, and Cory continues to cough, throwing in curses that spray blood droplets.
Once I have the use of my hands back, I reach for the door handle.
“Abby—” Cory growls my name in warning, blood-soaked hand reaching for me.
But he misses, and I don’t stick around to hear another word.
With a frantic shove, I push the truck’s door open.
The vehicle is at an odd, sideways angle, and I have to pull myself up and out of the truck, scrambling over it and onto the grass.
Evening is falling, but there’s still a dim light in the sky.
When I climb up to the road, there are no signs or mile markers to tell me where I am.
But from the direction Larson’s truck is facing in the ditch, I figure my best bet is to head the way his taillights point.
I run, tearing at the tape around my mouth as I go.
Do I have a chance?
Not against a werewolf at full strength. But obviously, something was making my ex sick. Could that be some kind of territory magic? Plus, his door was half smashed into the ground. That’s got to slow him down some.
I just need to get back to town. Just need to find one Pine Falls wolf.
They’ll help me. I know they will.
My lungs burn, my muscles ache, and I’m pretty sure I now know what it’s like to have a scalpel driving into my brain. But I keep running.
My breaths are so heavy, filling my ears with their noise, that it takes me a moment to recognize the distant, familiar sound. The deep rumbling that reminds me of rolling thunder.
Pinpricks of light appear up ahead, and I know I’m not hallucinating.
Motorcycles.
“Here!” I scream, waving my arms even though I’m sure the riders are still too far to see me. But soon they will. The sound of their bikes already roars, as if I were surrounded. “I’m he—”
A massive force strikes me from behind, driving me to the ground.
“Got you.” The menacing words are hot against my ear, the breath sneaking into my nose and smelling strongly of iron.
Rough hands flip me over, and I glare up into Cory’s face. His lips are smeared with crimson, painting a horrifying image.
Still, I don’t scream and cower. I rear up and bash my forehead into his nose.
“Fuck! You—”
Whatever he was about to snarl at me gets cut short by another bout of gore-filled coughing. His hands can’t seem to decide whether to circle my neck or claw at his own.
Taking advantage of the indecision, I writhe and lash out with my fists, doing my best to squirm out from under him. So close to being free, but he latches a punishing grip on my shin, dragging me back toward him.
“What are you doing to me?” The words growl from his chest, along with bubbles of blood and spittle.
“Whatever it is, I hope you choke on it!” And I slam my foot as hard as I can into his face.
If I had been wearing shoes, maybe I would’ve done more damage. Still, my heel connects with the bridge of his nose.
Maybe the bone cracks, but I can’t hear it. Not over the roar of the motorcycles.
Bikes circle us, and I’m about to sob in relief at the sight of familiar faces.
But when my mind connects names to the riders, my hope melts into despair.
The Bear Valley pack has come.