Chapter 3 #2
Apollo’s ears perked forward at the sound of my voice, his expression suggesting I was the most fascinating thing he’d encountered since squirrels were invented. An idea began forming in my mind—an idea so audacious that it just might work.
I rummaged through my backpack and extracted a package of beef jerky I’d stashed for emergency protein. The moment the package crinkled, both dogs snapped to attention like I’d pressed their power buttons.
“Hungry, are we?” I asked, tearing off a piece. “So much for professional standards in the security industry. I’m pretty sure accepting bribes from the escapee isn’t in your job description.”
I held out the jerky. Both dogs sat immediately, their training apparently extending to basic manners if not actual guarding. I dropped a piece for each of them, watching as they devoured the offerings with single-minded focus.
“You know,” I said conversationally as they licked their chops, “what I really need is a guide. Someone who knows these woods, maybe could lead me to the quickest way out.” I tore off another piece of jerky, holding it up. “Any volunteers?”
Both dogs stared at the jerky with laser focus, tails sweeping the forest floor.
“How about this,” I continued, feeling slightly ridiculous for negotiating with animals but too committed to stop now. “You help me find the path to the road, and there’s more where this came from. Deal?”
I had no idea if dogs could understand complex bargaining, but the universe had already demonstrated its sense of humor by sending therapy dogs instead of attack beasts, so I figured it was worth a shot.
I stood, brushing pine needles from my shorts. “Lead on, boys. Show me the way out of this gilded prison.”
To my complete astonishment, Apollo turned and trotted a few paces deeper into the forest, then looked back expectantly. Zeus followed, pausing to ensure I was coming along.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “You actually understand me. Either that or this is the most elaborate coincidence in escape attempt history.”
I followed my newfound canine guides, periodically rewarding them with small pieces of jerky. They moved with confidence through the trees, taking a path I wouldn’t have chosen—moving away from the creek I’d planned to follow and instead heading through denser forest.
“I hope you guys know what you’re doing,” I told them as branches snagged at my clothes. “Because if this is some elaborate dog prank, I’m leaving scathing reviews on whatever social media page handles security canine ratings.”
The dogs continued forward, undeterred by my commentary. Apollo occasionally looked back, as if checking that I was still following. Zeus had taken point, his tail held high like a furry flag leading our bizarre procession.
After about fifteen minutes of hiking, the trees began to thin slightly, and I noticed the ground underfoot was becoming more packed, as if this path saw regular traffic. A thread of suspicion wound through my triumph.
“Where exactly are we going, boys?” I asked, slowing my pace. “Because if you’re leading me back to the cottage via the scenic route, we’re going to have serious words about the nature of our arrangement.”
The dogs ignored my concerns, trotting ahead with increased enthusiasm. Through gaps in the trees, I caught glimpses of a small clearing. Something about the deliberate way the dogs were heading toward it made alarm bells ring in my head.
I stopped completely, causing both dogs to look back in canine confusion.
“What’s in that clearing?” I demanded, as if they might suddenly develop the power of human speech along with their remarkable understanding of English. “Is this a trap? Are you furry Judases leading me straight to—”
Before I could finish my accusation, both dogs darted forward, breaking into the clearing with happy barks that sounded suspiciously like announcements of successful hunting.
“Traitors!” I hissed, ducking behind a broad tree trunk to assess the situation.
The clearing contained a small campsite—tents, neatly stacked supplies, and a stone-ringed fire pit with glowing embers. Someone was definitely home, and based on the dogs’ enthusiastic greeting, they were on familiar terms with my canine betrayers.
I was preparing to back away slowly when the sound of approaching footsteps caught my attention. Two men emerged from the deeper forest on the far side of the clearing. My heart sank to somewhere in the vicinity of my hiking boots.
They weren’t wearing tactical gear or face masks this time, but I recognized them instantly—something about the way they moved, the confident set of their shoulders. The guards from last winter. The ones who’d tackled me, manhandled me, and carried me home like a naughty child.
Both were shirtless in the summer heat, their muscled torsos gleaming with a light sheen of sweat as they approached the campsite.
One was slightly taller with dark-brown hair and an elegant build that somehow made him not wearing a shirt seem like a fashion choice rather than a concession to temperature—all lean power and predatory grace, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and dark-brown eyes that held the kind of dangerous intelligence that made my stomach flip in ways I absolutely refused to acknowledge.
The other was broader, more solidly built, with watchful hazel eyes that seemed to catalog every detail with unsettling intensity.
His silence carried more menace than words ever could, like a mountain that might decide to fall on you without warning.
Without their masks, they were… well, not what I’d expected.
Younger, for one thing. I’d imagined grizzled mercenaries with faces like poorly maintained hiking trails, not these men who looked like they’d stepped out of some premium cable show about attractive people doing morally questionable things.
The kind of devastating good looks that probably made normal people forget how to form complete sentences—which was deeply annoying since I was currently trying very hard not to notice how the summer heat had turned their skin golden, or how their tactical pants hung low on narrow hips, or how watching them move was like observing apex predators in their natural habitat.
The absolute audacity of these men to look like that while I was standing there covered in forest debris and probably resembling a feral woodland creature who’d lost a fight with a pine tree.
The dogs bounded toward them with ecstatic whines, tails wagging at supersonic speeds as they circled the men’s legs. Apollo barked once, turning to look directly at my hiding spot with what I swear was a smug expression.
“Et tu, Apollo?” I whispered, feeling genuinely betrayed by my short-lived canine alliance. “I gave you premium beef jerky, you traitor.”
The men followed the dog’s gaze, their expressions shifting from confusion to recognition to something that looked disturbingly like amusement. The elegant one said something to his companion, who nodded and started moving toward the trees where I was hiding.
That was all the confirmation I needed. I turned and ran, abandoning stealth for speed, crashing through the underbrush with the grace of a panicked deer.
“Look what we have here!” a voice called behind me. “Our little troublemaker’s come back to play!”
“He’s running the wrong way,” another voice shouted, deeper and more amused. “Northeast sector is our territory, sweetheart!”
The sound of pursuit crashed through the undergrowth—boots against forest floor, branches snapping, dogs barking with excitement rather than aggression. They were enjoying this. It was a game to them.
“Should we let him think he’s getting away?” I heard the first voice again, loud enough to carry through the trees. “Or end this little adventure now, pretty thing?”
“Let him run,” the second voice replied with dark amusement. “I enjoy watching our omega pet try to escape.”
I didn’t look back. Looking back was for people who enjoyed the sight of rapidly approaching capture.
I had no plan beyond “away”—all my carefully mapped routes forgotten in the face of immediate danger.
The forest blurred around me as I ran, lungs burning, branches whipping against my arms and face.
A low-hanging branch caught my cap, ripping it from my head and leaving my hair exposed to catch the afternoon light filtering through the canopy. I didn't stop to retrieve it—every second counted now.
“We can smell you, little wildcat!” The taunting call floated through the trees. “Your fear makes your scent stronger. Sweeter.”
Through a gap in the trees, I glimpsed water—a small pond or natural spring, its surface gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Without hesitation, I changed course toward it.
Water meant potential escape, or at least a way to throw off any tracking.
Dogs couldn’t follow a scent through water, right?
That was a thing I’d read in some survival manual.
I burst into the clearing surrounding the pond, momentum carrying me forward as my mind raced through increasingly desperate escape options.
The water stretched before me—not too deep, clear enough to see the smooth stones below, and most importantly, not containing any of the muscle-bound nightmares currently pursuing me.
Or so I thought.
Movement on the far shore stopped my strategic genius mid-calculation.
A man was emerging from the water like some R-rated Greek mythology scene—water cascading down a body that made Michelangelo’s David look like he needed to hit the gym more often.
Tall, impossibly broad-shouldered, with wet black hair slicked back from a face that belonged on the cover of Alpha Monthly: Too Hot to Function Edition.