Chapter 46 Abducted
A week later, the pack was still in chaos.
Emergency meetings were being called almost daily.
Members were demanding answers — why certain families lived rent-free in pack-owned properties while others scraped by, why the community funds for repairs and support had vanished, why Thomas’s closest allies seemed untouched.
Thomas was scrambling. Damage control meetings ran late into the night.
He was spinning tales, making promises, pointing fingers at “outside agitators.”
It wasn’t working. The cracks we’d made were spreading faster than he could patch them.
This morning, Jackson had been summoned to a mandatory higher-ups meeting at the packhouse. He couldn’t get out of it without raising more suspicion. I kissed him goodbye at the door, feeling the tension coiled tight in his shoulders through the bond.
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’m just heading to the gym.”
He didn’t like it, but he nodded. “Stay alert. Text me when you get there.”
I watched him drive off, then started toward the fighting gym a few blocks away. Half a block from the entrance, a sudden, sharp sting hit the side of my neck. I flinched, reaching up instinctively, thinking it was a wasp. My fingers brushed something long, metallic, and feathery. I yanked it out.
A fucking dart. Tranquilizer.
Panic hit hard and fast. I tried to call for help, but my throat wouldn’t cooperate.
My lips wouldn’t part. My vocal cords refused to work.
A heavy, numbing sensation crept through my limbs, draining my strength like water down a drain.
My legs buckled under me. I slumped sideways, shoulder slamming into a rough brick wall before I slid the rest of the way to the ground.
Tires screeched nearby.
“Hey! What the hell?!” someone shouted from across the street.
“Call 911!” a woman’s voice yelled.
Hands grabbed me under the armpits. I was dragged roughly across the pavement. A coarse sack was yanked over my head, reeking of old vegetables and damp earth. My cat shrieked inside me, clawing desperately for the surface, but my body wouldn’t respond.
I couldn’t shift. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t even scream.
Through the pungent scent of the sack, a whiff of something familiar cut through — female, wolf, sickeningly familiar.
Naomi.
Fuck my life.
The moment I could move again, I was going to burn everything down.
Another sharp sting in my arm and darkness swallowed me whole.
When I came to, everything was dark. The sack was still over my head, the inside of it damp against my mouth with every breath.
A hard chair dug into my back, my wrists zip-tied behind it.
I tested the bindings. The edge bit in thin and hard, but no give.
More ties held my ankles to the chair legs.
My right boot brushed the chair leg, and I felt the sheath still there—a hard line against my ankle.
They hadn't found the knife. Sloppy. Unfortunately, trussed up like this, I couldn't reach it.
I kept my breathing even and took stock.
The air reeked of concrete, old oil, and stale exhaust. Indoors.
Somewhere closed and industrial. A dull, persistent throb pulsed through my head.
My mouth tasted of metal and chemicals. Beneath my skin, my cat was awake but sluggish, still fighting the drugs.
I couldn’t shift. Not yet.
Then a door creaked open behind me. Slow footsteps scraped across the concrete, coming closer.
The sack was ripped off my head hard enough to take some hair with it. Harsh light stabbed my eyes. I blinked rapidly until the blur began to sharpen.
When my vision finally cleared, I was staring straight down the barrel of a shaking handgun.
Lia.
Shock hit me like a gut punch. For half a second my brain refused to process what I was seeing.
My cat hissed inside me, fur up, claws scraping uselessly against the drugs.
I forced my expression to stay neutral and tilted my head slightly, keeping my voice casual despite the gun aimed at my chest.
"Why?"
Her grip tightened on the gun. For a beat I thought she might pull the trigger right there. Then she laughed, sharp and ugly.
"Why?" she echoed. "You really don't know?"
"No." I held her stare. "I don't."
That pissed her off more.
"You don't deserve him."
The words hung in the air between us. I'd expected this to come back to Jackson. I just hadn't imagined she'd be willing to kill for him.
"What?"
"You heard me." Her voice rose. "You don't deserve Jackson."
I stared at her for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. She took a step closer. The barrel hovered near my chest.
"I've loved him since we were kids," she said. "I was right there the whole time. Waiting. Supporting him. I understood what he needed as a future alpha. Then you showed up and he looked at you like you hung the fucking moon. Like I never existed."
Her hand shook harder. "I waited years. And you just took him."
My gaze swept the warehouse again. Dim corners, distant drip of water. No easy exits.
“Gotta admit, I underestimated you,” I said.
“It never had to go this far,” Lia answered. “This is your fault.”
"Uh-huh. Where's Naomi?"
"She'll be here soon. Don't worry."
I looked back at her. "And you think if I'm gone, Jackson will just... love you?"
Lia’s expression twisted. “You’re the reason he doesn’t. If you were out of the way, everything would go back to how it was supposed to be. He’s only ever had flings before. Nothing serious. Not until you. And now he won’t even talk to me.”
“He stopped talking to you because you showed him who you really are. That has nothing to do with me.”
“You poisoned him against me,” she snapped. “He was fine before you. We were fine.”
She was unhinged. Not just jealous. She'd rewritten the entire story in her head.
I kept my voice low. "We're mated, Lia. Bonded. If I die, the bond could drag him down with me. You know how true mates work."
"He’s stronger than that." She leaned in. "He'll survive. And when he does, I'll be there. I'll pick up the pieces. Be what he really needs."
The certainty in her voice sent ice down my spine. She believed every word.
"You're willing to risk killing him just to have him?"
Her smile didn't touch her eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes."
The steel door creaked open again and Naomi stepped inside.
“All clear,” she said. “No one followed.”
Lia gave a curt nod. "Good."
Naomi tossed a backpack onto a nearby workbench and walked farther into the room. She looked relaxed. Almost pleased with herself, like the hard part was already over.
“Not so tough now, are you?” she said.
I ignored her and kept my eyes on Lia. “Does she know what this is really about?”
Naomi frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Ignore her,” Lia said. “She’s just trying to mess with your head.”
I glanced between them.
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Are we done talking yet? Can we just kill her already?”
Lia straightened. “We need a letter first.”
“A letter?” I asked.
"A suicide note."
I barked out a short laugh. Both of them stared at me.
“That’s your plan?” I said, genuinely surprised.
Naomi’s eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny?"
"No," I said. "I think it’s stupid."
The smugness dropped from her face.
I looked back at Lia. "Jackson and I are mated. I’m already feeling his panic through the bond. He knows something’s wrong."
Neither of them answered.
"A suicide note might fool the police," I continued. "It won’t fool the mating bond."
Lia’s face stayed blank. Naomi looked a fraction less sure.
"He won’t know where you are," Lia said.
"Probably not," I agreed. My gaze settled on her. "But he’ll know I didn’t leave him voluntary."
Something flickered across her eyes. Just for a second. Then it was gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lia said. “We’re still going through with it.”
She turned to Naomi. “Untie her right hand.”
Naomi hesitated. "Seriously?"
"Just do it." She raised the gun again and pointed it at my chest. "Don’t try anything stupid. One bullet is all it takes."
Naomi muttered under her breath and moved behind me. Her claws dug into my wrists as she grabbed them, sharp enough to draw blood.
"I can’t free just one hand," she growled. "You zip-tied them together."
Lia sighed, irritated. "Then cut them loose and tie one back up after."
Naomi pulled out a knife. I stayed perfectly still, heart pounding, mind racing. I had one shot at this. But not yet. Timing was everything.
"What’s in this for you, Naomi?" I asked as the blade sawed through the plastic.
“Thomas is going to make Jackson take me as his mate,” she said. “I’ll be the future Luna.”
I snorted. “I’m pretty sure your psycho friend has other plans for that spot.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lia hissed. “Naomi, she’s just trying to distract you. Ignore her.”
I exhaled slowly, already tired of the whole damn circus.
Then everything exploded at once.
The warehouse door slammed open with a deafening crash.
I threw my weight sideways, tipping the chair hard. Naomi lurched forward, still gripping my arms. A gunshot cracked through the air. White-hot pain tore through my right shoulder. I barely registered the spray of blood on my neck before I hit the concrete, the impact knocking the breath out of me.
“Harper!” Jackson’s panicked voice roared through the chaos.
A second later strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me slightly. My legs were still bound to the damn chair. Clawed fingers made quick work of the restraints before I was pulled into Jackson’s lap, him cradling me as if I might disappear.
A strangled gurgle caught my attention.
Naomi was on her knees, both hands clawing at her throat, blood pulsing thick between her fingers. The same bullet that had grazed my shoulder had found her neck. Carotid. Nothing was stopping that.
Her mouth opened and closed, a silent, desperate plea, before her knees buckled.
Jackson held me tighter, rocking me, his voice a desperate chant against my temple.
“Thank fuck. Thank fuck. Thank fuck.”