Chapter 20
Zira
I feel the bindings around my bare wrists before everything else comes to me in a horror-filled wave, my breathing hindered by a strip of duct tape that tugs uncomfortably at my skin.
Memories assault me as I come to, and I swallow a groan as I squeeze my eyes shut against them. Heading downstairs to get a cup of tea when something woke me from a restful sleep. Startling when the door lock cracked and the front door swung open. The masked figure standing in the doorway. Getting tackled to the ground and hitting my head against the counter. Dazed and disoriented, unable to stop him from wrapping a gag tightly around my mouth before tying my wrists together. Being hauled off into the night in nothing but a pair of Ford’s clean boxer shorts and a shirt I stole from Mac. I had my phone tucked into the waistband, but I can’t feel it now, and I choke back the sudden sob that crawls up my throat as I continue to see all that happened.
My feet dragged through the dirt on the ground, no doubt leaving scrapes on my heels. I remember Hunter losing his grip on me, only once, my knees colliding with thorns and sticks before he hauled me higher in his hold as he stole me from the lake house. Stole me from my alphas.
But worst of all? I remember Mac. I recall so clearly the look of sheer horror that etched its way onto his face as he stepped out of the house, catching sight of Hunter dragging me to the car, before he started running. Started chasing after me, much like he did three days prior. I remember screaming behind my gag, struggling to get free before Hunter could get me in the back of his car. I remember pleading with any god that might exist for Mac to reach me in time, but then something hit me hard in the temple and everything faded away to darkness, my body crumpling as I lost consciousness.
My body hurts, aching from the seated position I’m in, the hard chair and the way my arms have been tied behind the backrest, setting off sparks of agony through my joints. There’s a throbbing in my head that spreads from my temple to every available inch within my skull, the pain so intense that I groan pitifully as I hang my head awkwardly while I try to breathe through it.
Unfortunately, with every breath I take, I inhale nothing but gasoline, burnt rubber, and a sterile, almost hospital-like clean, disinfectant scent that makes the nausea in my stomach roil. I wretch hard enough that my ribs ache.
“I’m sorry, my heart. I’m so sorry,” I hear muttered over the pounding ache in my head, and a thready whine drips from my tongue at the volume of the snivelling voice I recognise just as quickly as I recognise the pungent scent I’ve been trying to escape for weeks.
“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. I’m here now. I’m sorry, I had to do that. You weren’t listening, I had to do it,” Hunter chants, sounding nothing like the over-trying nerdy charmer he thought he was and now sounding a little more than unhinged. His voice gives away his stress, his scent adding to it with how strong it is, and I wretch again without upheaving anything from my stomach while I’m forced to continue listening to Hunter Gary Johnson the fucking second babbling like a newborn baby. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Of course, I don’t want to hurt you. We’re in love. I don’t want to hurt the woman I love. But you made me do it, my heart. You made me hurt you because you were fighting me. I don’t know why you keep fighting me.”
My eyebrows furrow as I blink my eyes open, cautiously lifting my head from where it hangs painfully, and I wince when I’m met with a bright-white light that hangs over my head while the edges of the room darken the further I look. I swallow hard as I take in the room I’m being held in, that nausea bubbling in my gut when I see a single cot bed, freshly made white sheets and a comforter tucked to perfection on top of it. There’s a desk nearby with nothing on it, and I assume the chair I’m strapped to at current is the one to match, leaving an empty space where it would otherwise be. The walls are white, a crisp colour that hurts my head even more as I try to take it in, but the thing that sends my heart spiralling and my scent souring so thoroughly that there isn't a drop of sweetness left are the photos.
Over one wall, taking up a large chunk of the whiteness of the paint, are black and white photographs. The sole subject in most of them? Me. The others? My pack, their faces scratched out in an act of clear aggression. Where there are photos Hunter has somehow managed to get of me with one or more members of my pack, he’s carved their faces away, leaving only me behind. There are photos snapped from outside the gym where I teach my girls, or photos of me walking to the care facility with a bouquet of flowers for Mom, or walking back and forth to my car or one of the guys’ cars at North Five. There are photographs of me smiling, laughing, and even some of me squinting or frowning at my computer screen at the library. I spy a photo of me wearing a flowing skirt and chiffon shirt as I stand on a ladder, placing a book back where it belongs, and I shudder when I realize how close he must have gotten to take that one.
There are several more, some that make me want to vomit as it dawns on me that this man has been tracking my every move. He has photos of me at the grocery store, at the bank as I retrieve money to put in an envelope for Barnes so he can accept it without a word as he’s taken to doing, and even some, I realize with a sickening mortification, of me half dressed and walking around my apartment, the shot taken from somewhere outside.
A muffled sound of disbelief gets trapped behind the duct tape secured to my mouth and I shake my head as I fight against the horror that pierces my heart and head. My eyes prick with tears as I realise the extent of this man’s depravity, and I work up the courage to finally look over at him, finding him clutching at his head as he paces back and forth in front of the partially open door.
“I’m sorry,” he’s muttering, over and over again, smacking his head every second time he passes the door. “I’m so sorry, my heart. I’m so sorry.”
I make a sound again, an odd mixture between a whine and whimper, and Hunter suddenly stops pacing to turn and look at me with crazed eyes and messy dark hair. I swallow any other sound, freezing in my seat, as his nostrils flare and a nasty scowl mars his face.
“You smell like them. I hate it, my heart. You shouldn’t smell like other alphas. I’m your alpha. Me. Only me,” he calmly informs, though there’s nothing calm at all about the man before me. He’s erratic, his movements jerky as he takes a step forward before pausing, clenching his hands as though he wants to touch me but isn’t giving himself permission. “You’ll smell like me soon enough. They’ll be nothing more than a distant nightmare by the time I’ve bonded with you. It’s okay.”
A wave of sickness gurgles in my stomach at the idea of bonding with this psycho, and I feel the first drop of tears as it falls down my cheek and drips off my jaw, hitting my bare leg.
Hunter watches as it drips to my skin, his face changing drastically from deadly calm to worried and caring, the switch so jarring that I flinch back when he rushes toward me. He freezes and frowns, crouching in front of me as he says, “Don’t cry, my heart. I won’t hurt you. Not again. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you left me no choice.”
I make a muffled sound, and he reaches for my face, those sharp eyes growing angry when I tear away from them before he clamps them hard around my face.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Zira,” he warns, switching up his personality all over again, and I cry out as his hands tighten around my face. Stilling instantly but trembling like a leaf, I don’t move away as his hands lighten before he croons. “Good girl. I’m not going to hurt you.”
And then the bastard tears the tape away, and I cry out as it tears at the very fine hairs on my face, gritting my teeth against the new sparks of pain before I can make any more noises that might piss him off.
Hunter winces and mutters, “Sorry. There. Feel better?”
Swallowing hard, I eye the man carefully while fighting back every emotion and feeling, nodding in answer. I figure, if I’m able to appease him, he might calm down enough to see sense. I just need to lock it all away and act like I’m not absolutely scared out of my mind and internally panicking.
“Good. That’s good,” he says, nodding before dropping his hands to my thighs. My jaw clenches and I tremble, praying that I don’t throw up in his face from the clammy touch of his palms against my skin. He rubs them up and down my thighs as if to comfort me, and another tear falls down my eyes as his sickening scent sticks to my flesh. “There. I’m sorry I had to do this, my heart. But this was the only way to see.”
“See what?” I rasp, my voice high and thready and unlike how it usually is, a clear indication of how high my stress levels are, as if my scent isn’t enough to display it.
Hunter smiles, that smarmy smile he thinks is charming, before he says, “See that this is where you belong, silly. With me. Your alpha.”
Stunned silence answers him, his delusions clearly out of control, because there isn’t a chance in this life or the next that I would ever consider this man as an alpha of mine. I’d sooner sink into the ocean tied to an anchor with no hopes of survival before calling Hunter mine. I have a pack. One that I love with all of my heart. There’s no way I would trade them for this freak, even if my life depends on it.
“You see, I’ve been trying to get your attention since I scented you on my first day. Then I saw that pretty face and knew you had to be mine. I didn’t realize there was already a pack chasing you until the day you discarded my invite for that other alpha, and I knew it would be harder for me to make you see that they weren’t the alphas for you. So, I tried to steer you away from them, only for that other alpha to get me in trouble,” he recounts, his own jaw clenching at the anger that sparks in his sharp eyes before he masks it with a wider smile that makes him appear maniacal and unstable as they can get. “Did you get the necklace I bought you? As an apology?”
I nod slowly, jaw still clenched as I try to breathe through my teeth instead of my nose to avoid his scent.
“Did you not like it?” he prods, glancing down at my bare neck that he expected to hold the pendant.
“It was—” I start, before clearing my throat when the words escape me in a croak. “It’s lovely. I just didn’t want to lose it.”
He eyes me for a long moment before a real grin splits his lips, a more terrifying look than the fake ones he pastes on his face for the world to see. “So, you liked it?”
I’m nodding before I think better of it, feeding his delusions, since that seems to be what’s keeping him calm. He’s no longer pacing, his shoulders relaxed, and sharp eyes sparkling with pleasure. Ignoring his hands still on my thighs, I rasp, “I loved it. Thank you.”
As soon as the words slip free, I regret them, because Hunter shuts down so suddenly that I flinch back and cry out when he lurches up and shoves his face into mine with a nasty snarl. “Then tell me why you keep pushing me away, Zira? I bought you the necklace to prove to you what you meant to me, and in return, I was fired. They took my job away from me. They took my ability to watch you, to study you, to learn everything about you. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Any idea what that necklace cost? It’s gold, Zira. Eighteen karat gold, eight thousand dollars. You’re worth more, of course, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you. So why, if you loved my gift, did you have me fired for it? Hm? Why aren’t you wearing it? You’re lying to me, Zira, and that’s not a good way to start a relationship.”
He pushes himself back then, agitated and growing red with his fury that he doesn’t seem to want to direct at me. Instead, he strides to the wall of photographs, staring at them with his back to me, hands on his hips as he heaves for air as though his outburst stole his breath.
As soon as he’s no longer watching me, I flex my fingers before feeling the rope that ties my hands behind my back. I run my fingers over it, feeling or any loose threads, taking advantage of the brief moment I have where he’s not watching me like a hawk.
While I’m fumbling with the rope, twisting my wrists around until something slips and my heart lurches, Hunter sighs and shakes his head at the wall. “It’s because of them. Those filthy, no good, rotten alphas. They’ve infected you, my heart. They’re turning you against me.”
I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter, because as soon as one thread slips, I manage to finagle my finger beneath another strand of rope and wiggle it loose until the rope around my wrists no longer feels tight enough to keep me secure.
“But it doesn't matter. I have you now, and I won’t let you go. Never again. I’ll cleanse your mind of this pack that will use and discard you. But I won’t. You won’t ever have to worry about that with me, my heart,” he continues, staring at the photos as though he’s lost in thought. “I’ll take care of you now.”
As soon as he says it, the rope comes loose from around my skin, and I catch it with a panicked inhale before it falls. I grip it tightly in my hand, turning still as stone just in time for Hunter to peer at me over his shoulder, squinting at me before he nods and looks back at the photos.
“You’ll stay here until I’m convinced you’re ready to join me in our room. Until I’m sure your head is finally free of that bastard pack,” he declares, and another wave of sickness washes through me, my gag reflex working hard to upheave what little is in my stomach. I have to swallow repetitively to keep it all down as I watch Hunter begin to pick the photos off the wall one at a time, meticulously stacking them on a dresser nearby as he pockets the pins.
It offers me a chance, one single chance, to do what I need to do. So, without hesitation, knowing that only a second could steal my opportunity to escape, I tug my arms from behind me, keeping my movements slow and silent while I fix my eyes on the man before me.
“Your scent will sweeten again when you realize how good of a life I can offer you, my heart,” he rambles, removing the photos with a lazy kind of ease, secure in the idea that he has me trapped and exactly where he wants me. In reality, I’ve wrapped the rope around my hands just as I stand, swallowing hard as I slowly tiptoe my way over to him, a plan forming in my mind as I draw near as he continues with his spiel. “I’ll spoil you rotten. You won’t want for absolutely anything. I have just as much money as those cunts you’ve allowed to touch what doesn’t belong to them. You’ll be the most pampered omega, and you’ll be happy and in love. With me. You’ll sleep next to me like a good omega, but only after you’ve taken my knot. How I’ve wanted to knot and bond you, my heart. I’ll be gentle, I swear. I’ll make you feel so good, every single night. You won’t ever be left needy. I’ll take care of all your needs and then, when we feel the time is right, I’ll knot you and fill you until my seed catches and you’re carrying our child. Doesn’t that sound nice? Having our baby?”
I reach him just as he turns to look over his shoulder at me again, a creepy smile on his face that slips when he doesn’t see me tied to the chair. I’m on him before he can turn, though, jumping onto his back with a hefty amount of oomph before I wrap the rope around his neck twice and drop my weight suddenly from his back. I manage it all so quickly that he doesn’t have a chance to prevent the rope from tightening around his neck, the bastard stumbling backwards as he loses his balance with the weight that now hangs from his neck.
Scratching at the rope and growling in his chest, he tries to relieve the pressure I’m putting on the rope that’s now stealing his oxygen, crashing into the dresser and scattering his neatly stacked photographs all over the sterile room. I’m hanging on to the ends of the rope for dear life, wrapping them around my hands once, then twice, keeping a firm grip on them as I hang on them with all of my body weight, choking him out with a feral sounding scream I didn’t realize I was capable of.
When he stumbles into the chair, surprisingly keeping himself upright, an explosion of panic floods my system when one of my hands loosens on the rope. I only just manage to tighten it around my hand when Hunter falls into the chair, and I catch him struggling for air as he continues to scramble to loosen the rope from where it strangles him. I drop my weight further and further, falling to the ground and rolling until I manage to press my feet against the legs of the chair. It offers the perfect leverage for me to tug on the rope until Hunter’s hands grow weak and floppy, his body turning limp slowly but surely until his head lolls to the side and he falls unconscious. I keep my hold on the rope for a few seconds longer, ensuring he’s either passed out or quite possibly dead, before finally letting go.
There isn't a single ounce of hesitation in my body as I scramble to my feet before I bolt out of that horrible room, crashing through the slightly parted door and into a hallway that’s much cooler than the temperature in the prison he’d brought me to.
I’m running down the hallway as if the devil is chasing me, which, in all honesty, could be likely. I’m no expert in strangulation, so I have no idea if what I just did will buy me enough time to get out of here, or if I genuinely did just kill a man, but I don’t waste time thinking about it. Instead, I run for my life through the halls and up a set of stairs before bursting out into a disgustingly opulent home that looks like something you see in movies. Nothing looks as though it’s been touched, though everything is clear of dust. Even the shiny chandelier glistens as though it’s been freshly polished.
Ignoring it all, I look around rapidly for a way out, running towards one door and finding a closet. I run into another, finding an office decked out with a mahogany desk and more opulence.
Shaking and filled with panic and fear, I dive right back out of the room and look around once more, spying a hallway behind the fancy spiral staircase that looks like it could kill you if you slipped and fell down it.
Diving for the hallway, I run down the length of it, constantly checking over my shoulder for Hunter, terrified that he’ll spring up out of nowhere and drag me back to that small room he planned to keep me in. I don’t stop until I’m bursting into a pool room made of large glass windows to match the sunroof ceiling that displays the glittering stars I was admiring only three nights ago. The water in the pool is still and tranquil, a total contradiction to the thundering of my heart and the riot of terror infecting my veins, and I offer it only the smallest amount of envy before darting my gaze around for an exit.
Running down the length of the pool, I run towards a door, finding a fucking towel closet, only to meet the same sight in the door on the other end of the room, and I curse loudly before looking around for something, any fucking thing, that will get me out of here.
When nothing obvious pops out at me, I decide to take drastic measures and force my way out. So, retrieving a folded-up sun lounger, I head to the nearest window that I’ll be able to escape from, before swinging the hefty chair back and slamming it against the glass. Nothing happens at first, and dread damn near cripples me as I cry out, but I do it again. And again, and a-fucking-gain, checking over my shoulder every time I think I hear a sound.
Just as I start to lose hope that I’m ever going to escape, I slam the lounger against the wall and the most blessed sound and sight echoes through the room a split second later. There, in the window, forms a small crack that I hone in on, the creaking of splintering glass filling my body with a burning-cool wave of relief.
It takes only two more hard hits of the lounger before the whole glass shatters, and I duck and cover my head to save myself from the worst of the rogue splintering of glass as the window falls apart all around me.
I only wait two seconds before I’m up and vaulting over the window frame that now stands empty, opening the room for the cold bite of the night air to enter. I don’t care about the shards of glass that might cut my feet, or the slices that now cover my arms and legs. I have one goal, one primal need, and that is to survive. That means suffering a few scrapes and cuts, knowing that being trapped in that house with a man who had plans I wasn’t willing to go along with would be a worse fate than the wounds on my body that will heal.
Taking my first cleansing breath since waking, I actually sob as I clear my entire body of the rubber and gas scent I never want to smell again for as long as I live. If I manage to get out of here, I’m taking an hour-long shower, and then I’m sitting in the bath for the entire day, scrubbing at my skin until I’m sure I no longer smell like that deranged psycho .
Those thoughts fuel me as I run over a perfectly manicured lawn, rounding the over-the-top house, and finding the lavish gravel driveway kitted out with a fountain of a naked woman spurting water out of her mouth. And on that driveway is a car, the back door open wide as though Hunter didn’t waste time in shutting it after he dragged me inside his home with every intention of playing house with me.
Gunning it toward the car, I dive into the backseat, searching for the phone I remember having with me when he took me. I find it in the footwell and snatch it up, pressing the unlock button. It still has battery, thankfully, but like every fucking cliché ever, the signal is dead and I curse all of my rotten luck before stuffing my cell into my borrowed boxers and climbing out of the car and back into the driver’s side, looking for a key. Of course, things aren’t that easy. The key is missing, and I don’t know the first thing about hotwiring a vehicle so, with only one thing left to do, I run.
I run and I run and I run, thankful for all those years of gymnastics that have kept me fit and healthy, my legs aching something fiercely as I run down the long, long driveway and onto a road that looks as though it barely has any travelers on it. Even during the day, I’m sure it remains barren.
Looking left and right, needing to choose a direction to head in, I go right. I have no idea where the hell I am, or how far away from the lake house I am. How far away from my pack I am, but I don’t think about it. I can’t. I bottle it all as my survival instincts rule me, and I run with bleeding feet, a thundering heart, and tears down my cheeks until I spy another fancy house in the very near distance.
I’m beelining right for it without making a conscious decision to do so, colliding with the front door of the mansion-like home with enough force that it sends a boom of sound across the large yard at my back. It’s followed quickly by me slamming my fists against the hardwood door, beating it harshly as I yell, “Help! I need your help!”
I have no idea how long I beat that door until finally, blessedly, it swings open and I topple into the house and fall onto my hands and knees as an older couple look down at me with utter shock and alarm.
“I need help. Please help me,” I rasp, breathless and heaving for air, a pang of guilt tickling my senses as I realize I’m getting blood over these strangers’ shiny floor.
“Oh, heavens. What happened to you, honey?” the woman blurts, diving for me, her aged hands fluttering over me as though she has no idea how to help or where to even start.
“I was kidnapped. I don’t know if he’s coming after me or if I killed him,” I rush out, my words bleeding into one long word, but the couple seem to understand me.
The man blanches, horror painting his wrinkled face, and he blurts, “I’ll call the police. Dierdre, you get the med kit.”
“Where did you put it, John?” she asks shrilly, rising to shut the door when her husband shuffles off in his slippers and house coat.
“Under the sink in the kitchen, Dee. You need me to tell you how to apply ointment, too?” the man snaps, and the woman rolls her eyes before rushing back over to me, offering her small hands to help me stand.
As soon as I’m up, the aches, pains, and cuts all make themselves known, and I whimper as I try to walk. My legs are killing me, there’s a cut along the side of my foot, and I’m still gasping for the air that evades me, what little I’m catching bringing with it the faintest clean smells of betas.
“Oh, dear. Okay. That’s alright. You sit right back down and I’ll bring you something for the cuts. Stay right there,” Dierdre demands, before waltzing away in her pink, fluff-lined house coat that makes her look like a countess to a mansion that was passed down to her from her wealthy family.
But, I do as I’m told, slumping back to the floor, dragging myself to a wall that I can lean my back on. As soon as I’m propped up, my energy gradually seeping from me, I reach for my phone with shaking hands and a palpitating heart, tugging it free before unlocking it. I waste no time in pulling up my contacts, pressing dial on the first number my finger touches.
“Zira? Oh my fucking god, Zira, are you okay? The twins said they felt it the moment you were awake, and they said you were terrified. Tell me you’re okay,” Alek demands gruffly, his voice strained and rough and heartbreaking. It’s enough that it releases the bottle on all the things I’ve been suppressing since waking up in the horrible room that will haunt me until I die.
“I’m okay,” I breathe, slumping into the wall while tears fall from my eyes as relief makes me dizzy. I laugh hysterically, before repeating myself, like I don’t quite believe what I’m saying but needing to hear it again myself. “I’m okay.”
“Where are you, Freckles? We’re coming for you,” I hear Barnes demand, and that relief burrows deeper and deeper, even as I continue to cry and whine and mutter, “I don’t know.”
“That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. Just keep your phone on. The tracker I put on it just pinged us your location. You’re only twenty minutes away, so sit tight. Are you safe?” he asks sternly, and I nod before I remember he can’t see me.
“I think so,” I answer, eyes darting up just as Dierdre hurries back to me with her arms loaded with gauze, ointment, and other medical supplies. “I ran and didn’t stop running until I found a house.”
“Alright, darling. We’re coming for you, okay? We’re coming,” Laz promises with enough conviction that I begin to cry harder, dropping the phone even if I don’t end the call. I don’t have the energy for much more.
“Oh, honey, what have you been through tonight?” the sweet woman asks, just as her husband returns, speaking lowly on the phone. “Sure is. No older than twenty-five, I’d say. Red hair, skinny thing. Pretty sure she’s an omega, but I can’t smell much other than stress and maybe gasoline. Oh, yeah, hold on.”
He moves the phone and asks, “What’s your name, honey?”
“Zira. Favero,” I answer, wincing as the woman begins to clean and dress the cuts over my skin.
The man’s eyes widen and I know then that the police are on their way. So, with nothing more to do than wait, I succumb to my dizziness that continues to plague me, my vision going white right before I pass out on a fancy floor that belongs to complete and total strangers.