Page 59 of How to Hack a Hellhound
I felt a sense of calmness wash through me. He was still ok—I knew that he was, and I knew how to get to him. I gave Dexter directions, and he sped up now that we were confident where we were going.
“Hang on, my little hellcat,” I murmured. “We’ll be there soon.”
Of course, nothing in life was ever simple. I sensed we were close when we passed a cop car. Of fucking course. Dexter was most definitely speeding.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Keep going. We’ll deal with the cops when we get there,” I muttered.
“But he’s got lights and sirens going,” Dexter said.
Fuck. Yep. That meant it would be a warning to whoever was holding Quinton.
I looked at the map again. It looked like he was in a house out in the woods, because of course—it was always houses out in the woods.
“We’ll pull off on the main road and run the last mile,” I managed to growl out.
Dexter hummed in agreement, speeding up. I’m sure he hoped to outrun the cop, or at least have a bit of a head start when we got to the woods.
I really didn’t want to be shot at.
I looked in the rearview mirror, and of-fucking-course it was the fucking sheriff—I recognized his face in the window. Shit. This was the same car he’d already pulled me over in, so he knew it was me.
Ah, well, I’d deal with that when I needed to. Getting Quinton was what mattered now, and we could easily outrun the cop. A mile out would prevent the sound of the sirens from reaching the house. If the guy had cameras at his house in the woods, our car also wouldn’t show up, so maybe this was a blessing in disguise. In my haste to get to Quinton, I wasn’t thinking about being seen driving up to the house.
I felt like energy was buzzing under my skin as we got closer and closer. When I could sense we were about a mile out, I growled, “Now,” to Dexter.
He slammed on the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder, dirt flying up and the car bumping along. The cop sped past and slammed on his own brakes. We were out of the car and running, keys left in the ignition.
I heard a shout of, “Stop! Police!” but we ignored it and ran.
Quinton was so close I could taste it, and nothing would stop me from getting to him.
Chapter 21
Quinton
Icame back to awareness slowly. My head felt heavy and thick, and I realized when I tried to move that I was tied to a chair.
Motherfucker. Fucking Cassius and his fucking vague-ass shit. Couldn’t he have warned me that the “bad thing” was me getting kidnappedagain?
Fuck. Fuckity fuck fucking fucker.
I struggled a bit with my bound hands, but each wrist was zip tied to a side of the chair, and my ankles were zip tied too. I could topple the chair easily enough, but I didn’t think I could break it, and falling over and possibly getting injured didn’t seem like the wisest course of action.
I took a deep breath. Ok. I was ok. Liam would come and find me. He would always come find me, and I wasn’t going to die or get maimed or injured.
Fuck. Cassius hadn’t said anything about a little torture. I really hoped I wasn’t in for some non-permanently damaging torture. I mean, permanently damaging torture would be bad, of course, but I really didn’t want any torture whatsoever.
Not a fan of pain. Nope. No torture necessary.
A door in front of me cracked open, and someone stumbled in, falling lightly to the ground. I thought I recognized the brown curls, and I realized who it was a second later.
“Emmett?” I asked. “Is that you?”
He looked up. “Fuck. Q? They got you, too? Oh my god, are you ok? Do you know what’s happening?”
It was Emmett. He was one of the group of people I hung out with and went clubbing with. We weren’t particularly close, and we probably wouldn’t have been friends if not for hanging with the same crowd. We’d gone to battle once or twice over the same hook-up, and I was only a little smug that I was usually the victor. But it wasn’t the time to think about that.
