Page 67 of Campfires & Canines
Everything goes dark as a black pillowcase is shoved over my head. Panic overwhelms me and I start fighting again. With everything I can muster, I swing my zip-tied hands, balled into fists, and manage to hit a solid form. The flesh doesn't yield.
A huge hand grips my throat over the baggy pillowcase. My panic turns to ice, every shred of survival instinct I possess is screaming at me to submit.
Cruel laughter shames me. I'm stuffed into another car, smacking the side of my head against the frame. I bite down a whimper. A hand grips my forearm, keeping me from trying to pull the pillowcase off.
The remaining car doors close and we lurch forward. My arm is bruising where he grips it. I try to tug away, but he must enjoy squeezing it harder. A small cry escapes my throat.
Someone in the front of the car growls, and the man finally releases me. I double over, not attempting to remove the pillowcase, just trying to get some space to breathe and not throw up.
Breathe in, breathe out. I missed one chance, but they’ll have to stop the car again. I want to tug at the pillowcase, but I need to bide my time.
The car slows and finally stops. Doors open and even through the fabric I can smell clay and sulfur. Brutal hands pull me out of the door.
The second my feet hit the ground, I duck my head and tear off the pillowcase. Everything around me is brown and gray, with my captors looming.
I’m slammed against the car door. The hulking brute snarls down at me.
“Grab her,” shouts another man.
“No!” I fling myself sideways, but he’s already wrapped his sausage hands around my waist. With one heave, I’m over his shoulder, potato-sack-style.
“Let me go!” I screech, banging my fists against his lower back. He grunts and slaps my thighs. Tears spring up in my eyes.
“Hit her again and I’ll kill you,” another voice threatens. It’s familiar and smooth, but I’m too foggy to place it.
The man climbs a few steps. I blink, getting a view of mud and concrete, and then are over a threshold onto glossy black tile. His grip on my legs hurts.
We take a sharp right and pass through another doorway. It’s dim, and my hair blocks most of my vision. After descending dark carpeted steps, I’m flung down on the floor, knocking the air out of me.
I gasp and roll over. By the time I can suck air into my lungs and sit up, I’m alone.
I wipe my face on the hem of my shirt, trying to rid myself of the tears that keep coming. Every time I blink, I see the vision of Onyx splayed out and bleeding.
Slow breaths. In, out. Panicking won’t help me. There’s nothing I can do for Onyx from here. Our pack will take care of him. They must have heard his howl and were probably seconds away. He'll be fine, I have to believe it.
I'm in a basement. It's a fancy basement, with crown molding circling the ceiling, but still terrifying considering the circumstances. An old suede sofa sits behind me, and to my left is a thick flat-screen television. Past the television, a kitchenette is tucked into the corner. Twisting behind me, I can see two open doors, one to a dim bedroom and one to a bathroom.
The entire basement smells damp and dusty. At least it doesn't smell like a serial killer works down here.
So, where the hell am I, and who would kidnap me?
The door at the top of the stairs clicks and swings open.
A willowy woman saunters down the stairs - Ferris's mate, Sienna. Slate’s mom.
"Hello, Hazel." Her voice is rich and charismatic.
Her chocolate hair falls in a perfect blow-out and her cheeks are carved out like a movie star. She's glamourous. And she's the woman who abandoned her child, my partner. I hate her instantly.
"I'm glad I finally get to meet my son's mate," she croons.
Irritation cuts through me. "You don't deserve to call him your son. He doesn't call you a mother."
She smirks, crossing her arms.
Now that I've opened my mouth, I can't help but continue. "When he finds me, you're going to seriously regret touching me."
"Maybe." She shrugs. “Please, take a seat.”
