Ransom by Callie Rhodes

Chapter Eleven

Sitting alone on the cold, hard ground in the middle of nowhere, Gretchen suddenly remembered attending a speech her mother had given. She'd been only seven or eight at the time, not old enough to fully understand the context of what was happening on the stage. No one had explained to her what a commencement speech was. All she knew, fidgeting on the hard wooden chair next to her grandmother, was that the rows of students in their nice gowns were hanging onto her mother's every word as if it was the most important advice they would ever receive.

"Tell the story," her mother had counseled the audience that day. "It doesn't matter if you work for a small, local paper or an international media outlet—or even if you become a stay-at-home parent and write the PTA newsletter. If there is a truth that needs to be told, you have the chance to change the world."

That was the day Gretchen realized that her mother was someone important—someone she should strive to emulate. But ever since then, she'd always felt like she was lagging behind. Her mother’s stories had changed the world, but so far, Gretchen only got to write stories about bake sales and bridesmaid gowns.

Until now.

Now, she finally had a story that was worth telling. One that had the potential to change everything. So with Ransom off foraging or whatever he was doing, she cleared the fog from her head and started writing it down.

She started at the beginning and wrote out every detail she could remember, determined to record everything Ransom told her. It was surprisingly easy. Unlike the article about the most flattering shades of white that she'd churned out at the expo, this story was so compelling that it practically wrote itself. It followed an arc of tragedy, heartbreak, and harsh justice. It was imbued with gripping suspense—and it featured a protagonist who was literally bigger than life and unambiguously heroic.

Gretchen paused and looked at the word she'd just written. A week ago, she couldn't have imagined using the word ‘heroic’ in the same paragraph as ‘alpha,’ unless she was describing one of the beta border guards or special ops soldiers who'd lost their lives in recent Boundarylands conflicts.

But it had become obvious to her that those news stories were highly suspect if not downright false. And she had the feeling they were about to make her job—bringing attention to the injustice that had been done to hundreds of imprisoned alphas—much more difficult.

How was she supposed to go up against the propaganda the government was churning out?

If Fulmer had his way, Gretchen's efforts would be quashed before they could ever see print. He'd made it clear that he would kill to keep his secrets; he'd already murdered untold numbers of alphas and betas alike.

But as Gretchen furiously wrote about this monumental travesty, she kept finding herself returning to one man's story: Ransom's.

She imagined him confined to his cell, day after day. The torment he'd endured. The rage that had burned inside him. The indignities and savagery he'd been subjected to as he watched his brothers die, over and over again, including his twin brother—without ever being allowed to grieve.

No wonder Ransom craved revenge. If Gretchen had been in his shoes, she would want it too. If she’d been made to endure that level of pain and torture, her thirst for vengeance would extend to all of betakind. She had a feeling most people would feel the same.

But not Ransom.

He was laser-focused on Fulmer alone, seemingly indifferent to everyone who stayed out of his way.

How could that be? Ransom said he didn't lie, and Gretchen believed him. He only killed those who deserved it. And somehow, he was able to see those men—his captors and Fulmer's soldiers—as distinct from the rest of the larger society that allowed him to be demonized and imprisoned in the first place.

Which quite possibly made an alpha a better person than Gretchen herself was.

When her mother died, Gretchen had felt so many dark, painful emotions, but there was nowhere to focus her rage. After all, it wasn't as if she could take revenge on cancer. So instead, she pushed those emotions down and tried to carry on, but things were never the same.

Gretchen had lost some of her fire, her passion. She'd stopped thinking about the stories she wanted to tell and instead focused on the ones her mother never had a chance to. That only led to resentment and bitterness when she was assigned stories that were of no interest to her.

But all those poisonous feelings faded when Ransom was around.

His presence somehow calmed and soothed her…even while her physical response to him ignited. She wanted him—more than she could remember wanting any other man. Wanted to touch the smooth, taut skin that was already browning in the sun. To kiss him—God, every time she thought about kissing his lips, his strong jaw, the rough planes of his brow and cheeks, she lost track of everything else, as dizzy as a spinning top.

She wanted plenty more than that, too.

But thoughts like that could only get in the way while she was reporting what was undoubtedly the most important story of her life. So Gretchen forced those feelings away, bent over her notebook, and kept writing.

She'd filled six pages when a shadow fell across the mouth of the cave. Ransom stood watching her, a rabbit dangling from his hand, its head hanging at an unnatural angle.

Whoa. Had he killed it with his bare hands?

For someone whose meals most often came from the prepared foods section at the grocery store, in uniform, neatly-packaged portions, the sight of a meal in its natural state was startling…but not unappealing.

She could say the same thing about the alpha who had caught it. There was something about Ransom's stance that signaled the height of masculinity. He hadn't merely provided her with dinner; he'd gone out and killed it himself.

A shiver traveled up the now-familiar path of her spine, and Gretchen cleared her throat to cover it and said the first thing that came into her head. "Wow…how did you catch it?"

"Grabbed it," Ransom shrugged. "Took it by surprise. Outran it."

Gretchen nodded, though she knew damn well no ordinary man could outrun a rabbit. No beta, that was for sure. But none of the rules seemed to apply now that she was keeping company with an alpha.

She turned her attention back to her work, even though the words swam before her eyes. Behind her, she heard Ransom moving around out on the ledge. She peeked up to see him skinning the rabbit with a wicked-looking knife.

He must have taken it off one of the soldiers he'd killed. Which was an unwelcome reminder of Gretchen’s brush with death, something she'd managed to barely think about so far that morning. The sooner she got this story written, the sooner she could get out of this cave, this wilderness, and back to civilization.

Ransom let her work in quiet while he gathered wood for a fire and fashioned a spit from a branch he carved to a sharp point. Once the rabbit was suspended over a crackling fire, he sat down on the floor of the cave close to Gretchen.

"You're worried about something." It was a statement rather than a question, an unsettling reminder of Ransom's ability to read what was going on inside her. Thank God his ability was limited to her emotions and not her actual thoughts…though at times like this, Gretchen wasn't sure there was much of a difference.

"I'm not," she said, then thought better of her knee-jerk denial. "At least nothing you need to be concerned about. The story is coming along well."

"Is that right?"

His intense gaze gave nothing away, and Gretchen squirmed uncomfortably. "Yeah, better than well, actually. I think it might be the best thing I've ever written."

"I wasn't arguing with you, Gretchen. I don't doubt that the story is good." Did the man never blink? "But you're feeling anxious, and I want to know why."

Gretchen had no idea how to respond. It would take forever to explain the inner workings of the news media business, but even more importantly, she wasn't used to being spoken to the way Ransom was speaking to her.

It wasn't that he was curt and demanding—men had been ordering Gretchen around since her first day on the job at her campus newspaper, and it had only gotten worse as she worked her way up the ladder. The difference was that all those beta men made assumptions about her just because she was a woman. They thought they knew her and took advantage of that to exert their power over her.

With Ransom, it was almost the opposite. He didn't pretend to know what she was thinking and feeling…he didn't have to. He read her like a book, and when he ordered her to do something, it wasn't because he had something to prove or wanted to make her feel inferior. In fact, every command he'd given her so far had been in the interest of their survival.

Not once since meeting Ransom had Gretchen found him demeaning or patronizing or insulting. Even though he towered over her, he never talked down to her.

He was direct to a fault, telling her what to do and trusting her to see the purpose behind it. He was making sure her needs were met, and his as well—food, shelter, and staying alive.

If only he could see to the rest of her needs…

Damn it. Gretchen gripped her pencil so tightly in frustration that it threatened to snap. What the hell was wrong with her? She dragged her attention back to the conversation, hoping she'd caught herself in time to prevent Mr. Mind Reader from seeing too much.

"Okay, I'll tell you. I'm worried that no matter how good the story is, Jeremy's going to refuse to publish it."

One of Ransom's thick, dark eyebrows lifted. "Why would he do that?"

"You heard our last conversation. I don't even know if I'm still on the Register's payroll. Even if I am, Jeremy's never had much of a backbone as an editor. If Fulmer threatens him, he'll give in without a fight." Gretchen sighed and stared at the fire licking the roasting meat. "Or maybe I'm being too hard on him. A little local paper like ours doesn't really have the power to stand up to the government."

Ransom thought about that for a moment, turning the spit as delicious aromas drifted toward Gretchen, making her stomach growl.

"Then who does?" he finally asked. "Who can stand up to him?"

"Well, the Chicago Tribune, for a start. The Washington Post, the New York Times, Buzzfeed…a few others."

"So why aren't you working for them?"

Gretchen gave a bitter laugh. "Believe me, I'd love to, but none of the big outlets have hired female journalists for years. I'm lucky to have the job at the Register."

"You're telling me they wouldn't hire a woman even for a story like this?"

That was actually a good question, come to think of it. So far, Gretchen had been working under the assumption that Jeremy would simply reassign the story, but as far back as she could remember, no one had ever done an interview with an alpha.

And Ransom wasn't just some disgruntled resident of the Boundarylands but a rogue alpha, hundreds of miles from alpha territory with a heck of a story to tell, one that would rock the government to the highest levels.

Maybe if she put out some feelers. She could send a photo of her and Ransom as proof that she’d secured the interview. Hell, if she handled it just right, she might even provoke a bidding war. Which could lead to a better job, or at the very least, better assignments at the Journal.

But before any of that could happen, there was a story to finish, and it wasn't going to get done while Ransom was distracting her. It would be one thing if he was just minding his own business on the other side of the cave, but he hadn't stopped moving since his return.

Apparently, it wasn't enough that he'd caught their dinner with his bare hands, skinned and dressed it, built a fire with no matches or lighter—now he was honest-to-God carving a plate out of a thick layer of bark he'd stripped from a fallen tree.

None of which should be sexy, but when he slid the roasted rabbit onto the bark platter, Gretchen nearly groaned out loud, torn between hunger and horniness.

"The meat needs to rest," he told her. "Get back to work. I'll let you know when it's time to eat."

"Okay, but I need something from you first. A photo."

"Why?" Ransom demanded warily.

"Don't worry, it's not for my locket. The story's a lot more likely to get picked up if I have proof."

After a moment, Ransom gave a grudging nod. "Where do you want to take it?"

"Where doesn't matter, but, um, I have to be in it," Gretchen stammered, then hastily added, "To prove you talked to me willingly."

Ransom narrowed his eyes as if she'd suggested he put flowers in his hair and strike a pose. Still, he came to stand rigidly at her side long enough for Gretchen to take a few selfies.

The moment she lowered her phone, Ransom ducked out of the cave and disappeared over the ledge. Now that he was finally gone, Gretchen could concentrate enough to plow through the rest of the first draft. She snapped a photo of the first page and sent it and one of the selfies to half a dozen top news outlets before Ransom returned carrying water in a huge, oddly-shaped synthetic container. He was shirtless once again, his damp hair plastered against his skull.

"Got this water from the spring," he said—and Gretchen realized that he'd torn a section of the bumper off the jeep to serve as a jug.

While Gretchen was trying to figure out the most dignified way to convey the water from the bumper to her mouth, Ransom carved the roasted rabbit into thick slices and mounded them on the platter. Then he sat down across from her. He cut a piece and held it out to her on the knife, and Gretchen took it delicately with her fingers and slipped it into her mouth.

And groaned with pleasure. She was hungrier than she could ever remember being, and the fire-roasted meat was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. Ransom chuckled as she devoured bite after bite, washing it down with the fresh, cold water and wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Her friends would be horrified.

Gretchen didn't care.

Ransom finished eating first and watched her with a trace of amusement. When the last of the meat was gone and she was finally stuffed, Gretchen draped her hands over her belly. "Damn, that was good."

Ransom watched her a moment longer with that inscrutable gaze before standing. "I need to put out the fire."

It was on the tip of Gretchen's tongue to ask him if that was really necessary. It would be so nice to sit here and watch the flickering flames, their bellies pleasantly full, warming themselves at the fire's edge.

But in the next moment, she remembered what they were running from.

Ransom picked up the remaining water in the makeshift jug, his muscles rippling in the firelight, and doused the flames. He was briefly enveloped in a rush of smoke and steam. When it cleared, he stood over the glowing embers, an almost mythic figure silhouetted against the indigo sky.

Gretchen's gaze locked on his broad shoulders, his rippling abs. Her eyes adjusted to the dim twilight, and she saw that Ransom was watching her with an almost predatory smirk, as though he'd saved room for dessert and she was on the menu.

That was probably in her imagination, but it didn't matter—the image was now stuck in her mind. Ransom, undressing her with his eyes. Walking toward her over the dying fire. Bending down to take her hand. Lifting her up against the wall and—

Oh God, he knew every single thing she was thinking. It was obvious from the way his lips curled into a wolfish smile, the sparks in his dark eyes.

Gretchen didn't think she could take much more of this. For the first time she could remember, she was losing the battle with her libido. And the worst part was that there was nothing she could do to hide that fact from Ransom.

Again she said the first thing that came to her mind in a desperate effort to take the edge off the situation. "How did you know to do all this—" gesturing to include the fire, the empty jug, the bones that remained from their meal, "—if you've been living in a cage for the last decade?"

Too late, Gretchen realized how insensitive the question was, but Ransom didn't seem bothered.

"I learned some of it growing up," he said. "We were one of those beta families that didn't move to the big city when everyone else did. But I have to say that it's all…easier, somehow, now. Instinctive."

"You mean, because of your alpha nature?"

"What else could it be?"

"But…" Gretchen strove to find the words for what she wanted to know. If she'd woken up one day with a completely new nature, she would have learned everything she could about it. She loved research; it was one of her favorite things about writing features. "Aren't you curious? I mean, about why you can do things no one else can?"

Ransom laughed. "Things no beta can do, maybe. But I'd bet my left arm that every one of my alpha brothers could do this too. In fact, I bet they're doing the same kind of stuff right now, seeing as they're all on the run."

Gretchen thought about that for a moment. When she'd first learned of the alpha escape, she was horrified—all those dangerous killing machines roaming the country unchecked. Now, for the first time, she considered that they might have a lot in common with Ransom. Which made them seem a lot less frightening…and what had been done to them all the more outrageous.

"I'm just sorry that all of you have to," she said quietly.

This time Ransom's bark of laughter echoed around the cave. "Are you kidding? Living off the land like this—it's better than I ever let myself imagine. I finally feel…like myself. Relying on my instincts makes everything a hell of a lot easier." He gazed at her, the predatory look back in his eyes. "You ought to give it a try."

"I am," Gretchen blurted, her heart racing under his intense scrutiny. "I just ate fire-roasted rabbit in a cave."

"That's not exactly what I meant," he rumbled.

Oh, God—despite her efforts to head this off, they were going deeper into dangerous territory.

"I know. But you have to remember, beta instincts aren't supposed to be like your alpha ones," she said. "They're not meant to keep us fed and warm out here in the wilderness. They're the opposite of yours—to avoid danger and the unknown."

"Like your mother did?" Ransom shot back.

Ouch. Before Gretchen could respond, Ransom added in a somewhat conciliatory tone, "Look, Gretchen, you're selling yourself short. Your instincts have kept you alive so far—they've helped you escape trained soldiers and stay clear of Fulmer. Hell, they brought you back to me even after I tried to get rid of you."

Yeah, that…Ransom had definitely tried to get rid of her, which stung even more. "No, you were right the first time," she sighed. "None of that was really me. I was just doing what I thought my mom would have done. If any instincts were involved, they were hers."

"Bullshit."

For some reason, Ransom sounded almost angry. How was she supposed to make him understand? For the first time, Gretchen wished her mother had taken her along on some of her more dangerous missions, the way Ransom's family had taken him into the wild.

"It's true," she insisted. "Ever since Mom died, I've been trying to fill the empty space she left behind. But I've never been good enough. She was a natural at walking into danger. She'd do whatever it took to get her story, even when no one else dared to try. I'm not like that." She swallowed down the painful lump in her throat. "With me, it's like I'm always fighting with my fear."

Ransom was silent. He picked up a stick and used it to shovel dirt over the embers, causing more smoke to spiral into the night sky.

Gretchen was chastising herself for saying too much when he finally cleared his throat, his eyes staring out over the valley, seeing a landscape she could only guess at in the dark.

"It was the same way with Ryan. He was…he was the real alpha. I was born three minutes before him, but he was always stronger than me. Better at everything." He gave the fire pit a savage poke, sending sparks arcing into the air. "Everything I've done in the last eight years…everything I'm doing now…it's just to make sure Ryan didn't die for nothing.

Gretchen's heart filled with sadness for Ransom. She understood…but it seemed wrong that he would carry the kind of pain he did. After all, he'd done nothing to deserve it.

"You can't think that way," she said. "You're –you're a great alpha. You survived when so many of your brothers died in that lab. You escaped the impossible. And you've saved my life over and over. You found us shelter and food and water and kept us safe."

"Ryan would have done it better."

Gretchen flinched at the harshness of his tone, but she forced herself to go over to him, making him look at her.

"Don't say that," she implored. "It's exactly what Fulmer wants, to pit you against your memories. To steal all the joy from your life until you stop caring."

Ransom scowled but said nothing. Gretchen took a tentative step closer. "If you really want to get your revenge on Fulmer, you have to honor your brother, not be haunted by him. The only way you'll win is by living the life you deserve, the one Fulmer tried to take from you—with passion and no regrets."

"You don't believe that," Ransom said bitterly.

Gretchen widened her eyes in confusion. She was telling the truth—and it came straight from her heart, and if that didn't make it instinctive, she didn't know what did. "Yes, I do."

But Ransom only shook his head. "If you did, then you'd also believe that your mom would have wanted the same thing for you."

Gretchen opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak, the truth washed over her like warm rain. Ransom was right—she hadn't been living her own life, not for a long time. Instead, she'd been living in the memory of her mom, trying to do what was right for her mom.

Not what was right for her.

As the smoke drifted out over the valley and a fat yellow moon crested the horizon, something shattered inside her, and a spark burst into flames among the shards. Unlike the fire that Ransom had put out to keep them safe, this one was hers to tend.

Gretchen's eyes might not be as keen as Ransom's, but she could see this moment clearly. Up until now, she'd had been fighting a futile battle—but no more.

Instead, she allowed the spark of possibility to kindle inside her. She decided that she would never again turn away from the path that was hers to follow.

Without even realizing what she was about to do, she closed the gap between her Ransom—then she kissed him.