Ransom by Callie Rhodes

Chapter Fourteen

They'd been found—and it was all her fault.

Gretchen's heart slammed out a galloping medley of terror and guilt as Ransom went rigid and covered her mouth with his hand. His face turned toward the source of the barrage.

She had expected that Fulmer would answer their escape by dialing up his response to the highest levels that army technology and firepower allowed—jets, airstrikes, heavy artillery—but apparently, he liked to stay in his comfort zone.

That comfort zone being sending his soldiers in ground combat while he stayed completely safe and out of sight. No doubt he'd equipped them with body cameras so that he could watch their progress on a big screen somewhere far away.

Coward. The thought was accompanied by a surge of rage powerful enough to convince her that if she ever had the chance, she'd fight the evil bastard to the death. In a fair fight, she was certain that she would win.

But Fulmer would never allow that. Bullies like him abhorred the very idea of fairness. And now, she had provided him the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

It had only been a matter of seconds…a minute or two tops. Gretchen had turned on her phone last night to email the news outlets, and in that brief moment, Fulmer must have somehow pinged her. At the time, using her phone had seemed like a safe bet…how could Fulmer possibly have enough eyes on the vast area that he could zero in on them in such a short window?

But once again, she'd underestimated the son of a bitch.

Ransom tilted her chin with his free hand, making her look at him. He made a shushing gesture, and when she nodded, he took his hand off her mouth.

"I'm going to draw them away," he said quietly against her ear. "You'll be safe here—they're shooting blind. They don't know where we are."

Panic swelled inside Gretchen at the thought of him leaving her side, but she knew he was right. At the same time, the thought of Ransom exposing himself to all that firepower—the terrible risk of losing him—made her feel faint with despair.

Ransom brushed her lips with a kiss, and then he was gone, slipping naked under the water with the grace of a seal and leaving barely a ripple behind. Gretchen grasped the slippery branches and floated, praying harder than she ever had in her life.

* * *

Ransom knew he'd had given Gretchen a promise he had no right to make, and the thought tore into him harder than any threat from Fulmer. If anything happened to her—if she was killed—he wouldn't be able to go on.

He couldn't explain it. A day ago, he wouldn't have believed it. He sure as shit didn't have time to process it. All he knew was that ensuring his woman's safety was the single most important thing in life.

His woman.

The phrase hit him hard in the gut. Ever since the day Fulmer had injected him with a syringe full of thick colorless serum, he'd thought the idea impossible. But there was no denying it now.

Gretchen was his in all the ways that mattered, and now he was ready to fight his enemy with every fiber of his being to ensure her safety.

She was so vulnerable, a beta hunted by betas, an innocent drawn into a war in which she didn't belong, all because she believed in the truth.

But she also believed in him. And it was that knowledge that powered Ransom’s strong, sure strokes under the water, carrying his body silently along the bottom of the riverbank toward the source of the gunfire. He surfaced only a short distance away from the first soldier but blessedly far from where he'd left Gretchen.

Shaking the water out of his eyes, Ransom sent droplets spraying in every direction, not bothering to camouflage his presence. He needed the soldiers to find him, and he wasn't disappointed. Within seconds the first of the bullets hit the water close by, and he went under again.

Ransom had loved the water as a boy. Lakes, streams, public pools—it didn't matter. But it had never been like this. With his massive, powerful lungs, he felt like he could stay under the surface forever. His sense of hearing was barely diminished, and he could see through the cloudy river up onto the bank almost as clearly as if he was standing on its surface.

He heard the footsteps of the soldiers, the rustle of their gear, the beating of their hearts. They'd chosen a location where the bank dropped off sharply, no doubt believing the strong current would work against Ransom.

There were five of them, plenty experienced judging by the way they spread out silently and equally distanced along the shore, waiting for him to appear again. The bastards were probably expecting a corpse to float to the surface.

They were in for a hell of a disappointment.

Ransom stayed to the bottom of the river as he approached the beta on the end. The man was standing only inches from the edge, which made it easy to reach up and grab his ankle, taking one silent breath before pulling the man under. Ransom caught a glimpse of the shock in the soldier's eyes as he dragged him to the bottom, where he punched him in the throat and hooked his belt on a branch lodged in the mud, ensuring the body wouldn't be found for quite some time.

It was done in a matter of seconds.

Ransom heard confused cursing, but he was able to grab one more of them before the rest started shooting again. This one fought harder than the first as Ransom swam out into the current, letting it carry them while he strangled the life out of the soldier.

He released the body, knowing it could be carried for miles before it was snagged by a branch or spotted by a hiker, and swam back toward the bullets spraying the surface.

There were three men left, and they were wise enough to retreat from the shore, spreading out more.

The first two kills had buoyed Ransom’s confidence. Killing the men in the jeep had been pure instinct, with no strategy involved. But now, Ransom fully understood the awesome advantage he had over his enemy.

Not only was he physically superior in every way, but his enemies didn't understand what they were fighting. They hadn't trained for this.

More importantly, they weren't fighting for anything. They were simply following orders, or possibly killing for the rush of it.

But that wasn't the case for Ransom. He was defending what was his, and that made him nearly invincible. Without Gretchen, nothing mattered. And so he could not—would not—lose this battle.

He surfaced downriver from the soldiers in the shadow of a boulder and crept barefoot up the bank, as silent as a fox.

He imagined Fulmer starting to sweat back at the command tent next to the smoldering remains of his old prison. By now, the director had watched two of his cameras blink out under the dark water. But now Ransom would give him what he'd been waiting for—the chance to see his prey onscreen.

Ransom found one of the soldiers crouching on a stone ledge, scanning the water through binoculars. Snapping his neck was almost effortless. He turned the body over to make sure Fulmer got a good look at him before he smashed the camera attached to the soldier's chest with his heel.

He heard the burst of voices on the radio at the soldier's belt, frantic calls to retreat overridden by the voice that had tried to destroy him. "Find him, damnit!"

For eight years, Ransom’s abilities had been stunted by the unnatural conditions he was kept in until he'd come to believe he was helpless. And maybe it had been true for a while.

But Ransom was a free man now. No—a free alpha. Made of flesh and blood, sure. Destined to die someday like any other man. But that day was not today.

He had not started this fight. He had no quarrel with betas as long as they left him and Gretchen alone. But any man—alpha or beta—who threatened Ransom or his woman had bought a ticket to his own death.

He spotted another soldier climbing down from the tree in which he'd been hiding a hundred yards away, and picked up a rock. This was too easy. He hit the man squarely in the skull, and a cloud of red mist lingered in the air after the body crashed to the earth.

Ransom ran toward the last soldier, who was on his knee in a shooting stance with a look of horror on his face, finger on the trigger of his assault rifle. The spray of bullets went wild as he screamed—and Ransom barely felt the sharp sting of the one that found its mark as he launched himself through the air, knocking him over and rolling with him down the slope before coming to a stop near the edge of the bank.

The man was gibbering in terror when Ransom crushed his windpipe, then pushed his face into the water and held it there until the valley was finally peaceful and quiet again. Then he rolled the dead soldier onto his back.

"Hello, Fulmer," Ransom said into the camera on his chest as he rifled through the dead beta's vest. "Are you getting tired of losing yet?"

"Number forty-two," Fulmer's voice crackled over the radio after a few seconds. "How disappointing."

"Yeah, I'm still alive. And so is Gretchen. And the story she's written is going to go out all over the world, you bastard."

Ransom smashed the camera down onto a rock and tossed the splintered remains into the river.

* * *

The bullets had stopped what seemed like ages ago, even though Gretchen knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. The screaming had continued a little longer—the most horrible sound she'd ever heard.

The worst thoughts teased at the boundaries of her mind. It took everything she had not to believe that the bullets had struck but not killed Ransom; that the soldiers were torturing him now as punishment for killing their comrades or maybe simply for daring to come after them.

If that were true, they'd find her in no time, as soon as they finally put him out of his misery. But surprisingly, she didn't care.

If Ransom was dead…if she'd never again see those copper glints in his beautiful dark eyes…never hear his deep, rumbling voice saying her name…then she wasn't sure life was worth living.

"Gretchen!"

For a second, she was certain that her fears had conjured Ransom's voice from her imagination, but when she heard him call out to her again, Gretchen knew it was no hallucination.

She dove underneath the water, surfacing on the other side of the log, and spotted him rushing over the rocky shore toward her, his forearms and chest streaked with blood. She crawled out onto the weedy bank, and Ransom scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

"You're alive," she said, somehow laughing and crying at the same time.

"You need to have more faith in me," he rumbled. "I can handle five lousy betas."

Fiveof them? Gretchen supposed she shouldn't be shocked—after all, he'd defended her against incredible threats twice already.

But then she noticed the bright red, spreading stain on his shirt and struggled out of his arms so she could take a look.

"You're hurt! Oh my God, they shot you!"

Ransom batted her hand away. "I'm fine."

"You're not. Let me see."

This time he let her, rolling his eyes. "Gretchen, I've been through so much worse, believe me. This pain is nothing next to, well…"

He didn't want to say it, wanted to spare her knowing the torture he'd been through. But there was a hole in his side, a neat round bullet hole with another, slightly more ragged one in his back.

She had to get him help. They were safe for the moment, the threat dead on the ground, and all she had to do was get him to the jeep and back to civilization and—

—and she had no idea what to do after that. It wasn't as if she could take him to the emergency room.

She'd have to figure out the rest later because all that mattered right now was keeping him alive…which he was making very difficult by refusing to let her lead him.

"Gretchen. Enough."

"But the bullet went all the way through you!"

"That's a good thing," he said gently. "It didn't hit anything important."

"We need to clean the wound and bandage you up," she insisted. "You should rest here while I get supplies. You need to save your energy until we get to a doctor."

She had no idea if that was true or not, but it sounded good.

"We're not doing any of that. We've got to keep moving. Seriously, I'll be fine."

"Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?" Gretchen blurted, tears of frustration in her eyes.

"I'm not. I'm taking care of you."

Taking care of her?

But he was the one that was injured. She didn't need care. He did.

"I know this is hard for you to understand," he continued. "But I'm going to be fine. In a day or two, the wound will be scarred over. I heal fast, Gretchen, and it'll take a hell of a lot more than a single shot to bring me down."

It was an incredible claim, but then again, Ransom was an incredible man. One she had no trouble believing.

"Right," she said with a sharp breath. "Okay. No resting. But I'm going to clean that wound no matter what you have to say about it. Now give me your shirt."

When he pulled it over his head and handed it to her, it almost looked like he was trying not to smile. Gretchen turned her back on him and waded back into the water. As she rinsed out the shirt, cleaning it as best she could, his words still echoed in her head.

I'm taking care of you.

No one had taken care of her since…since her mother had died. Even in the final days, when her mother couldn't get out of bed, couldn't eat, fading in and out of consciousness, she spent every lucid moment making Gretchen promise not to dwell on her death but to live her own life to the fullest. Taking care of her the only way she could.

Tears spilled down Gretchen’s cheeks. It was all too much—the terrifying last few days, but also the knowledge that she hadn't lived her life to the fullest as she'd promised. She'd let her mother down.

But that stopped now.

She wrung the water from the battered shirt and turned back to find Ransom watching her, shaking his head and grinning. Gretchen wiped her tears away with the heels of her hands before going back to him.

"Give me your knife. And wipe that smile off your face."

Ransom laughed. "Oh, you're going to pay for that," he said, handing over the smaller folding knife. "Didn't we talk about who gives the orders around here?"

Gretchen tried to ignore the shiver that his words sent through her and got to work. For the next few minutes, she cut strips from the bottom of his shirt and tied them together to form a bandage, wrapping it tightly around his waist to cover both wounds. When he put the shirt back on, it barely covered his chest.

"Maybe we should get you a shirt from one of the…bodies," Gretchen said, hoping Ransom hadn't noticed the catch in her voice. Fat chance.

"No fucking way," Ransom growled. "I'm not wearing any damn shirt issued by the beta army. Besides, I got what I needed off those assholes."

"Okay," Gretchen said, not missing a beat. "Then you have to stay here while I go up and get my stuff."

Ransom scowled. "There's no way I'm going to let my woman—"

"I agreed to keep going." Gretchen had already interrupted him when she realized what he'd said. My woman. It took her a moment to recover. "And I'm not making you change your shirt, so—"

Ransom snorted. "You can't 'make' me do anything, woman."

She folded her arms over her chest to cover the flush of desire creeping over her skin. "And you don't get to 'let' me do anything. Let's get that clear, right now."

Ransom looked shocked, and then he laughed so hard that a fresh red stain seeped into the bandage.

"Fair. I'll play along this time," he said. "I'm keeping my eye on you though, and if you take one wrong turn—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll come racing after me," Gretchen said, and now she was the one who turned away to cover her smile. "You're not the only one who can climb a hill, alpha."

It was easy enough to retrace their steps, crossing the grassy flat bottomland to the base of the incline and hiking up the path Ransom had taken. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Gretchen felt surprisingly energetic and strong. In fact, she was barely winded despite the steepness of the climb, finding hand- and foot-holds that would have eluded her when Ransom had first carried her up.

Maybe this tenderfoot had potential after all, Gretchen thought. She'd always considered herself an indoor kind of girl, but perhaps she'd sold herself short. Sure, this stuff came easy to Ransom because it was built into his nature. But she'd bet she was doing way better than most of her colleagues ever could.

She must have inherited her sure-footedness from her mother, who'd outrun a deposed Nigerian emir who'd surfaced at the Atlanta airport—while wearing heels.

But something was nagging at the back of Gretchen’s mind—specifically, the memory of touching Ransom behind the waterfall...or rather the memory of not being able to stop touching him, as though it was as necessary as breathing. And then there was the horrible emptiness inside her when he'd walked away from her to deal with the soldiers—a sense of loss that outweighed even her fear for their safety.

That was how omegas were supposed to feel.

For a moment, Gretchen felt electrified, first with horror, then with wonder—and then reason returned.

Ransom couldn't awaken dormant omegas. He'd told her so himself. Besides, she wasn't one.

But instead of being flooded with relief as she scrambled the last few hundred feet to the cave, Gretchen felt unsettled.

Almost…disappointed.