Ransom by Callie Rhodes
Chapter Three
It was over in seconds. From the moment Fulmer's men's eyes lit up in terror to when he'd tossed their lifeless bodies to the ground, Ransom had barely taken a breath.
Now he stared down at his blood-soaked hands, overtaken by a powerful emotion he couldn't name. It wasn't quite satisfaction—justice was still a long way off—and it wasn't regret, not by a long shot. The feeling rushing through his veins now was far more complex, falling somewhere in between.
But he did know the emotion’s source, and it wasn’t the act of violence itself.
It was her.
This woman who had come so close to discovering him yesterday. Even as the old car had barreled straight for the gully, Ransom had picked up the scent that confirmed that she was in the car. That unforgettable perfume of sunflowers and wild ginger and sassafras.
But this time, she wasn't alone. The men in the car with her stank of disdain and brutality—a combination he knew all too well from his years in the Basement. These were Fulmer's men. His lackeys. His killers.
And their intent was clear. They were taking the woman with the hypnotic scent far away from the other betas to kill her.
Ransom didn't know why, and he didn't care. All he knew was that he wasn't about to let Fulmer hurt one more innocent soul. Especially not one who had dominated his imagination all night long. Fulmer and those like him were vermin to be eliminated, and as an alpha, Ransom accepted that the job fell to him.
And now she was safe.
Though it was clear from her pallor and the terror in her eyes that she didn't know that. She regarded him with pure horror—a look that Ransom was all too familiar with.
He’d seen that expression on the faces of the beta women who had been kidnapped and brought to the Basement to be used in Fulmer’s twisted experiments when they caught their first sight of an alpha. Ransom had felt sorry for them, but their scent had never made him feel this protective.
It's not her, he told himself. It's just that you haven’t been free long enough to get used to it.
But that was going to change. For the first time in eight long years, Ransom could finally act on his protective instincts. For the first time, he could make a difference.
He had no idea what someone who smelled so sweet was doing out here. All he knew was that she didn't belong—not among the cops or the firefighters or the soldiers.
It wasn't that she wasn't tough; her fear was overlaid by powerful courage and determination. But she had none of the thirst for power, the conniving and cruelty that marked every one of the Basement’s employees. Nor was she like the vulnerable, desperate female subjects who Fulmer had tortured to death.
No: whoever she was, the woman who’d drawn herself up to her full five and a half to look up into his eyes had come here on purpose.
Ransom let himself watch her a moment longer, absorbing everything he could with his senses. Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the earth, and the stirring of its creatures—these were such new luxuries that he couldn't get enough of them. But this woman outshone all of them, a being of such exquisite energy and beauty that Ransom wasn't entirely sure she was real.
He'd never allowed himself to indulge in fantasies during his time in the Basement, but if he had, she was exactly what he would have imagined.
Curvy like an old-fashioned pin-up girl, the swell of her breasts and hips straining against her flowery blouse and lemon-colored skirt were complemented by shapely, plump arms and bee-stung lips and a riot of pale curls that were doing their best to escape their hairpins. Her eyes were the color of caramel and round as saucers.
Until she had come along, Ransom had been as sure of himself as he'd ever been in his life. The fates had given him a chance to seek vengeance, and he was a thousand percent ready to do so, fueled by adrenaline and the powerful vigor of freedom. The appearance of this woman was not in the plan, and, gorgeous though she might be, Ransom didn't know what to make of her.
He tried to call up his single-minded desire for vengeance. He still needed to finish off the last soldier, who was still howling like a stuck pig in the car, but now he felt pulled in different directions.
Unbelievably, at the moment, the allure of the woman in front of him was somehow stronger than his drive to mete out justice.
Maybe it was just her courage that held him transfixed. It wasn't a common quality in a beta, but she'd been incredibly brave bailing out of a moving car like that. She had to be hurting from the fall, but she didn't seem to notice.
In fact, she didn't seem to be aware of anything but him. Ransom was almost tempted to wonder if she'd been looking for him—that she'd sought out his hiding place yesterday and lured Fulmer's men to this location on purpose—but that was impossible.
The air was thick with the scent of her innocence in addition to her shock at seeing an alpha.
In all likelihood, this woman had come here yesterday looking for the same thing as him: a hiding place where the bastards couldn't track her down. But what had she done to draw their ire?
Just then, the breeze lifted a slip of paper attached to her shirt, twisting it to reveal lettering on the other side.
PRESS
Gretchen Conrad
Omaha Register
She was a…journalist?
Ransom knew he shouldn't be surprised that the press had already arrived. If he hadn't been in such a fog of…whatever was scrambling his senses at the moment, he would have already guessed that. There was no other reason for an outsider to drive out to the middle of nowhere, to confront the military swarming around the scene, to brave what sure as hell looked like a deadly infrastructure attack unless she was being paid to be there.
Weirdly, the realization was a bitter one—a part of him wanted her to have come just for him, an embarrassingly foolish thought.
Ransom couldn't afford to be distracted. He forced himself to consider Gretchen Conrad, reporter.
He wondered what Gretchen had done to make Fulmer want her dead, but he knew from experience that it wouldn't have taken much. A sharp tone or a questioning glance had been enough for Fulmer to take people out in the past. But something told Ransom that she'd done a lot more than that.
In fact, it might have been her courage itself that got her in trouble. Fulmer had a limited view of a women's place, to say the least. Cooperative, submissive, weak—these were the qualities he appreciated in females.
Other people’s lives meant little to his former captor. Fulmer saw only assets and liabilities…and it was only a matter of time before the former became the latter, and they were summarily destroyed.
Ransom drew in another breath of her sweet perfume. He craved a hell of a lot more than that…but this wasn't the time. His only goal was revenge. He wouldn't stop until Fulmer's blood dripped from his hands, until his screams faded to silence.
Until he'd delivered justice for his brother's stolen life.
"Woman," he said, his long-unused voice rough and gravelly. "These men can't hurt you anymore, but Fulmer will send more. Keep running, and don't tell anyone what you saw here."
* * *
The sound of the alpha’s voice, as rusty as a tin bucket left out in the rain, shattered the spell freezing Gretchen in place.
She had no idea what the hell an alpha was doing in the middle of Nebraska, but she wasn't about to stick around and find out. "Keep running" seemed like damn good advice, no matter who it came from.
She turned and dashed for the dirt road in the distance, where the last of her colleagues were making their exit. She kept to the trees and prayed that none of the military men were watching the surrounding area for stragglers. Somehow, they'd managed to miss a huge alpha, and Gretchen hoped their inattention would hold just a little longer.
But the road was further than it looked, and Gretchen was out of breath and staggering from exertion long before she made it to the halfway point. She paused to rest in the shade of a tree, her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Her adrenaline rush had long since faded, leaving her with the opportunity to actually think, not just react.
Slowly, the enormity of what had just happened settled down on her like a suffocating blanket. Gretchen struggled to come to grips with this new reality. It was far too overwhelming to take in all at once. So she focused on the three things she knew for sure:
1. Someone from the government wanted her dead
2. She was on the run for her life
3. An alpha had killed her pursuers
Remarkably, it was the last of these facts that strained credibility the most. A real live alpha, over seven feet tall and twice as broad in the shoulders as any man she'd ever seen, in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska, thousands of miles from any of the Boundarylands?
What the hell was going on?
Gretchen forced herself to start moving again. Jogging through the field, her sneakers caught in the brambles, adding to the cuts on her legs. Her skirt was ripped and stained, her blouse unsalvageable. Even if she managed to catch up with one of the departing vehicles, she'd have a hell of a time explaining herself—and even worse, that would be the end of her exclusive.
She calculated that it would take her another twenty minutes to reach the dirt path, maybe less if she managed a second wind. With luck, she'd get there in time to flag someone down and hitch a ride back to Omaha—or anywhere, for that matter, where people weren't trying to kill her.
Or…
No. There could be no 'or.' The only version of this story with a happy ending was the one where she was back at her desk by tonight, working feverishly to report everything she'd seen.
The article she would submit to Jeremy would be filled with more questions than answers, speculation with no proof. The more she thought about it, Gretchen realized how little she really had to work with. A massive explosion, mystified first responders, an obviously false official version… not to mention a foiled assassination attempt, and an alpha attack that no one but her had witnessed.
No one would believe her. Especially not Jeremy. Submitting an unsubstantiated piece would only confirm his suspicion that she didn't have the chops for serious reporting. Gretchen would be back on school board meetings before she knew what hit her. Even knowing that none of her male colleagues had gotten a story worth reporting either was little solace.
Gretchen debated with herself, watching the last of the media vans heading for the road. Before long, there would be no one left but the military, the mysterious man in the dark suit…and the alpha.
She swayed back and forth on her feet, caught between safety and ambition.
What would Mom do?
Gretchen didn't have to think twice—she knew her mother wouldn't dream of leaving. Mad Dog Conrad would never let a few bullets and an alpha get in the way of a story.
"Damn it," Gretchen whispered, then turned around and headed back the way she'd come.