Ransom by Callie Rhodes

Chapter Five

Whatever Gretchen had expected to hear when Ransom agreed to tell her his story, the truth was so much more horrifying than anything she could have imagined.

The tale he wove began in a familiar enough fashion: a young man from Kansas experiencing an alpha transition at the age of seventeen, packed off by his family to the Southeastern Boundarylands aboard one of the secure train cars dedicated to that purpose.

Gretchen hadn't known any alphas personally, but there had been one in her cousin's class, and she'd gone to his going-away party. Melinda said the boy reminded her of a Rottweiler puppy, clumsy from its growth spurt with little evidence of the menacing police dog it would become.

Unlike that boy, however, Ransom had been forcibly removed from the train and brought to a secret laboratory where he was held for the better part of a decade, the subject of unthinkable, cruel experiments that amounted to little more than torture.

The man who'd ordered his kidnapping was Roger Fulmer, whose employment by the government was shrouded in such complete secrecy that only a handful of people knew what had been going on in the laboratory. Even most of the employees of the now-destroyed facility had no idea what had been going on deep underground.

That was why the fire had seemed to be rising from a pit, Gretchen realized, and why the first responders had been caught flatfooted. Burying his torture chamber deep below the surface of the earth was how Fulmer had been able to keep his terrible secret.

Because Ransom wasn't the only alpha Fulmer kidnapped. If Ransom was to believed—and nothing in his behavior even hinted at a lie—hundreds of alphas had been kidnapped and brought to the laboratory over the last decade. Only a fraction had survived, all of whom had escaped with Ransom just before the explosion.

Gretchen listened raptly, almost forgetting to breathe as the story unfolded. She forgot to check to make sure her phone was still recording. She forgot that they were sitting in a dry ditch or that they were on the run. All that mattered was the stunning narrative that Ransom grimly shared, sparing her none of the horror of what had happened to him and the others—and the beta subjects who were brought in to serve as guinea pigs for horrific, inhumane testing and experimentation.

As Ransom ticked off one sadistic procedure after another, Gretchen knew she would never be able to forget what she was hearing. Until this moment, she'd thought she'd never cover anything as awful as the things her mother had seen as a correspondent in war-torn countries. For the first time, she fully understood her mother's sacrifice.

Though Ransom spoke in a tone almost devoid of emotion, Gretchen didn't miss the deep, sharp pain in his eyes. Maybe that was what made her trust him—though her belief seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, almost as if it was instinctive. Which made little sense because it was alphas' instincts that distinguished them from betas even more than their overwhelming strength and power.

"They're not like normal people," she remembered one of the ‘experts’ on television saying when dormant omegas in the western part of the country started disappearing. "They have no conscience. No soul. They take what they want without remorse."

Gretchen still remembered the shiver that had gone through her, the result of what that pundit hadn't said. Those women would be lucky to be mauled to death rather than forced into sexual slavery.

Now, though, doubts began to nag at her. Ransom had done nothing to harm her. Instead, he'd saved her, twice, and was willingly handing over the story of the century. If Gretchen survived long enough to write it, she'd owe him her career.

Ransom gave her full names not only of the other alphas he'd been held with but also a few of the betas Fulmer had tricked or forced into becoming his victims. Some had been scientists whose expertise he needed to fulfill his ghastly purpose, but the rest were prostitutes, homeless drifters, small-time criminals—people whose disappearance wouldn't cause a ripple. All information Gretchen could easily verify once she got back to her desk in Omaha.

Which meant that he was handing her the truth about dozens of missing persons cases on top of everything else. Gretchen had come back to the scene hoping to sweep up the crumbs of a story and been handed the mother lode instead.

She had barely moved when Ransom finally reached the conclusion of his account. "After they said goodbye, Jax and Victoria headed outside to find Medina's car, and I went back inside to blow shit up."

"But how?" Gretchen asked when it was clear Ransom didn't plan to elaborate. For the first time, he looked slightly uncomfortable.

"There was a huge armory one story underground. Not just standard weapons, either, but bombs, grenades, military-grade C4—there was even a fucking rocket launcher in there. Fulmer wasn't messing around. He would have rather destroyed the whole place than let the truth get out."

"But how did you know what to do? How to, you know, fire it or set it off or—"

"I come from a military family," Ransom cut her off gruffly. "Four generations back. I grew up knowing all about this. Hell, I was planning on enlisting the day I turned 18 if…"

Without another word, Ransom stood and dusted his massive palms off on his pants before walking away. Clearly, he considered their conversation over.

Oh, hell no.

Gretchen wasn't about to let him drop that story in her lap and then ditch her with more questions than answers. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain from her scratches and bruises, and chased after him, forgetting all about her safety. She was out of breath when she caught up and tugged at his arm to make him stop.

Ransom stared down at her hand with distaste. Until that moment, Gretchen hadn't considered how small it must look from his perspective, how weak and insignificant she must be in his eyes. He could easily snap her bones or tear her hand off for daring to touch him. If he was truly angry, one swipe of his arm would smash her skull against the rocks, and she'd be done for.

But Ransom didn't do any of those things. Didn't even bother to shake off her grip. Instead, he gave her a perplexed look, as if she was a type of bug he'd never seen before.

And something kind of amazing happened, a strange surge of energy that filled her from head to toe. For the first time in Gretchen's life, she had the chance to really live up to the legacy of "Mad Dog" Conrad—to make her mother proud—and nothing was going to make her give it up.

Ransom's gaze traveled from her hand to her face, and the energy inside her flared. She refused to look away from those granite-gray eyes narrowed impatiently, that sculpted mouth drawn into a frown.

"Why the hell aren't you gone?" he snarled. "The deal was I'd tell you my story, and then you'd scamper off to write it down."

Scamper? Seriously? Gretchen had just interviewed a real live alpha in the field, for God's sake. The boys back at the office would shit their pants at the mere thought of doing such a thing.

"I don't 'scamper,'" she said hotly. "I'm a journalist, not some frightened little bunny. And that wasn't the deal at all. I promised to 'get the fuck gone' once you'd answered my questions. All my questions. After what you told me, you'd better believe I have a lot of questions."

A low rumble started in his chest, and since she still hadn't let go of his arm, Gretchen could feel its vibrations through her fingertips. He was trying to intimidate her, and she had to admit it was a damn effective tactic. With any of her colleagues, it would have worked like a charm.

But Gretchen had earned a black belt in surviving intimidation. She could practically see her mother winking as she repeated her favorite mantra—you can't let the bastards get you down, kid.

Her determination to prove her mettle only grew in the heat of his glare, and when he grabbed her forearms and tried to force her back the way they'd come, she leaned all her body weight against him.

Unfortunately, all the force she could muster didn't seem to have any effect on him at all, and he drove her back a few steps just to prove it. Then he stood glowering at her with his arms folded on his rock-hard chest.

Gretchen mirrored his stance, telling herself that she'd at least made the point that she wasn't going to stand for being brushed aside.

And then she scored a surprise victory when he was the first to break, dropping his arms with a sigh. "Then spit it out, woman. I've got shit to do."

"Like getting your revenge on Fulmer?"

Ransom faked a yawn. At least, Gretchen thought he was faking. "That's really the best you got?"

"Fulmer didn't look amused back there," she pressed. "I bet he doesn't plan to make it easy."

Ransom shot her a disgusted look. "So you're betting on the bastard who just tried to kill you."

"I don't bet on anyone." Other than herself, of course. Ransom was on the move again, and she had to jog to catch up, more like an annoying pup nipping at his heels than the daughter of the legendary Mad Dog. "As a journalist, I have to be unbiased."

That got his attention. He spun around and pinned her to the wall of dirt with a hand pressed against her chest, so fast she didn't see it coming. Fear hammered in her heart, just as it had the first time she laid eyes on him. The knowledge that he was using only a fraction of his power made her feel like she might faint.

"Don't fool yourself, woman," he muttered. "Out here, there's no such thing as neutral. You smell that smoke? You see the blood on my hands? This is a war zone. So you better choose right now which side you're on."

A rush of blood filled Gretchen's ears, almost enough to distract her from the fact that his fingers were splayed across her breasts. "I came back to the spot where three men tried to shoot me just so I could talk to you," she stammered. "I think it's pretty obvious whose side I'm on."

Ransom narrowed his eyes, studying her face. It was absurd to be locked in a staring contest with this terrifying human being. Any straight-thinking beta would be pissing her pants and praying for salvation, but all Gretchen felt was a strange flutter deep in her belly.

Those flinty, intelligent eyes boring into her made Gretchen feel as though Ransom could see inside her. Fast on the heels of the thought of any part of him inside her came a rush of mortification, her cheeks burning hotter than an August afternoon. God help her, he probably saw that too.

Whatever he saw, he apparently didn't like it much because he dropped his hand and backed away, and Gretchen found herself hustling after him again. At least it was easier to talk to his back.

"You don't want to talk about Fulmer? Fine. I've got plenty of other questions. For instance, where did all the other alphas go?"

"Don't know."

"So exactly how many of you are roaming around the middle of the country right now?"

"Didn't take a headcount."

He'd picked a fine time to clam up, but Gretchen was undaunted. "How many of them are like you and can no longer turn women?"

"No idea."

"Okay, fine," Gretchen said, exasperated. "What can you tell me?"

"Only what I told you already. That if you had any sense, you'd get the hell away from here."

"Same goes for you, though, doesn't it?" she shot back.

Ransom shook his head, but he didn't slow down. "I didn't go to all the trouble of dragging Fulmer back here just to give up now."

There was a coldness to his words, a bleak inevitability. Gretchen believed that he would get his vengeance even if it cost him his life. The question was why.

Ransom had been calm, almost indifferent when describing the torment he'd endured in that horrible place. The vengeance he sought wasn't for that but something else.

"What did Fulmer do to make you hate him this much?"

He tossed her a disgusted glance over his shoulder. "How the fuck can you ask that after everything I just told you? Weren't you listening?"

"I've paid close attention to every word that's come out of your mouth," Gretchen retorted. "And I've also heard what you haven't said."

Ransom stiffened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You said that everything that happened to you down there happened to the others, too. All of your alpha brothers. But that isn't exactly true, is it?"

She had his attention now. Ransom stopped, blocking her path with his body, and stared at her with open hostility…and the faintest hint of dread. "I told you I don't lie," he growled.

"I didn't say you lied. You're just not telling me everything." Gretchen took a gamble, trying not to think about what was at stake. "Fulmer did something to you that he didn't do to anyone else. Something… personal."

She held her breath. Ransom's expression didn't change. For a moment, they were at an impasse, staring at each other across the gulf of their cross purposes.

"You can't know that," he finally said.

There was no turning back now. "You said the other alphas took off as soon as they got out. Wherever they're headed, it's pretty clear they want to get as far away from here as they can. But not you."

The growl had started up inside him again, so low that Gretchen felt more than heard it. "Every last one of them had reason to want Fulmer dead. But one breath of fresh air was all it took to convince them that they loved their freedom more than they hated him. You stayed, and I know there's a reason."

Ransom let his gaze travel up and down her body, taking in every inch of her before the growl died away. "You're too damn smart for your own good."

"I get that a lot."

"It isn't a compliment."

"I know." Her voice trembled a little. The way he was looking at her was somehow more intimate even than when he'd shoved her against the wall. "Are you going to answer my question?"

Ransom said nothing. Moments ticked by, and still he didn't move. The breeze dipped into the gully and ruffled his hair, but otherwise, he might as well have been frozen. Gretchen was almost convinced that she was going to lose this round when he suddenly cleared his throat.

"Fulmer killed my twin brother. Ryan."

Oh, God.Gretchen clapped her hand over her mouth, aghast. Whatever she'd expected him to say—whatever she believed an alpha capable of doing—she hadn't been prepared for this.

"I'm so sorry, Ransom." The words tumbled from her mouth on a wave of guilt. If he was anyone else, she'd touch his arm, try to offer comfort. But his expression told her not to take that chance. "You didn't say…I didn't know."

"That's because I didn't want to talk about it," he snapped.

After a moment, though, he seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging. He looked past her, along the twisting crevice carved into the earth. "There was a reason Fulmer took us off that train. A pair of identical twins meant he could pinpoint our breaking points. One of us served as a control while the other…he would increase the intensity, little by little, until he pushed Ryan past what he could endure. Then he'd bring me right to that brink just to confirm I could survive it.

"Ryan was…gone, in every way that means anything, within a month. But it took him another year to die. Fulmer made me watch. Made me stand there while my brother took his last breath, unable to do a goddamn thing about it."

Ransom dragged his gaze back to Gretchen, forcing her to witness all the pain behind his words. "So yeah, I'd say it was pretty fucking personal."

"I'm so sorry," Gretchen repeated in a whisper.

"Save your pity," he said savagely. "I don't want it."

"But I swear I don't pity—"

She was slammed against the wall again, the impact knocking the breath from her. Ransom had one hand wrapped painfully around her bicep and the other covering her mouth to shut her up. She'd gone too far, and now he was going to kill her—

Except that he was looking upward, listening intently.

"Someone's coming. It sounds like a jeep," he muttered. Gretchen heard nothing. If Ransom was right, they were still a long way off. "Can you stay quiet?"

Gretchen nodded, exquisitely conscious of his hand pressing against her.

"Good. If you need to tell me something, whisper." He took his hand away but didn't let go of her arm.

"Should we run?"

He shook his head. "There's no cover. Nowhere to go."

"So, what do we do?" Gretchen fought the panic that churned inside her.

He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. "There's only three of them. Nothing to worry about."

Gretchen gulped. Three armed soldiers were nothing to worry about?

Apparently, they held very different definitions of that phrase.