97 - Kennedy


    I clutch at every object within reach as Dirk drags me forward relentlessly. They assume I''m merely struggling for show. Let them believe that it''s their ignorance that ys into my hands. Their underestimation of me, just because I''m human, is exactly what I need right now.


    "Ryker! Please, find me, baby," I whisper repeatedly in my mind, hoping my plea will somehow reach him. I leave a trail of blood on everything I touch, tracing a path that I pray is enough to guide him. It has to be enough. I know Ryker can sense me when I''m close, but I''m unsure how that works outside the packhouse. Does his ''Kennedypass'' function beyond our home territory, or is it limited to familiar grounds? I can''t be certain, so I have to rely on the injuries I''ve sustained to lead him here.


    Time blurs as we keep moving, though my stomach aches sharply where Dirk''s shoulder presses into me. He''s clearly digging in harder on purpose, bouncing me roughly to inflict more pain. The thought of him eventually paying for this—slowly, painfully—is a smallfort I hold onto tightly.


    Fatigue creeps in, sapping my strength from blood loss and the strain of being hung upside down for who knows how long. I can''t afford to sumb to sleep with these monsters nearby; who knows what horrors they''d unleash if I let my guard down again. I keep reaching out for anything within reach, focusing on the rough branches, the jagged edges of bark, anything to keep my mind upied. It''s the only way to distract myself from the nightmare unfolding around me.


    I have to concentrate on Ryker and the others finding me—leading them straight to these bastards who believe they can storm a pack asrge as ours, inflicting pain and destruction on innocent people, and walk away unscathed. I push away the dark images that threaten to consume me: the hot, unwanted breath on the back of my neck, the rough, calloused hands dragging across my bare arms, the tearing of my clothes, the crushing weight pressing me to the ground.


    No. I won''t let those thoughts take hold. I need to focus on the light-on hope. Ryker is my beacon. He wille for me. He wants me. He needs me. I cling to the reality that they were all with me earlier. Be wasn''t far from where I was taken. He always keeps me in his sight. How they slipped past his sharp eyes is beyond me, but I know he won''t be far behind. He''s probably pacing, anxious and restless- almost more attached than Ryker himself. That thought makes me both sad and smile at the same time.


    I reach again for a branch, exhaustion weighing heavily on me, but I force myself to keep trying. More blood seeps from my wounds—I have to keep marking the path. Ryker and the others will find me. They have to.


    Just as the weariness threatens to overwhelm me, I''m suddenly thrown through the air. My eyes snap open as the air is knocked from my lungs. Ind on something unfamiliar—not the ground, but certainly not anyfortable piece of furniture I know. The air smells of sweat, earth, and something foul. I fight the urge to breathe through my nose, struggling to draw air into my burning lungs.


    "Stop your whining. You''re too soft after living in that cushy packhouse," Dirk sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "Go get the alpha..." He nces at the young man assisting him. “I have to make sure she doesn''t slip away. Apparently, she''s slippery."


    What the hell is he talking about? I roll my eyes despite the coughing fit that rattles my chest from the rough handling and the stench surrounding me. This isn''t a house or a shack—maybe a tent? But it''s too dark to see clearly, and whatever the walls are made of must be thick; I can''t hear a thing from the other side. Maybe that''s just how human ears work.


    "Trying to figure out how to escape?" Dirk tilts his head, pretending to scrutinize me. He''s aiming for intimidating but ends up looking more constipated than fearsome.


    "Not a new thing, Dirk," I say, emphasizing his name with as much sarcasm as I can muster while taking in my surroundings.


    I''m sitting on the ground now. My eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing patches of grass beneath me. A sliver of light seeps in through a crack in the door that wasn''t fully closed. I''m unsure if that''s a trap meant to lure me into running or a way to keep Dirk in check, signaling that someone is watching. I rest on a pile of grimy, rough fabric—maybe old sheets or nkets—but they''re so filthy I can''t tell for sure. One thing''s certain: when I get out of here, I''ll need several shots to protect myself from infection.