*This is unedited and due to change. This work belongs to me and any reproduction or copying is a violation of copyright.
The rumble of an engine hummed through the back of Saxon’s skull, dragging him into consciousness. He blinked, trying to make sense of where he was and what was happening to him. But no matter how much he tried to focus on his surroundings, his mind was too sluggish to keep up.
A bump in the road surface brought a sharp, distinct ache to his shoulders. He bit back the groan when a gentle tug confirmed his arms were tied behind his back. He tried to separate his wrists, testing the tightness of his bonds. He could feel the tell-tale bite of a cable tie around his wrists, and although he should have been able to break the plastic easily, Saxon struggled to do just that.
Over the sound of the engine, there were two voices. One belonged to Mark, the bastard who had seemingly fooled him and the entire Helheim pack into believing he was the victim of an accidental biting by a rogue wolf. Mark had shot Saxon with a tranquilizer dart while they tried to move a fallen tree from the road as he, Saxon and Casey had driven back to Casey’s pack over four hundred miles away.
The other voice was female who Saxon had never heard, nor smelled, before.
“This is a mistake, Vivian,” Mark said, his voice tense. “He wasn’t who we needed.”
Saxon tilted his head back, straining to hear the conversation over the whir of the motor and the rush of asphalt racing beneath. The woman replied, but he couldn’t make out the words.
“—need to kill him.” Mark spoke again and Saxon’s heart raced in response to the cold tone he could hear in the other male’s voice.
“We can still use him,” Vivian replied in a dark purr.
With his heart still pounding in his ears, Saxon knew he had to find a way out of there. His gaze slid to either side of his body, inspecting his surroundings. That was when he realized he wasn’t in the backseat of his car as he thought. It looked as if he was in the back of a utility van – a brand new one judging by the new car smell still clinging to the upholstery on the front seats.
Saxon tried to bend his legs, but his range of movement was limited thanks to the matching set of cable ties on his ankles. They’d been tightened until the circulation was severed, making his toes numb.
Even if he were able to get the ties off, he wouldn’t make it very far on foot. His shoes had been taken off, and the bottom of his jeans had been hacked away, leaving his lower leg – from his knees to his ankles – exposed.