Page 13 of Hunted, Season Three

Where the fuck is he?

And where the fuck is Rabbit?!

Is she okay?!

Isshealive?!

Dread mercilessly latches onto my throat, threatening to pin me in place, but the need to properly check on Kid and get to our woman –who’s pregnant withour fucking child– propels me to whip my frame around.

Search for give in my bound hands.

Feet.

Finding neither is what flies me up to a sitting position where I lift my wrists high into the air above my head before slamming my elbows down, with all the momentum I can muster, past my ribcage, splitting the gray cuffing in two.

Because that’s the thing about duct tape.

It rips pretty fucking easy.

It was designed too.

And that design iswhyyou shouldn’t use it when you’re hoping to keep someone bound for a long period of time.

Especially unattended.

Fucking moron.

Grateful to have range of motion in my wrists is expressed by a quick roll and the swift removal of the piece on my lips.

“Fuck!” is sharply whispered prior to a shake of the head.

Why do people pay for someone to do this shit?

What’s wrong with people?

Unraveling the sticky restraint from my lower half, I do my best to ignore the pounding in my skull that’s beginning to increase, knowing that it doesn’t matter.

No.

The only thing that matters right now is freeing him and finding her.

And I know we will.

She’s out there.

Alive.

There’s no fucking way she fought that fuckerthis longto only fight himthis long.

She’d rather die than go back.

But we ain’t about to let that happen either.

She’s gonna live.

And so’s our little guy.

And I don’t give a fuck what she says.

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