Page 75 of Jesse
They stood there for a moment, Beck backing away slowly, step by step, until he disappeared into the truck. The man followed him inside without hesitation.
“No,” I breathed.
I switched to the inside camera. The footage played out like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
Beck was trapped inside, struggling as the attacker’s hands closed around his neck until he finally went limp.
“No. No.” My voice cracked. I was already moving, dragging on jeans, grabbing my jacket and keys.
I forced myself to watch the rest, even though every second seared itself into me like a brand. The man crouched, rummaging through Beck’s pockets. He pulled out the what looked like our food truck keys.
Then he looked up, his face still obscured by the hood, but as he turned to climb into the driver’s seat, the camera caught something. A tattoo, on his neck. My breath caught, because I knew that ink.
He’d been by the truck maybe four or five times over the past few weeks. Always ordered the same thing. Brisket. Paid in cash. I remembered because of the tattoo. A wolf head. Black and faded.
“Oh, you son of a bitch,” I growled.
Rage detonated in my chest. My wolf went wild, snarling and pacing inside me, demanding blood, demanding I hunt. I slammed the laptop shut, grabbed my phone again, and bolted out the door.
The truck. I could track it. The killer had taken the keys. That was good. That meant my GPS was still active. I opened the tracker app as I reached the garage.
The dot blinked steadily, heading down Route 6, heading out of town. I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t have time. My truck was gone, but the bike wasn’t.
I yanked the cover off my motorcycle, shoved the helmet on, and kicked the engine to life. It roared beneath me like thunder, and for once, I didn’t care about noise ordinances or neighbors.
My mate had been taken, and someone was going to pay. I peeled out of the driveway, wind tearing at my clothes as I flew down the backroads like the devil himself was on my tail.
I kept one hand on the throttle, the other clutching the phone clipped to the dash. The dot moved steadily west. Beck was still in the truck, still out there and more importantly, still alive.
I pushed the bike harder, faster, cutting corners like a man possessed. My heart was a war drum in my chest. My thoughts were a blur.
Flashes of Beck’s smile, his laugh, the way he curled into my side at night, mumbling half-asleep. He was mine, and someone had dared to take him from me.
They had no idea what they’d just unleashed. I gritted my teeth, jaw tight, eyes locked on the road ahead.
Just hang on, Beck. I’m coming.I’m going to tear the bastard who touched you limb from limb.
The GPS dot moved, and so did I. The road ahead blurred as I sped after it, but it was the stuff in my head that made it hard to breathe.
I’d seen a bit of pack violence in my life, especially when the pack was under our previous alpha Ryder. But nothing hit like that footage.
Nothing gutted me more than watching Beck drop to the floor of that food truck and not get back up. The wind screamed past me, but I couldn’t hear it.
I couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in my ears, the ragged rasp of my breath, or the thunder of my heart like it was trying to punch through my ribs.
I clenched the handlebars so hard my knuckles popped. The GPS said the truck was moving west out of Pecan Pines, down the old county highway.
That stretch of road was long, dark, and mostly deserted at this hour. There was nothing but pine trees, forgotten buildings, and silence.
It made the worst parts of my brain crawl out of the dark.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
What if the killer doesn’t wait this time?
What if I’m too late?
I shook my head, snarling at myself. “No. Beck’s strong. He’s stubborn as hell. He’s not done yet.”
