Page 3 of Thrown into the Mob

I don’t know.

But I couldn’t dismiss it and that bothered me more than any locked door.

TWO

MADD

I didn't sleep well, which wasn’t surprising considering my circumstances.

But I couldn’t blame my disrupted sleep on being locked in, the unfamiliar setting, or the distant sound of guards doing rotations. It was my wolf. He'd been fidgety all night and ferreting around for that scent, as if he’d buried a bone and couldn’t find it. I’d told him to stop repeatedly, and he did for a few minutes before starting again.

You know what it is, or rather who. It was the guy who brought me food.

I was awake when dawn approached and had given up on sleep. Sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, I ran through what I knew about my situation, though it wasn’t much.

I was alive which signaled they wanted something from me, and that provided me with leverage. It also gave me time. If I was held longer than three days, Flint and the others would come. I pictured Grandpa cooking and arming himself with enough food to feed a dragon flight. Though he was as proficient with a gun as the rest of the family, food was his love language, or in this case, his weapon. That image made me smile despite my predicament.

But the dragons were aware that my family would attempt to rescue me, so either they wanted my Alpha and the others in their lair or they’d extract the information before then and I’d be dead.

No, dragons don’t get to use that word lair. They should be living in cold damp caves.

My beast and I could be dead by this time tomorrow and he was worried about semantics.

My belly was rumbling because I’d only picked at last night’s dinner. But when breakfast didn’t arrive, I wondered if they planned to starve me, though that was pointless. Slamming a hammer on my knuckles or breaking my kneecaps would be quicker and more effective methods of torture.

But Alpha and his brothers had trained me well by exposing me to sleep deprivation and teaching me survival tactics, so I wasn’t about to spill anything about our mafia pack. That was the plan, though if I was in agony, would I crack? My beast could absorb some of the pain, but perhaps that was their intention, though for what purpose?

The knock came mid-morning. It had to be Evander because the sound was so polite and courteous. My belly reacted, thinking I was getting food, but my wolf’s ears pricked.

I told him to come in, and again, he brought in a tray. Instead of deciding whether I could get past him and out the door—which was impossible because there were two guards in the corridor and maybe more—I was transfixed by the aroma of good coffee. And not the crappy instant stuff.

My wolf calmed as he took in his movements and inspected Evander’s scent.

My jailer peered at the remains of last night’s dinner. “You didn’t eat much.”

“It’s hard to work up an appetite when you’ve been kidnapped.”

I reached for the coffee and inhaled the aroma which partially blocked out Evander’s scent. In spite of his non-threatening demeanor, he was part of the flight holding me captive. I expected him to leave with last night’s tray, but he hesitated. He’d probably been subjected to the same training as me, and his method of extracting information might be to pretend he wasn’t like the rest of the dragons.

Like my beast, I was intrigued by this man, and I leaned toward him.

“Is there anything else you need?”

The cup was midway to my lips, and Evander sounded more like a concierge than a jailer. My wolf was paying attention to his scent again. He was trying to interpret it but didn’t have the right software installed.

Huh?

Sorry. It’s like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue.

“Let’s see. A phone, my guns, and a car with a full tank for starters.” I sipped the coffee. Damn, it was good. “Are any of those available?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame.”

He grasped the door handle and glanced over his shoulder as if he was about to say something.

“Evander.” His fingers tightened around the handle. “Why did they bring me here instead of—” I didn't finish the sentence because the alternative to here was a shallow grave, and saying it out loud was a bad omen.