Renounced

by Bailey Bradford

  “I’ll kill all of them,” Ryder vowed, clenching his fists against his denim-clad thighs. They’d had to run as humans, unable to find sufficient cover as wolves. “I don’t care about the why of any of it. Robert Butler is dead. The same goes for anyone who had a part of taking my mate.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I can feel his heartbeat.”

  Marcus cupped Ryder’s shoulder. “Maarten’s smart, and he’ll get through this. We’ll find him, soon.”

  “At least we know Butler doesn’t have a plane,” Nathan said. “He has to be traveling by car since he destroyed Marcus’ jet. I know yours went missing before you ever got here, Ryder, but—” Nathan stopped, his eyes widening. “Maybe we should get to the airport.”

  “Because there’s no proof the private jet belonging to my pack was ever crashed,” Ryder added. “Butler got here quickly.”

  Marcus checked the car out again. “The keys are gone. Shifting is out of the question, and we aren’t very fast in our human forms. If they’re planning on escaping using a plane, we won’t be able to catch them in time.”

  “We might,” Ryder snapped. “You don’t know what could happen. Standing here wasting time isn’t going to help.” Ryder gestured to his guards. “Let’s go.”

  Marcus was used to taking command, leading the way in everything except the bedroom with his mate. Stepping back, allowing Ryder, as Alpha Anax of South America, to take his rightful place in this endeavor, was proving difficult.

  Marcus vowed to himself to do it, though, and only protest if he truly believed he had a better suggestion for doing things. He’d have to make sure it wasn’t just his pride speaking up, either.

  “He’s doing well,” Keegan said, jogging to Marcus’ side. “I can steal a car. That’s one thing I learned in my misspent youth.”

  Marcus nodded. Whatever would get them to the town the fastest. “Tell Ryder.”

  * * * *

  One minute he’d been driving along, singing about being fancy, and the next he was groggy, a stinging in his neck preceding that sensation.

  Maarten woke up knowing exactly what had happened to him. Motherfuckers. Ryder will kill you all. He opened his eyes to total darkness. A cloth covered them. The small, tight space he was in had to be a trunk, and he was being jostled regularly, enough so that it’d helped wake him from his drugged stupor.

  His wrists were bound with what felt like multiple cuffs behind his back. Not only that, but his arms were bent up, with his hands between his shoulder blades. It was a very uncomfortable position. Shifting was out, then. He’d wrench his arms and shoulders out of socket at the least. A wolf’s arms didn’t bend that way.

  But he had his link to his mate. Maarten’s heart thumped heavily as he reached for him. “Ryder!”

  A wave of relief washed over him. “Maarten! Where are you? Tell me so I can—” Ryder didn’t finish the thought with words. Instead, images of violent promises flashed through his mind.

  “I’m in a trunk. I think. I can’t shift. My hands are cuffed behind me in a weird way. I should have been paying more attention. Too cocky, thinking these humans wouldn’t dare to come at me in broad daylight. Jesus, I was stupid.”

  Ryder’s snarled refutation of that claim warmed Maarten but he didn’t believe it. He should have felt himself being watched. No, he’d been too busy thinking about Ryder and jumping his bones when they got together, too occupied with singing a mindless song and seeing his friends Marcus and Nathan again. Gods, he was a fool.

  “Stop it,” Ryder demanded. “That kind of thinking won’t help you at all. Try to concentrate on anything you can to clue me into where you are. Smells, sounds, anything.”

  Maarten closed his eyes—stupid since he was blindfolded, but it helped him concentrate. His ears felt weird, and his ability to scent was being screwed with by something odiferous close to his nose.

  “Ear plugs,” he realized. “I have plugs in my ears! We wondered if this guy knew what we really are, and he must, because my arms are cuffed in a way that makes shifting impossible, my senses are all blocked. There is something that smells strongly of chemicals and citrus in front of my face. An air freshener, perhaps. Whatever it is, it’s all I smell.”

  “Okay, so Butler knows we’re shifters—or at least suspects that you are. What he doesn’t know is we have a bond he can’t break.”

  Maarten could tell Ryder was trying not to panic. Even so, he heard the traces of it in Ryder’s thoughts.

  “He can’t find out about that. I’ll track you through it. I can feel you, Maarten. I will find you. Aidan found Zane when Zane ran from him. No one can take you from me, not for long.”

  That was possibly the most romantic thing Ryder had ever said to him, and it was silly to get teary-eyed over it considering the circumstances. Good gods, he was a man, not some emotional teenager.

  “Did you see any of them?” Ryder asked.

  Maarten felt even more like a failure. “No. I was driving, the window was down. The AC in the car didn’t work. It was so humid and the breeze was nice but not enough. I slowed down at a curve in the road, then my neck stung and I knew what had happened before I passed out. They used a dart gun, a tranq gun, whatever you want to call it. They weren’t close to me.”

  “Now the question is, how did they figure out you were with us?” Ryder silently cursed himself, though Maarten heard it through their link. “Of course he knew. He had the jet hijacked. He’s been watching us. He knows we’re shifters, but he only knows what he can see. We’ll need to discern how many others he has told.”

  Maarten took comfort in Ryder slipping into analytical mode. He tried to relax his muscles as he was bumped around in the trunk. He’d be bruised all over by the time they got wherever they were going.

  That was okay. As long as he was alive, he could handle bruises and horribly sore muscles from being bound so atrociously.

  Ryder would find him.

  Maarten couldn’t have slept had he needed to. The drugs in the dart he’d been hit with had worn off completely by the time the car came to a stop. Maarten guessed they’d been driving for almost three hours since he’d come to.

  He was drenched in sweat, and dangerously close to overheating. The trunk was very hot and he was dizzy from it.

  Only Ryder’s constant thoughts and reassurances had helped him to remain calm. Dying of heat stroke was a very real risk and a terrifying one. Maarten found that locking his mind firmly with Ryder’s and letting his breathing slip to a slow, deep state, helped somewhat.

  The trunk was opened from the outside. Maarten didn’t even have the strength to yelp when his arm was grabbed and jerked. Hot, agonizing streaks of pain burst out from his shoulder and elbow.

  “I thought you might be dead,” a man said drolly. “I’m quite pleased that you aren’t.”

  Maarten grunted, the best he could do considering his arms were about to be yanked off. That was what it felt like as he was hauled up out of the trunk.

  “Hmm. The restraints have worked well. Get the bar, and we’ll make some adjustments there.”

  Maarten knew the man speaking was Robert Butler. He had a slight northern accent, as if he’d come from Maine or Rhode Island, somewhere like that—cultured, too, at least to Maarten’s ears.

  A hand gripped his chin forcefully.

  “My, you are a big man, aren’t you? You’ll come in handy once I’ve convinced you to work for me.” He clenched Maarten’s chin tighter. “I am assuming your boyfriend wants you back. He will have to learn to do without you or come to my flock. No, pack. That’s what you’d call it.” A deep, rich laugh followed. “I am, after all, the alpha here. Clearly.”

  Maarten tried biting his tongue but it didn’t work. “No, you clearly are not. You are simply a dishonorable man who— Umph!”

  That wasn’t a fist slamming into his stomach. It was much larger and harder than a human hand.

  Maarten’s breath whooshed out of his lungs as he started to double over.


  “Leave him alive, at least barely,” Robert Butler ordered. “Not comatose, but I am fine with him wishing he were dead. After you’re done, chain his arms to the bar.”

  Hearing what was planned for him added to Maarten’s anger and fear. He couldn’t draw a deep breath, and he scrambled to keep in touch with Ryder, who was shouting at him in his head.

  But the next blow was even worse than the first, and Maarten felt something crack inside him. A rib, he thought, as his knees hit the ground.

  After that, he couldn’t keep track. His entire body shrieked with pain as he was beaten until finally unconsciousness carried him away from the torture.

  * * * *

  The next time Maarten woke up, he was chained to a wall somehow, his arms stretched out parallel to the ground. Again, he couldn’t shift, not without seriously harming himself. His legs were splayed open as well. He was wearing his pants, so that was something.

  Everything hurt, and he couldn’t move his head. That sent a jolt of panic through him. Maarten snapped his eyes open and saw nothing at first, only darkness. Slowly, his eyes came into focus and he could make out a brick wall across from him.

  There was no light on, but he could see. His senses were all functioning, and they kicked in at once. He heard voices coming from another room, smelled spicy food and rank men, and the trace of a cologne that was actually quite nice. He saw the bare wall but couldn’t turn his head. Before he could freak out over that, he realized a band over his forehead kept him from being able to move. He was strapped to the wall with enough metal and restraints that he was lucky he could breathe.

  Maarten reached for Ryder. “Ryder? I…” His mind blanked on a wave of relief as Ryder’s presence flowed into him.

  “I’m here, babe. I’m here. I’ve been with you through it all, and I promise you, they will die slowly.”

  “I don’t care if they die at all. Find me. Find me, Ryder. I can’t move. I can’t move at all and I… It’s horrible, a nightmare I’ve had before. Like this Butler saw into my mind and pulled out the one thing that I’ve always feared.”

  “You’ve never cared for restraints,” Ryder acknowledged. “I didn’t realize you were this—”

  “Scared,” Maarten interjected when Ryder hesitated. “This scared of being paralyzed, unable to move. I can’t stand it. I saw a shifter friend of mine fall and break his neck. He didn’t die quickly. With his healing abilities, he should have, but even those abilities weren’t enough to repair the damage done to him. It took him weeks to die. He couldn’t heal, and the medical advances used on humans aren’t available for us. It was horrific. Then when Luuk was overthrown, I was restrained once.”

  It’d been terrifying, to be so helpless. Another shifter had bound him, and like this Robert Butler, had done it in a way that Maarten hadn’t been able to escape. It’d been a very bad night for Maarten. “I can’t stand this. It’s worse than the heat in the trunk.”

  “You can stand it, because I’m coming for you, Maarten. I feel you, in my heart, in my soul, my mind. I know which direction you’re in. I can tell that I’m closer with every mile we drive. We found the abandoned car. I saw… I saw your blood on the ground, smelled it, raged at the knowledge that you’d been hurt so much. Marcus had to calm me. I almost shifted right there in an alley in Macapa. I love you, Maarten. Stay with me, slip further into my mind and away from yours and the fear you are tangled in. Come to me.”

  “I will.” But something potentially important niggled at his brain. “Butler, his voice has a faint Northern accent, almost undetectable, like a long time ago he might have came from Maine or Massachusetts, maybe Rhode Island. He talks like he’s smart, too.” With that thought, the last of Maarten’s strength waned and he couldn’t resist the escape. Maarten let himself drift, snuggling into Ryder’s warmth, leaving behind the pain as he slipped into something that wasn’t quite a sleep. He was going to be with his mate. Nothing was stopping him.

  * * * *

  Marcus waited for Ryder to speak.

  “He’s awake now, but he’s hiding in me,” Ryder said. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

  “It does,” Marcus acknowledged. “The bond between mates is capable of many things, even leaving one’s corporeal body behind, in a manner of speaking. His body is still there, still with him, but he’s bringing most of his heart and soul over to you for safekeeping.” Marcus smiled slightly. “Sounds melodramatic and romantic, and to some extent, it is the latter, but it’s also something that happens only in extreme circumstances. He must be very afraid. Or very hurt.” As much as he hated to add that on, Marcus had to. Honesty was important to him and to Ryder as well.

  “He is hurting, yes. They beat him, Marcus. I know you can”—Ryder spared him a quick look of apology—“understand that, having been abducted and held prisoner for months as you were.”

  Yes, months during which he’d been starved, beaten, taunted, threatened and so on. He understood. Many times he’d thought he would die. Sometimes he’d even wanted to. Nathan had saved him from all that.

  “He’ll get past this,” Marcus said. “Maarten may joke and seem as if he hasn’t got a care in the world, but he is fiercely loyal, and smart, and strong. Robert Butler has no idea what he’s done.”

  “I wish we knew what that bastard looked like.” Ryder tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  “If Dana can’t find a photo of him, it’s because there isn’t one to be found. Olin searched as well,” Keegan added from his third row seat.

  Olin leaned forward. “Granted, a cell phone isn’t the best search instrument, but I did also email someone I trust at the security company I work for. She couldn’t find anything on Robert Butler, either. I think it has to be a fake name. Cynthia, the co-worker I contacted, is checking on names of drug dealers in Brazil. She’ll be sending me info any moment now, I’d think.”

  “Maarten didn’t see the man’s face. He was still blindfolded when they took him from the trunk.” Ryder smacked the steering wheel. “A northerner, Olin. Maarten said his voice sounded like someone who’d once lived in Maine or Rhode Island, Massachusetts, somewhere around there, but had almost lost that accent. Cultured, which could mean Butler is educated—or just acts like it. Anything else, Maarten?”

  Ryder frowned then nodded. “Doesn’t think Butler is old or even middle aged. That’s a guess, though.”

  “It’s something more to go on,” Olin replied. “Apparently there are a fuck-ton of drug dealers in Brazil, big ones. Jesus, I didn’t realize. Guess I’m not as hip as I thought I was.”

  “Drugs do little to nothing for shifters, so it isn’t something we keep track of either,” Keegan said to his mate.

  Marcus focused his attention back on Ryder. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No. I can feel which way Maarten is. This is easier.” Ryder slanted him a sardonic look. “Is it driving you nuts letting me lead?”

  Marcus shrugged one shoulder. “I won’t lie and say it feels natural, but I am a reasonable man.” Then he added a smile that was more teeth than sincerity. “As long as you’re doing what I think you should be doing.”

  Ryder chortled. “Well, I’m surprised you’ve admitted it, though I shouldn’t be. I’m secure enough to admit that I’ll listen to any advice you have. You have more knowledge than I do about everything shifter related. I’m not a cocky fuckwit—most of the time, anyway.”

  Marcus had chosen well when he’d pushed Ryder to take over the South American packs. It wasn’t that Ryder was in his pocket, so to speak, but Ryder was fair, and smart, and he had a good heart along with a spine of steel. He was made to become the Alpha Anax somewhere, and it sure wasn’t going to be North America, where Marcus ruled, or Europe, as Luuk had no intention of leaving his position as Alpha Anax. The same could be said of the AA of every other continent.

  And now it could be said of Ryder as well. He was securely invested in his pack placement.

  If he lost his
mate, all that would change.

  Marcus was worried for his friend and for the stability of the packs under Ryder’s care.

  “Can you tell how far away he is?” Nathan asked, yawning afterwards. “All this riding is making me drowsy.”

  “Not far,” Ryder answered. “At least he wasn’t flown somewhere. I feel like he must be in Cayenne. That’s in French Guiana, and it… It fits in here.” He tapped his chest. “It’s not huge, but still Cayenne’s a big enough place to have plenty of hiding spots. I don’t think Butler is going to hide in a small village. He’ll want the pretense of safety a larger area will give. I suppose he could be in São Paolo, but no. Maarten is closer than that.”

  Marcus trusted Ryder’s instincts. Just as if Nathan had been taken from him, Marcus would know how to track him. He’d feel Nathan in his core. Nothing would keep him from finding his mate.

  Nathan placed a hand on Marcus’ nape. The comforting touch was perfectly timed. Marcus reached over his shoulder and cupped Nathan’s hand. He patted it, then let go.

  “We’ve heard nothing from Guillermo and Vero yet?” Marcus asked, though he knew the answer.

  Keegan cleared his throat. “No. I did ask them to contact me since they’re looking for our pack member, but I haven’t received any information at all. I would try calling them, but should a phone ring at an inopportune time, it could have deadly consequences.”

  Marcus knew that. He was just worried about Dallas. “Of course.”

  Keegan’s phone rang and the atmosphere in the car immediately became tenser than it had been. “Yes, Dana?”

  Not about Dallas, then. Marcus wished he was sitting with Nathan instead of in the front passenger seat beside Ryder. He wanted to press close to Nathan.

  “Soon,” Nathan whispered, touching him again.

  Keegan asked Dana about jaguar shifters.

  Marcus listened, but couldn’t make out what Dana said.

  When Keegan hung up, he grumbled, “What a frustrating waste of time. She found nothing about jaguar shifters, nothing about drug dealers that helps us—nothing, period. I can understand the shifter thing, I guess, since you can’t Google and find us. Lots of rumors and crazy theories, but not us.”