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  Alpha’s Hostage

  Alexis Davie

  Alpha’s Hostage

  Text Copyright © 2019 by Alexis Davie

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2019

  Publisher

  Secret Woods Books

  [email protected]

  www.SecretWoodsBooks.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Other Books You Will Love

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  1

  The loud clinking sounds of empty bottles being thrown in the trash might not have sounded like something good to most people, but to Farrah, it meant the sweet relief of her shift at the bar coming to an end. Although she loved her job as a bartender at The Avenue Pub and wouldn’t trade it for the world, she felt exhausted. Granted it was after two in the morning, and their regulars were particularly rowdy. It was football season, and clearly, the Saints weren’t up to par during their game against the Rams, which made all their loyal fans drink even more. Out of sorrow, or just to forget, no one was really sure.

  Luckily, they didn’t cause any trouble, even though Farrah and the other two bartenders knew how to handle them at their worst. Though she looked as if she couldn’t hurt a fly, Farrah Walker, who was a petite blonde and only twenty-four years of age, knew how to hold her own. Amongst her colleagues, she was considered a little badass. She didn’t allow anyone to walk all over her, and her razor-sharp tongue and quick wit made up for what she lacked in size and brawn.

  Farrah knew what it was like to have people underestimate her, which was why she was so incredibly grateful she grew up the way she did.

  Farrah Walker was born in Detroit, and her mother left when she was just a small child. Farrah never really knew much about her mother, aside from the one or two photographs that used to lie around their house in Detroit. She was raised by her father, along with her older brother, Owen, and they ensured that she was well taken care of and kept safe, but also gave her the necessary life skills to not be taken advantage of. It was only at the age of eighteen when Farrah had to apply those skills to her everyday life. Her father was gunned down by a drug dealer and left for dead, and she couldn’t live in the same house any longer, so she took off, as far away from Detroit as she could manage. With her gray Toyota, she managed the drive down to New Orleans and had never looked back. Although she missed her brother, Owen, she was pretty sure he was involved in the same kind of trouble as her father, and she wanted no part in that. She wasn’t even sure if he was alive or not. Farrah figured that she had gotten away at the right time without being dragged into their mess.

  “Hey, Farrah,” she heard Dusty, one of the other bartenders on duty that night, say to her and she turned to him.

  He was a good-looking young guy, with light brown, tousled hair, dark brown eyes, and a certain country boy charm, despite his tattoos which covered most of his muscled arms. Even though all the women at the bar seemed to fall over their feet to be served by him, Farrah merely considered him to be a good friend. She had known him ever since she had arrived in New Orleans. He was the first person she met, and he offered her a place to sleep. She didn’t sleep at all that night, fearful she was going to get murdered if she drifted off, but thankfully Dusty had a kind heart and their friendship thrived. This was strange to her, as the majority of people Farrah had come into contact with wanted something in return, and they definitely weren’t nice.

  But Dusty was different.

  A lot of people even asked them if they were dating, as they looked like the perfect couple, but they were just friends. She wasn’t his type, and he wasn’t hers. Still, they looked out for each other, and that was what counted.

  “Are you okay?” Dusty asked, scrunching his eyebrows and looking concerned.

  “Yeah,” Farrah answered, feeling in a bit of a daze.

  “Are you sure? You look high.”

  “I just haven’t been sleeping too well lately,” she shrugged.

  “Right, it’s that time of the year,” he pointed out and grabbed the trash bag beside him.

  “It’s not like I can just forget it happened, Dusty,” Farrah answered.

  “I know, but sometimes we’ve just got to let things go, right? I mean, how long has it been?”

  “Stop being such an insensitive jerk,” she scolded him. “Some things you just can’t let go.”

  Dusty’s charming smile vanished. “Sorry. You’re right. I guess I just forgot what it feels like for you not knowing what happened. To either of them.”

  “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Farrah sighed and ran her hands through her shoulder-length blonde hair. “I can’t wait to get home and sleep.”

  “So go. I got this.”

  “No, I can’t do that to you,” Farrah said as she grabbed the other trash bag.

  Dusty opened the back door which led to the dumpster behind the bar and Farrah stepped out in the cold, early morning air. A chill ran down her spine, but she chose to ignore it. Nothing bad could happen with Dusty right beside her.

  They dumped the trash bags and headed back inside.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Farrah said tentatively as they started to overturn the chairs and place them on the low tables.

  “If it has anything to do with love and feelings, I’m out,” he warned.

  “It has nothing to do with that, I swear. That is the last thing I want to talk about,” Farrah scoffed. “If you were given the choice, would you choose not knowing for your entire life? However, you’d never get closure. Or, would you rather know what happened and have to deal with that truth for the rest of your life?”

  “Either way, it seems like a really fucked-up deal,” he muttered and glanced at her after a slight pause. He tilted his head and his fringe fell forward into his face.

  “Well, it has to be one or the other.”

  Dusty glanced at her for a moment and pouted his lips as he considered it for another second. He grabbed another chair, flipped it over, and placed it on the table in front of them. “Well, knowing something terrible can screw you up pretty badly, but at least you’ll know the truth. And everyone deserves the truth.”

  “But what if I don’t want to know?”

  Dusty frowned at her and rested his hands on the table. “If you don’t want to know in the first place, why are you asking?”

  “I just wanted to hear what you would choose.”

  “Ignorance is bliss for me. I’d rather not know, because some things are just better left buried, you know,” he answered. “Judging by the look on your face, that wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear.”

  Farrah sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I don’t really know what I expected to hear.”

  “What is this about, Farrah?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad, and how he died, and especially if it was really the way he died.”

  “What do you mean?” Dusty asked.

  “Owen told me my dad was shot by a drug dealer and left for dead in the middle of the street, but there was never anything about it on the news or in the newspaper about it. It just seems a little suspicious
to me, that’s all.”

  “Do you think your dad was killed some other way?”

  Farrah exhaled and slowly blinked her eyes, as if deep in thought. “I don’t know. I keep thinking that there’s more to the story, but then I realize how ridiculous it all sounds. Owen would have told me if something else had happened, right?”

  “I guess. He’s your brother, after all,” Dusty said, placing a hand on her shoulder out of concern. “You can always ask him.”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since I left Detroit,” Farrah admitted. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive…”

  Farrah’s voice trailed off and she lowered her gaze.

  “Farrah—”

  “No, forget I asked. If I’m too chicken-shit to call my brother, who may or may not be alive, that’s my fault, I guess.”

  “At least you still have me,” Dusty grinned.

  “There’s nothing ‘at least’ about that, Dusty, so don’t ever sell yourself short. Not even for me,” she said and gazed at him expectantly.

  “I promise.”

  They finished cleaning the bar as they did after every late shift, and Dusty locked the doors as they left.

  Dusty’s red truck was parked out front, beside the bicycle racks, but Farrah’s Toyota was parked in the parking lot on the opposite side of the road, in her usual spot.

  “Do you need an escort to your car?” Dusty offered as he opened the door of his truck.

  “No, I’m fine. Get your ass home,” Farrah insisted. She needed this night to end as quickly as possible and knew Dusty had already picked up on her detachment. She didn’t want him asking any more questions she didn’t have the answers to.

  “Call me as soon as you get home.”

  “Or I can just text like I always do. Thanks for tonight.”

  Dusty gave her a nod and climbed into his car. “Drive safe, Farrah.”

  Farrah smiled as she crossed the road and walked to the parking lot while searching for her keys in her bag. After taking a few seconds, she rounded the corner but stopped abruptly as she noticed three men in the parking lot. Her car was close to the man standing furthest from her, but she didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t know what they were up to. As soon as she noticed the gun in one of their hands, her heart pounded in her chest and she crouched down behind a pickup truck, hoping they didn’t see her.

  This wasn’t the first time she had encountered violence in her life. Her father wasn’t exactly a man of good ethics when it came to business dealings, but he was the best father she could have ever asked for. He made sure she and Owen were taken care of, but now Farrah wondered to what lengths he went to ensure their safety. Was it at the risk of his own life?

  Farrah took a few breaths to calm herself and peered over the side of the truck. The three men stood glaring menacingly at one another. The man with the gun wasn’t pointing it at the other two, but the way he clutched the barrel made it apparent that he was both angry and afraid of these men.

  “Do you seriously think it’s a good idea to take us on, in the middle of a parking lot, Frank?” she heard one of them ask the guy with the gun.

  “You took my son from me, and you’re going to pay,” Frank gritted his teeth as he pointed the gun at the two men.

  Strangely enough, the two men seemed unfazed, amused even, at the sight of the gun, and they weren’t the least bit afraid.

  “Frank, that’s not a good idea, and you know it,” one of them warned.

  “I don’t care! I can’t let you just get away with it!” Frank exclaimed. “You ripped my family apart. You and your Alpha. You don’t know the meaning of the word. You kill left, right, and center, with no regard for human life.”

  “Frank, you got it all wrong, man.”

  “Shut up!” Frank yelled, a hint of hysteria in his voice.

  Farrah turned away, as she definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to see anyone get shot, and slumped down onto the ground. She closed her eyes, waiting for the gunshot.

  Instead, she heard the two men laugh, followed by strange sounds she had never heard before—the sounds of crunching bones and painful groans. A certain kind of darkness filled the air, making it harder to breathe. The terrified scream of a man caused Farrah to peer over the edge of the truck, and her jaw dropped as she understood exactly why he had screamed with such intensity. In front of him stood two large wolves. Farrah glanced around to find the two men, but something deep inside her gut told her these were the two men.

  Her blood froze in her veins and she shivered with terror.

  Much to her horror, the wolves lowered their heads—which Farrah knew was a sign of an imminent attack—and viciously pounced on the gun-wielding man. Farrah’s eyes widened as she watched him being ripped to shreds while begging for his life, to no avail. She turned away, closing her eyes as a tear ran down each cheek, and resting her head against the back fender of the truck.

  The chewing and gnawing sounds made her heave a few times, but she remained in the same position. She didn’t want to be discovered, as she might share the same fate as the poor and rather unfortunate Frank.

  As the horrendous noises came to a halt, Farrah’s chest eased slightly, but she remained perfectly still. She heard the wolves somehow turn back into men, and their footsteps sounded more human-like as they made their way across the asphalt. Farrah exhaled slowly as she peered around the truck, but there was no one there. It was deathly quiet around her, and the only sound she heard was the pounding of her heart in her ears. She rose up from the spot she was crouched in and frowned slightly. Taking a few steps forward, against every single instinct telling her to get as far away as possible from the parking lot, she approached the spot where the attack had taken place. The heels of her ankle boots clicked on the asphalt and echoed through the silence. She glanced down at the pavement at the pools of blood, glistening red in the wake of the moonlight. She shuddered as she glanced around the ground once more, but there was nothing more to see. There was nothing left of the man either. Not even the gun was anywhere to be seen.

  A bitter taste rose up in her mouth and she cringed in disgust. Did they eat him?

  “Gross…” she muttered to herself, stepping over the pool of blood toward her car. As she glanced up, she froze. The two men stood beside a black SUV, staring straight at Farrah. They wiped their hands on a piece of cloth and threw it back into the SUV.

  Farrah’s heart pounded in her chest once again and she held her hands up defensively. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Even though you’re standing in a pool of blood,” the one closest to her remarked, a menacing hiss in his tone. His accent sounded Midwestern somehow, although it wasn’t that obvious, but he definitely wasn’t from around here.

  “Like I said, I didn’t see anything,” Farrah stumbled over her words and backed away slowly.

  “Hold on a second,” the other one called out to Farrah just as she was about to turn around and make a run for her car. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “Why do you say it like that, huh? Aren’t we the kind of people who you’d normally hang out with?”

  “Quit it, Reed,” the other one mumbled, clearly not in the mood for his partner’s games.

  Farrah tilted her head, as if trying to hear the two men whisper to one another, unfortunately she couldn’t hear what they were saying. However, when both of them nodded in agreement and started to approach Farrah, she knew she was in trouble.

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” she stuttered as she continued to walk backward. “I honestly won’t say anything, and even if I do, no one is going to believe me anyway.”

  Her heart sank into her boots as the two men continued to approach her.

  “Please, I promise I won’t say anything. Please,” she pleaded desperately.

  Farrah knew by the expressions on their faces that they didn’t believe her, despite her pathetic appeal.

  Her back
touched the body of a car behind her and she exhaled loudly. “Please, don’t—”

  Even before she could complete her sentence, the bigger one of the two grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her back to their SUV. Despite her kicking and screaming, fighting against his tight grasp, she knew she was a goner. There were two of them and one of her—plus she was half their size—so she didn’t stand a chance against them. But every instinct inside her told her to keep fighting, even if it seemed hopeless.

  The smaller one of the two opened the trunk of the SUV, while the one holding Farrah stuffed her in the trunk.

  “Stop it, please!” Farrah called out, but they completely ignored her, slamming the trunk, immersing her in darkness. The trunk was rather spacious, but she felt claustrophobic as the dark space seemed to close in on her, her fear consuming her.

  She screamed and banged her fists against the inside of the trunk, but it was no use.

  The trunk started to vibrate as the engine of the SUV started and it drove away.

  Farrah closed her eyes hopelessly until she remembered her phone was in her bag. The glimmer of hope soon disappeared as she realized her bag wasn’t over her shoulder anymore. She probably dropped it when she was being dragged to their SUV. Giving up, knowing there was no possible way to escape the moving vehicle, her body went limp as she rested her head against the smooth interior, and she closed her eyes.

  At least with her bag lying in the parking lot, people would know something happened to her—unless the two men had picked it up, removing any evidence of their altercation with Frank, or that she was ever there.

  She couldn’t do much about it, and all she could do now was wait until they opened the trunk again.

  But then what?

  2