Unleashing Seduction [Seducing Them 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  They each drank some water, looked around a little more, and then, conscious of Jaz and Phideaux alone, and of dusk only a few hours away, started to head back. They didn’t talk much, but they didn’t need to. Sometimes they followed each other, and other times they walked side by side or even a few yards apart as each chose a different route down the hill and across the desert.

  At the top of the hill closer to their camp, Damien rubbed his sweaty face with his shirt, conscious that Hunter couldn’t do that since he’d given up his T-shirt to care for the dog’s paw and was still bare-chested. Fortunately they both had olive skin that was unlikely to sunburn this early in the season.

  “You can wipe your face on the back of my shirt if you want to,” he said.

  Hunter laughed and shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

  They shared the last of the water, and then Hunter tucked the empty bottle in the back pocket of his jeans. Damien walked to the edge of the hill and stood facing toward the campsite. “I wonder if Jaz— What the fucking hell?”

  The white minivan they’d seen before had pulled up beside the cemetery, and two people were carrying a coffin across to the van. He gasped. “Grave robbers.”

  Hunter grabbed his arm. “That box is too square. A casket is long and narrow.”

  “Well, what the fuck is going on?”

  “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

  Damien assumed he meant they were about to hurry back as fast as they could, but instead, Hunter stripped off his boots and shoes, pulled down his jeans, and changed into his wolf. Then he was gone, loping across the desert faster than they could have run in human form. Also, as a wolf, he’d have a lot more stamina than they did right now.

  Damien was torn. He wanted to stay and watch so he knew what was happening, which might be something perfectly innocent. But on the other hand, he wanted to be there beside Jaz to protect her in case it wasn’t something innocent. He shoved Hunter’s socks and briefs inside his boots, tied the laces to one of his belt loops, put the empty water bottle, Hunter’s wallet, keys, and cell phone in his own pockets and then knotted the legs of Hunter’s jeans around his waist. Then he began a brisk, army-style forced march down the side of the hill.

  The military was supposed to walk a mile in eight minutes when they were in a hurry. He was carrying very little so planned to be all the way back in ten minutes.

  Fuck ten minutes. I can go faster than that. Damien began to jog.

  His leg muscles were aching, but he refused to slow down. He’d seen the white minivan heading south, but not very fast, and Hunter must have seen it as well because the wolf had changed the angle of his run and cut south. He had less distance to run now and would catch up to the vehicle more quickly, except that once it began to move faster, it’d leave him behind.

  Damien continued running back to camp. He had to find Jaz.

  He was panting now, sweat pouring down his body and Hunter’s damn boots bashing into his thighs on every step, but he could hear Phideaux barking, and it wasn’t a happy bark. Damien was terrified Jaz had been hurt. Despite his aching muscles, he pushed himself harder, racing the last few hundred yards across the desert and into camp. He skidded to a stop in front of the tent, and it was obvious Jaz wasn’t there.

  “Jasmine!” he screamed.

  But of course she’d have answered Phideaux’s bark if she could have.

  “Where is she, boy? Is she hurt?” he asked.

  Phideaux started to limp down the track, the way the white minivan had gone.

  “In the van? Did they take her with him?”

  Phideaux barked again, and it sounded a hell of a lot like a yes to him.

  He pulled Hunter’s keys out of his pants and headed for their truck.

  “Get in the truck and guide me, Phideaux,” he said, opening the door. The dog jumped straight up onto the seat and then whined and whimpered.

  Dammit, he’d forgotten the animal was injured. “Sorry, buddy.”

  He raced around to the driver’s door, climbed in, and started the engine and then remembered Jasmine’s backpack. Likely it was full of things she’d need.

  He jumped out again, raced to the tent, snatched it and Phideaux’s water bowl up, threw them in the passenger side footwell of the truck, and hit the accelerator before he’d even shut the door. He was driving much too fast on the track, but he couldn’t slow down. Not with Jasmine stolen from him and Hunter hell only knew where.

  * * * *

  Hunter saw the minivan begin to move and ignored it at first. His whole being was centered on getting to Jasmine. His woman. His mate. But then logic permeated his brain. The tent was bright blue and only a couple of dozen feet from where the men had parked their minivan. If Jasmine had been capable of it, she’d have been standing there talking to the men, watching them, likely even helping them or maybe offering them some water.

  Even if she’d been asleep when they arrived, Phideaux would have heard the van’s engine and woken her up. Therefore, she wasn’t okay at all. He couldn’t convince himself that she’d have just wandered off with the other people without sending him and Damien a text message at the very least. Therefore, something was wrong. His woman, his mate, was in danger or in trouble or both.

  Hunter changed direction, heading straight for the minivan now, and increasing his speed to a flat run. He wouldn’t be able to maintain such speed for very long, but he needed to get closer to the van so he knew where they were going.

  He stretched his entire body out, lengthening his stride, calling on all his muscles and sinews to revert to his primeval wolf and run faster, run harder, to find his mate.

  The minivan turned south, and he was able to cut the corner again, heading across the desert and closing the distance between them, but already he was tiring. Wolves weren’t meant to run at top speed for so long. They could go as fast as thirty-five miles an hour, but only in short bursts, and his short burst was almost used up.

  Hunter refused to slow much. He attached his gaze to the back of the van, almost willing it to stop, to wait for him. The vehicle wasn’t listening. This track had some gravel on it, and the minivan actually sped up, whereas he had to slow down. Well, he could run at five miles an hour for a hell of a long time. Hopefully that would be good enough. He wished he had his cell phone. If he could have called his Alpha, maybe Wolfric could get some people up ahead of the van to be watching for it.

  He wondered if Damien would think of that when he returned to the campsite. But likely Damien would be busy packing up the tent and all their possessions before trying to follow him. Or maybe he would even wait there for him to return to the campsite. Fuck! It was up to him. Hunter ignored his aching muscles and sped up again. The minivan had disappeared over the horizon, but it had never veered off the track, so he had to pin his hopes on it continuing to stay on the track instead of going across the desert as he would have done.

  Evening was growing closer, and he’d slowed to a walk when he heard his truck tooting him. It was still a good half-mile away, but he’d know his truck anywhere. It seemed that Damien had come after them, so that was good. The first thing he’d do was call his Alpha and hope the people who’d stolen Jasmine hadn’t completely disappeared onto a highway.

  Nevertheless he continued to plod along the track, nose down. He smelled the faint aftertaste of the gas from the minivan. These tracks were used so infrequently it was as good as a neon sign that he was still heading in the correct direction.

  At first he’d almost panicked that the minivan would leave the track, but now he was convinced that these people were not neighbors, and possibly not even desert dwellers at all. That suited him fine. It’d make them much easier to locate.

  Phideaux was barking madly, so Hunter stopped walking and changed back into human form. Likely the mutt would attack him if he tried to get in the truck as a wolf. But the dog kept up his noise. As soon as Damien stopped the truck beside him, Hunter opened the door and climbed in, on
ly to have his face licked all over by the dog.

  Hunter had to laugh. He pushed the huge mutt onto the middle seat and shut the door. At once Damien sped up, going much faster than the other vehicle had been traveling.

  “I assume you’re sure we’re still heading in the right direction? Phideaux seems to think so,” said Damien.

  “Yes. I could smell the gas from the minivan. Where’s my cell phone? I need to call my Alpha.”

  “In my pocket. You might want to get dressed again as well.”

  “Good point.”

  If it came to a fight, he didn’t want to be naked at the time. He picked up Phideaux and moved him onto the seat by the window so he could get his cell phone and then noticed his boots and jeans still tied around Damien’s waist. Apparently Damien had jumped straight in the truck to follow them. Hunter had to kneel up on the seat to disentangle everything from Damien’s body and pulled his briefs on then his jeans, wiggling his butt up and down until Phideaux whined and pushed him back.

  “Sorry, buddy. I know your paw hurts, but trust me, I need to get dressed.”

  He stuck his feet up on the dashboard to lace his boots, and then he dug his hands into Damien’s pockets and reclaimed his possessions, tossing the empty water bottle into the backseat.

  “Hell. Have we still got water with us, or is everything back at the cemetery?” he asked.

  “We’ve got water. The big container is in the back.”

  “Good.”

  Then at last he called Wolfric, swiping the speaker on so Damien could hear the conversation.

  “Sir, some people have captured Jasmine.”

  “Where are you, and where did this happen?”

  He looked at the compass and gave an exact a description as he could of their location. “We were at the abandoned cemetery you told me about on the old Towler-Wetherby Track, about sixty miles from Wetherby. The minivan headed toward Wetherby then turned east, and we’re moving steadily east now.”

  “I’ll get some people to bracket your location. Call me back if the minivan goes off-road or anything changes.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Damien was driving far too fast for the conditions. Phideaux was trying to balance on the seat, but it evidently hurt him still to put weight on his paw. At least the sock was still tied on, protecting the wound from getting dirt in it.

  “Hey, Phideaux, why don’t you climb over into the backseat where you can lie down?”

  The dog turned and looked at him as if he was crazy and then stared steadfastly out the windshield. “Okay, cancel that idea.”

  Hunter understood that the dog loved their woman as much as they did. All three of them ached to know what was happening to her and to have her back safe in their arms again.

  * * * *

  “I need to pee. You have to stop the minivan and let me pee. I need to go really bad right now,” Jaz called out to the two men in the front of the truck.

  “Too bad. We aren’t stopping until we arrive.”

  “You have to stop. I need to go right now.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. We aren’t stopping. I don’t care if you pee your pants.”

  “You will care though. It’ll stink, and you’ll be stuck here with the smell the same as I am.”

  “Shut up or I’ll knock you unconscious.”

  “That will have the same effect. As soon as I’m unconscious, my bladder will let go. It’d much easier just to stop the van and let me get out and pee in peace.”

  “Fucking hell. You’re a pain in the butt, woman.”

  “No, I’m not. I just want to pee. Now.”

  The minivan slowed and stopped. Jaz heaved a huge sigh of relief. Asking for bathroom privileges had been the only idea that had come to her to slow them down, so her men could catch up to them. She’d become increasingly worried that they’d reach the highway and then Hunter and Damien would never find her.

  One of the men came around and opened the door then helped her to climb out. She turned her back to him and said, “You’ll have to take off the two sets of handcuffs so I can go potty.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ll pull your pants down for you.”

  Jaz hated the thought of this man touching her, but really they’d both been quite polite. Not violent at all. They’d made her unconscious by using a pressure point, not by hitting her over the head or anything too bad, and even now, they were helping her with exasperation in their voices, not trying to make her frightened. Not that she was all that happy about being here. But they sure as hell could have been much worse. However, she didn’t give up that easily. “Women squat down to pee. If I can’t have my legs far enough apart, the urine will get all over my clothing, and it’ll still stink up your minivan.”

  “Oh. All right. But I’m not taking the bracelets off your wrists.”

  Damn. But it’d been worth trying.

  He uncuffed her ankles and stood in front of her, so she turned her back to him and struggled to pull her shorts down. It was hard with her hands behind her back, but she wanted to take as long as possible anyway to give Hunter and Damien more time to find her. Fortunately she really did need to go, although she could easily have waited longer. She shook her body and then slowly hauled her shorts back up again.

  He lifted her up into the minivan, sitting her on the floor, and bent to put the handcuffs around her ankles again.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  He looked up, and she kicked him in the chest as hard as she could with both feet. He fell over backward as she scrambled back into the van, crawled behind the nearest crate, and pushed it with her ass toward the wide-open sliding door. The crate was heavy, but she used her thigh muscles and her butt, pushing harder, and the box gained momentum and toppled out the door.

  It fell with a crash onto the ground and must have hit the man who’d been so nice to her because he screamed. Jaz ducked down behind a second crate and began pushing it toward the open door as the other man jumped out of the minivan and raced around to help his friend.

  Jaz left the crate and scrambled over the seat into the front, half standing, half sitting on the seat, took the parking brake off with one hand, and then stomped on the accelerator.

  It was far harder to steer with her hands behind her back than she’d ever imagined, and turning around to go back the way they’d come was pretty much impossible. The driver’s door was still ajar, flapping open and closed with her attempts at steering. The engine was revving madly as she strained to keep a foot on the accelerator. Both men were yelling at her and each other, and the second crate slid out the door with a loud crash before she finally got the truck back on the track.

  The driver had one foot inside the van now and pushed wildly at her. She lost her grip and fell headfirst into the passenger seat footwell.

  “Are you batshit-crazy, woman?” he said, stopping the minivan.

  He ran around to the passenger side of the vehicle and hauled her out of the van, pressing his thumb on her neck again. But this time she knew what he planned to do, and she slammed her knee up toward his groin. She missed the crown jewels but surprised him so much he let go of her.

  “Get in and let’s go,” yelled the man who’d been the passenger.

  “We’ve lost a couple of crates. We need to get them.”

  “Fuck the crates. Just drive.”

  The second man brushed past her and scrambled into the passenger seat while the first man raced around and climbed in on his side. The truck spun around back onto the track and roared away. Jaz was left staring after it, her hands still cuffed behind her back and two crates of contraband scattered over the desert around her.

  “Well, at least now I’ll find out what this stuff is.”

  The first crate she’d pushed out the door had knocked into the man from the passenger seat and was only a little splintered and mostly intact. The second one, however, had fallen out the door as she was t
rying to drive the minivan and had smashed wide open.

  Jaz stared down at a pile of guns that had fallen out of the crate. Guns? Guns made no sense at all. She’d been sure it would have to be drugs. Nevada was an open carry state and a “shall issue” state for concealed carry. Why bring in guns? Whatever was going on here?

  Jaz looked all around her, but even the dust from the minivan had dissipated. It looked as though she might be waiting for a long time. Her arms, dragged and cuffed behind her body, were a real nuisance. If they had been cuffed in front, she’d be able to use them, at least a bit.

  “It’s supposed to be possible to get them around to the front, and it’s not like I have anything else to do except try to work out why there were crates of guns in a grave.” Jaz pushed her arms down her body, curving her back and sticking her ass out. She wiggled and pushed and got her ass between her hands but was stuck in a squatting position.

  “Damn. This is harder than it looks. Where’s the YouTube video showing me how to do it in five easy steps when I need it?”

  Jaz let herself drop down into the dirt, hoping there were no fire ants or scorpions just here and wiggled and struggled her arms down her legs. Then she rolled onto her back with her knees against her chest until she could finally pull her feet through her arms.

  “Ha! Victory! I did it!”

  Even so, it wasn’t easy to stand up, and her shoulders were aching now, but with her hands in front of her, she could hold the edge of the crate and push the guns around with her foot, trying to see if there was anything else in there as well.

  She squatted down again, peering into the crate, but it was just guns. A lot of guns. Was that the answer? There’d been four graves, and she’d counted eight crates in the minivan, which had just about filled it. So two in each grave. Even this one crate must have had a couple of hundred guns in it. Multiply that by eight crates at say twenty dollars a gun— Jaz did some quick math in her head. Thirty-two thousand dollars. That was a lot of money, but not really an enormous amount. Unless they did it regularly. If they brought in that many guns three or four times a year, well, yes, that would be a very nice income for a small gang.