Page 21 of Jesse (Pecan Pines #6)

Jesse

My mouth was dry, throat scratchy, but more than anything, my bladder was screaming. I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Beck, only to pause mid-step.

The sheets were cold. The bed on his side? Empty. Frowning, I rubbed my face, brain still sluggish. Maybe he was in the bathroom?

I padded down the hall, the faint creak of floorboards under my feet. Light off. Door open. Empty.

“Beck?” I called softly, but the apartment answered with silence.

The kitchen? Dark. Living room? Empty.

My heart thudded once, hard. A bad feeling started to crawl up my spine like ice water. And then I saw a slip of paper sitting on the bed. Right where Beck had been.

My name scrawled across the front in his messy, rushed handwriting.

Jesse—

Took your truck. Headed to the food truck. Tony finally emailed the video file. Grabbing my laptop so I can see the video better. Be right back.

Short. Innocent. Something Beck would write without thinking twice. But my breath caught like I’d swallowed glass. He went alone, in the middle of the night.

Knowing full well someone was still out there, someone who’d killed more than once and was now targeting him for reasons we couldn’t fathom yet.

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, my pulse pounding. The stupid note shook in my hand as I grabbed my phone with the other and hit call. It rang once. Twice. Four times.

Then it went straight to voicemail.

“Dang it,” I growled, standing so fast the mattress creaked under me. “Beck, come on, pick up.”

I tried again, but there was nothing.

My instincts were roaring now. My wolf clawed at my insides, pacing and snarling. Something was wrong. I could feel it like the air had shifted, pressure building in my chest.

Think, Jesse. The cameras. The full HD cameras I’d installed awhile ago both outside and inside the food truck. If Beck was there, I could see him.

I opened the security app with shaking fingers, switching to the live feed. Outside view first, and there he was.

Beck was walking around the food truck with his laptop bag slung over one shoulder.

Relief hit me hard enough I exhaled, knees going weak. He was okay.

I watched as he grabbed the door, ready to close it. Then, behind him, a figure stepped into frame.

The man loomed closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Beck turned, his posture stiff and guarded.

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.”

But the fear kept creeping in, no matter how hard I shoved it down. My thoughts spun out of control. I should’ve woken up earlier . I should’ve felt something.

My wolf should’ve noticed the second the bed went cold.

My vision blurred. Not from the wind, not from the speed, but from the pressure behind my eyes. I blinked it back. Not now. I needed a clear head.

I needed to find that truck, stop whoever was driving, and get Beck back. I glanced down at the tracker again. Still moving. Still alive.

I repeated that to myself like a prayer. Still alive. Still alive. But that didn’t stop the spiral. The killer had waited until Beck was alone. That meant they’d been watching us closely.

Beck’s face after the competition played in my mind. His eyes were bright and he wore a tired smile, but he’d wrapped his arms tightly around me. He’d been happy.

We’d been so close to talking about the future. A broken sound tore from my throat.

I hit the throttle harder, the bike vibrating beneath me like a living thing. Streetlights disappeared. The edge of town blurred past in streaks of yellow and black.

Trees closed in on either side of the road. No other cars. Just me and him. I checked the GPS again. The dot had slowed, then stopped.

About two miles ahead. The killer must’ve pulled off somewhere. My stomach twisted. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t care. I’d go in bare-handed if I had to, fight him with claws and fangs.

My thoughts raced ahead, imagining the worst, and then worse than that. Beck tied up in the back of the truck. Hurt. Bleeding. Alone and scared. NO.

My growl split the air, guttural and raw. My wolf snarled inside me, pacing just under my skin, furious and desperate. He wanted out.

Wanted to tear through trees and flesh alike. I didn’t stop him this time. I let the rage flow through me. Let the fear and dread sharpen into resolve.

“I’m coming, baby,” I said aloud, like Beck could somehow hear me through the dark. “Just hold on. I’m coming.”

The trees thinned, and then I saw it. The food truck, parked just off the dirt shoulder, lights off, engine still. Half-hidden behind a line of scrub pines.

My brakes squealed as I cut the bike, kicking up gravel and dust. I yanked my helmet off and tossed it aside, heart slamming so hard I thought it might burst.

The truck sat still. There was no movement and no sound.

I crept closer, breath shallow, ears straining. Every pine needle crackling under my boots felt loud, like the whole forest could hear me.

Closer. Twenty feet. Ten. I crouched low and peeked through the driver’s side window. Empty. The driver’s seat was empty. Beck wasn’t there and neither was the attacker.

The keys still dangled from the ignition. I pulled out my phone again and checked the camera feed.

The interior cam had recorded the man getting out and dragging Beck out after him. Beck was still unconscious and his arm flopped, lifeless.

The man slung him over one shoulder like he weighed nothing and disappeared into the trees. My blood turned to ice. They were close. Minutes ahead, maybe less.

I turned slowly, sniffing the air, reaching for my wolf’s heightened senses. Beck’s scent was faint but present, trampled beneath pine and earth.

Following it, I moved faster, silent as I could, but my wolf wanted to tear through the woods howling. Not yet, I reminded him.

I had to be smart, fast and lethal. The path was uneven, thorny brambles tugging at my jeans. But I didn’t stop. Every snap of a twig underfoot, every rustle of leaves, sent my heart lurching.

I’m coming, Beck.