Page 35 of Stalked By the Alphas

34

ZACH

The car jolts violently as Carter takes a sharp turn, snapping me out of my spiralling thoughts. I blink, trying to focus on the present moment. How long have we been driving? How long has it been since Hazel was taken? Is she okay? What if she’s hurt? Or worse?

I let out a low moan of agony that we are helpless. How did we let this happen?

But I know why. We were too arrogant to think that we were the only ones who could look out for Hazel. We didn’t stop to think that someone else was after her, and they would stop at nothing to get to her.

“Carter, slow down,” Noah warns from the passenger seat. “We’re no good to Hazel if we crash.”

Carter grunts in response but eases off the accelerator slightly. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and his jaw is clenched tight. The cold rage that has descended on him is vital for us to get Hazel out of this alive. I’m useless. Completely and utterly useless. I can’t speak, I can barely breathe, let alone function as a normal alpha.

My emotions threaten to overwhelm me again. The image of Hazel, alone and terrified, keeps flashing through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it out.

“Talk to me, Zach,” Noah says, turning to face me in the backseat. His voice is calm, but I can see the strain in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

I take a shaky breath. “I—I can’t stop picturing her. What if we’re too late? What if he’s already?—“

“Don’t,” Carter snaps. “Don’t even think it.”

Noah shoots him a warning look before turning back to me. “We can’t think like that. We have to stay focused. Hazel needs us to be strong right now.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Noah says in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. “You can do this.”

Noah’s right. Hazel needs me to be strong and focused. I can’t let my fears paralyse me.

“How much longer?” I manage to ask, my voice hoarse.

“About twenty minutes,” Carter grunts, pressing down harder on the accelerator.

Twenty minutes. Twenty more minutes of staring out the window at the passing scenery. Twenty more minutes of not knowing if Hazel is okay. Of imagining all the horrible things that could be happening to her.

“We should have a plan,” Noah says, breaking the tense silence. “We can’t just burst in there blindly. ”

“The plan is I rip that fucker limb from limb,” Carter snarls.

Noah sighs. “As much as I approve of that plan, we need to be smart about this. For Hazel’s sake.”

Carter’s jaw clenches, but he nods curtly. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

As Noah outlines a strategy, I try to focus on his words, but my mind keeps drifting. I picture Hazel’s smile, her laugh, and the way her eyes light up when she is happy. The thought of never seeing that again makes my chest ache.

“Zach? Are you with us?” Noah’s voice cuts through my haze.

I blink, forcing myself back to reality. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here.”

Noah eyes me with a growing frustration that he tries to hide, before continuing. “As I was saying, we need to approach this carefully. We don’t know the layout of the building or how many people might be inside. Our priority is getting Hazel out safely.”

Carter grunts, and I nod absently.

If that fucker has hurt her in any way, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t live to see the sunrise. That thought, the desire, the knowing I will do anything to protect Hazel from being hurt again stirs the worst devils inside my mind. These are the ones that don’t see the light of day much. These are the ones that I have to keep buried deep inside, or I will lose myself to them, and I will never be able to come back from it. The thought that if we arrive at our destination, and Hazel is dead, maybe I will be better off with those devils in charge. Maybe it will hurt less.

I meet Noah’s gaze steadily when he looks back at me, and he raises an eyebrow. “You’re good?”

“Better,” I say, my tone dead, flat, void of anything human.

“Good,” Noah says, a wicked smile curving his lips. “That’s the Zach we need. That’s the Zach Hazel needs, remember that.”

“We’re almost there,” Carter announces, his voice tight with tension. “Get ready.”

As we approach the Old School House, a boarded-up old building that gives me the creeps, Carter slows the car, pulling off to the side of the road. “We’ll go on foot from here,” he says. “Element of surprise.”

We climb out of the car and gear up. Carter opens the boot and lifts the false bottom to reveal Noah’s portable arsenal. Noah places the case with the cordless drill in the boot and flips it open. He pulls out the drill and tests it. It whirrs around, cutting through the silence. Carter straps a holster around his thigh and shoves a hunting knife into it. There are no guns, as they are illegal in this country, and we try to stay as low under the radar as possible, coming up with more imaginative ways to remove the obstacles from our path. I eye up the weapons, my hand hovering over a wicked-looking machete. Noah notices and gives a slight nod of approval. I grip the handle, feeling its weight.

As we near the boarded-up entrance, I strain my ears for any sound from inside. Nothing. The silence is eerie and oppressive. The abandoned building looms before us, dark and foreboding.

Noah gestures for us to stop, cocking his head to listen.

A shiver goes over me. Something isn’t right. I don’t know how to explain it, but it is too quiet.

Carter’s eyes narrow as he scans the building. “Something’s off,” he mutters, echoing my own thoughts.

Noah nods grimly.

We approach the boarded-up entrance cautiously. Carter tests one of the planks, finding it loose. With a grunt, he yanks a few of them free, creating an opening just large enough for us to squeeze through.

The interior is pitch black. I fumble for my phone, switching on the flashlight. The beam illuminates a decrepit hallway, dust swirling in the air.

We move silently through the abandoned school, our senses on high alert. Every scuff on the bare concrete floor sounds too loud. Where is Hazel? Is she even here?

A faint sound catches my attention - a muffled mewl from below. My heart races. Hazel.

Carter hears it, too. His eyes flash dangerously as he picks up the pace, heading for a door at the end of the hall. It opens to reveal a set of stairs leading down into darkness.

The mewling grows louder as we descend. My grip tightens on the machete, rage building inside me. If that bastard has hurt her...

At the bottom of the stairs, we find ourselves in a dank cellar. The beam of my flashlight sweeps across the room, revealing nothing.

A cat jumps out at us, and I will deny all knowledge that it scared the living shit out of me.

“Fuck,” Noah growls. “She isn’t here. Leah lied to us!”

Carter curses violently, slamming his fist against the wall. “That bitch! I’ll make her pay for this.”

I feel the rage building inside me, threatening to consume everything. My vision blurs as I struggle to maintain control. I grip the machete tighter and then curl my free hand into a fist. I slam it into the wall, wishing it was this masked magician arsehole’s face. Over and over, I pound my fist into the wall, barely feeling the pain as my knuckles split open.

“Zach, stop!” Noah grabs my arm, forcing me to lower it. “This isn’t helping Hazel.”

Hazel .

I slump against the wall, breathing heavily. He’s right, but the rage is crushing me. It needs an outlet. Every second we waste is another second Hazel is in danger.

Carter paces the small cellar like a caged animal, radiating fury. He yanks his phone out and starts dialling. It rings out, and the constant noise irritates the devils. Turning on my heel, I run back up the steps and across the school rooms, bursting back outside, gulping in lungfuls of air.

Turning in a circle, drawing in deep breaths, I try to latch onto Hazel’s sweet scent. I can smell the rotting wood, the damp walls, the grass and wildflowers overgrown, but there is nothing to say that either Hazel or her captor are here. There is no alpha or omega scent anywhere except for mine, Carter’s and Noah’s. My keen photographer’s eyes scan the surroundings, seeing the decrepit sign swinging loose from one pole nearby. I cross over to it and pull it up. Westmoor School for Boys is written in a fancy script that makes the dilapidated nature of this building even more sad.

Something is wrong. All wrong. Why would Leah lie? Why would she send us on a wild goose chase?

Unless, she didn’t...