Caleb didn’t disagree, but without a trail, or any clues, there wasn’t much he could do other than promise his aid should Wes discover something. In the meantime, while they waited to see if life would stay normal, he had a family that needed him.
Although it had been only a few weeks since Caleb’s return, life had changed drastically. All for the better.
With the house Caleb had scored meeting approval from Renny and Luke, she’d given her notice to the guy she rented her apartment from, and they were already moved in. Even better, with Caleb’s mom quitting her job to become a full-time grandmother and babysitter for her grandson, it meant Renny could stick to one job, part-time. He wasn’t crazy about her choice of remaining as a waitress for the Itty Bitty Club, but she was working the day shift now and home before dark. While he might not like her job, his best friend Daryl loved it because Renny made sure he got the employee discount on drinks, which meant more tips for everyone since Daryl spent most of his lunches there.
Goddamned perv. But Caleb loved the guy, so he tolerated it.
Life was fucking sweet. He was in love. Had a son. A job.
As for his croc, since their recent understanding, Caleb found he didn’t resent it, but then again, he also made sure to let it out as often as he could. In return, his reptile slumbered more peacefully in his mind, and while it didn’t give up hunting entirely, at least Caleb could content himself that the prey they hunted wasn’t human.
And he felt more human than he had in years.
Except when the football hit him in the head, and Daryl laughed. Then he chased the damned cat, who was nimble no matter his form, up a tree while his son cheered him on and Renny clapped.
Life was fucking grand—and we’ll eat anyone who tries to mess it up.
Snap.
*
Well, this didn’t bode well. Finding oneself tied to a chair, fully clothed and alone, was never a good sign. Naked and with a lady friend? Totally another thing.
But nope, no hottie in a latex suit. No feathers for tickling. Yet Daryl was definitely bound and a prisoner.
There was a light somewhere behind him, probably a lamp, given it didn’t come from overhead. It provided enough illumination to see his odd situation. Seated in a straight-back, metal-framed chair with a plastic bucket to cradle his large frame. The kind of chair you saw in cafeterias and, judging by the wobble when he swished his hips, not too solid.
That’s method number one to escape.
Two was snapping the tape that bound him to the chair. A simple twist of his large upper body should do it.
Onto the third item, what of his hands? Those were, surprisingly enough, taped in front of him.
By whom, fucking amateurs? Don’t they know how dangerous I am?
Who the hell secured a dangerous predator with their hands in front of them? Because, seriously, if there was anyone dangerous, it was Daryl.
Not conceit, simple fact.
Daryl tested the tape binding his wrists together. He didn’t break it right away. Never act too hasty, not if one wanted the element of surprise. But he almost forgot his own rule when he noted the duct tape was patterned with ducks.
What the hell?
He peered down, and sure enough, more of the happy yellow rubber duckies swam across his chest across the tape layered there.
Mmm…duck. His feline did so enjoy a well-roasted one.
Apart from feeling a little peckish, Daryl was wondering if this was a joke. After all, this was the least intimidating abduction he’d ever heard of. When he recounted this story to his buds, he’d have to make sure he changed the ducks to sharks. Because at least they had big teeth. Or maybe he’d tell them he’d broken out of chains.
Yeah, big silver chains. That would impress them.
The dim light barely illuminated the place. Probably a good thing, given he was pretty sure the pink carpet, worn smooth in spots, was a relic from the nineties while the television, in its big hulking case, should have collapsed the dresser.
A classy motel, probably on the side of the highway somewhere, used as a quick pit stop by truckers and those looking for a place to wash and rest on a journey to somewhere.
But how did I get here?
That was the question because last he recalled, he was chatting with that lovely cocoa-skinned woman—and he meant woman, with curves that would spill over his palms, luscious lips that would look perfect about waist-height, and dark curly hair that spilled over her shoulders.
Hair that I wanted to pull, which was why I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere quieter.
To his surprise, she’d readily agreed, and they went outside. Whereupon she fucking stabbed him with a needle!
So was it any wonder when she walked in, not even two seconds after his recollection, that he blurted out, “You’re the bitch who drugged me.” And despite what she’d done, he still found her freaking hot, even if she did have a gun pointed at his face.
“Keep talking, darlin’. You’re making my finger awfully twitchy.” She canted her head to the side and smiled.