Somehow, my dick began to swell as Jeffery thrust into me. He was slow, then rough, only to repeat the process all over again.
I felt disgusted. I could feel blood acting like lube. I was-
A crash, a rattle of some sort, shook the walls and floor. It was loud, or maybe it was just me. As Jeffery didn’t stop pounding in me. He muttered words of pleasure and kept going.
Like a stupid energetic bunny.
Another crash, this time with voices and heavy steps.
“Not yet. I’m not done yet. Stupid fuckers.”
Jeffery thrust once, twice more, before he froze and his seed expelled into me. Right at the same time, the door burst open, bouncing off the walls with a flurry of voices and demands and yelling.
I couldn’t see past my tears. I couldn’t hear much over the yelling of too many people and the threatening exploding heart in my chest.
I could feel the softening dick slip from my abused behind, my own still rigid as ever, leaking. My mind was everywhere, and the drugs took hold.
I couldn’t breathe.
Jeffery pulled me up to fully kneel, a hand around my neck. The slight pressure did nothing to help my lungs get air, and spit slipped down my chin.
I leaned my head back against his stomach, and my eyes glazed over as a knife was slid against my throat, right above his tight hold.
Maybe today would be the day I finally got to die.
Chapter 32
Allister
I paced. I paced the office. I paced the house. Paced some more at headquarters.
The only time I stopped was when I was told, not nicely, to get some sleep. And even then, I’d jerk awake every few minutes in case I had missed my phone ringing.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
However, many seconds.
I paced.
I barely ate.
I handed over every single piece of information I had. My GPS location to the bracelet. The reports on the men I had. Everything excluding my soul.
So why was it so hard to find the boy? Where the hell was he?
I wanted to kill whoever took him. And I’d draw it out for however long it was needed.
I didn’t care about the answers. I didn’t care about putting others at risk.
My GPS tracker pinged one last time in the middle of no man’s land and went offline. That was hours after Dakota was taken. Hours after I got finished at the main office going over all the details I could.
Dakota could be anywhere in the world by now. Anyone could have him. And, God forbid, he could be dead.
Would I find the boy washed ashore come next spring? Or would his body be rotted and never located in the middle of a forest?
I failed.
