"Yes, sir," Thistle repeated, a little stiffer.
With one last greedy look at Scout's body, Warren slammed the door.
Immediately, thoughts of escape swarmed Scout's mind. With the pack alpha gone, maybe he could squirm out of Thistle's reach, and if he got to the door—
A hand gripped his wrist firmly and yanked him out of the chair. Thistle was already hauling him to the back room.
"Let's go, omega."
Scout grunted. He couldn't hold back a retort this time. "Maybe you shouldn't manhandle your alpha's property," he said.
Thistle whipped around to glare at him but loosened his grip enough for Scout to notice. "Get in there. And don't even think about trying to get out this time."
He shoved Scout into the back room and slammed the door before he could respond. Scout heard the loud telltale click of the lock.
He scowled. The room was bigger than he expected, but it still felt like a shack. He briefly wondered why the pack's alpha lived in such a run-down old building. Maybe this wasn't his home. There had to be more than one building on Silvercreek land, regardless of how wildly they lived.
When Scout saw the bed, he grew nauseous. He highly doubted the alpha use it forsleeping. Anxiety rushed through his blood. He looked around, panicked, for any way out. He didn't know how long he had before Warren returned. This might be his only chance at escape before his life was ruined forever.
But there were no windows, and no doors except the locked one behind him, guarded by a trained assassin. The floor was concrete — no digging his way out, even if he did have enough time to make a tunnel somehow.
Scout let out a shaky sigh.
His knees shook and he felt like they were about to give out. He glanced at the bed in disgust. He would rather fall to the floor than touch that bed.
The bed.
An idea flashed in Scout's mind. He forced himself to his feet and craned his neck back to look at the ceiling. Squinting against the darkness, he saw the wooden beams crossing one end of the room to the other.
His heart racing in excitement and anxiety, he crawled on the bed. He grimaced and tried not to think about the things that had happened on the sheets he was standing on. Slowly standing up, Scout reached for the wooden beam above his head. His hands just reached it. He curled his fingers around the old wood and pulled carefully down. To his relief, the beam let out a tired creak.
Scout's heart pounded.
This was his ticket out of hell.
