Chapter 207

The man pinned Siron’s arms to the bed and pressed his lower body against Siron’s groin, rubbing slowly.

“You’re not whoring that hole around with this guy and that guy, are you? Hm?”

Siron was trapped in the embrace of a man over 100 kilos of muscle, unable to move an inch. Terror gripped him—the thought that he might be raped and kidnapped helplessly. And before he could stifle it, something inside him swelled and burst out like it was erupting from his very skin.

“God almighty... what the hell are you?”

The man buried his face between Siron’s collarbone and neck, inhaling deeply. To Siron it felt as if black storm clouds heavy with rain were billowing up around the man’s body. His pheromones lashed Siron’s skin like a whip.

“Haaah...”

Trembling with rapture, the man shuddered as though in ecstasy, worshipping Siron’s scent. He was about to plead something, but suddenly stiffened and turned his head. From far away came the creak of an iron staircase.

It might be Baekgyeong. No—it had to be Baekgyeong.

“Mmfff!”

Siron screamed into the gag, but the fabric stuffed deep into his mouth distorted the sound, turning it into a muffled cry.

“Shit!”

The man shoved the sofa against the door to block it, then slung Siron over his shoulder and grabbed a chair from the table.

The doorknob rattled violently just then. The man clicked his tongue, glaring at it. It was definitely the guy from Room 104. If he’d been a moment slower with the barricade, there would’ve been a midnight brawl.

In a hurry, he carried Siron into the bathroom, jammed the door with the chair to make a second barricade, and flipped on the light to check his escape. Just as he’d left it while breaking in, the high window near the ceiling had its frame bare, the pane removed neatly and laid on the floor.

He calmly pushed Siron’s legs out through the window first. With crushing strength, he gripped Siron’s wrists to keep him from falling, then climbed out himself.

The moment Siron’s feet touched the ground, he felt himself hefted back onto the man’s shoulder and carried to a car parked in the alley behind the motel, hidden from sight.

The man didn’t even turn on the headlights, driving fast under the rare glow of streetlamps. Siron watched the landscape vanish in terror. They were on a one-lane road, the ride so rough the car jolted violently up and down.

“Doesn’t matter what you are. From now on, we’re gonna live together forever. For now, you’ll hide out in my warehouse a week or so. Lord above! Thank you for hearing my desperate prayer and answering me with such great grace!”

The man spat as he spoke, saliva spraying in his frenzy. Siron, frozen in fear, rolled his eyes slowly to glance at him.

“I always wondered why the Lord gave me such trials—but now I see, it was a test to prepare me for you! From the very beginning He had this moment planned!”

Siron, unable to keep up with how fast everything was unraveling, finally snapped back to his senses when the man reached to the stereo and blasted Christian country music.

“Oh Lord, I never knew why You chose me. I’m nothing, nobody. But after You saved me, my heart began to sing Your praises!”

The man sang along at the top of his lungs, drunk on joy. Witnessing this Texan-accented psychotic zealot up close, Siron felt like ice water had been poured over his head.

I’m God’s answer? I never agreed to that, you fucking lunatic.

As he sang, the man squeezed Siron’s knee hard, then let go, shouting:

“Ha! You see, I was born with a damn curse. When it flares up, the whole world attacks me. Every particle of pheromone stabs into my lungs like needles, and I can’t stand the stench of other alphas. And those cheap Etas? Christ, they reek. I couldn’t even leave this goddamn backwater because of it. But when the Lord threw me into that deep darkness, He had already prepared the shining exit. Isn’t that amazing, baby?”

If there was one small mercy, it was that Siron was no stranger to being kidnapped by lunatics. He had been helplessly dragged off by Isaac once, but that didn’t mean he’d let it happen again. He had even defeated Joseph Miller with nothing but his taekwondo skills.

In all the action movies he’d ever seen, the hero always found some flash of brilliance to escape a kidnapping in a moving car. Siron thought of those actors, once his idols. The thought steadied him, quieted his fear, and his mind cleared.

The car left the one-lane road and merged onto a two-lane highway. The man finally switched on the headlights. The night was still as a grave, fields of harvested corn stretching endlessly on either side. A meter down from the road was the field itself, and between them a deeper drainage ditch.

The man wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. With one hand raised in the air, he sang along to the hymn, overcome with fervor. Siron swallowed, then quietly clicked his own seatbelt into place. The man’s gaze slid toward him.

“What the hell you doin’?”

Siron glared at him—and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left.

The man reflexively slammed the brakes and twisted the wheel right, but too late.

The car vaulted off the road, hit a rise, and went airborne before slamming down on the driver’s side. With a thunderous crash, it tumbled like a giant dice, metal crumpling, corners twisting and tearing as it rolled.

The man’s body shot through the windshield like an arrow, headfirst into a haystack in the cornfield.

The overturned vehicle skidded across the dirt before finally stopping. The passenger side was buried deep in the soil, white smoke hissing with the stench of fuel. From the speakers, hymns still blared, giving glory to God. The airbags slowly deflated, leaving Siron slumped toward the broken window.

His whole body hurt like it had been shattered. He had only expected to land in the ditch beside the road—but this was a catastrophe on a scale so extreme, it was a miracle he was still alive.

Testing himself, he carefully moved his fingers and toes. Aside from his injured right shoulder, there was no stabbing pain of broken bones. Just the soreness of muscles battered and inflamed.

Unbuckling his belt, he crawled out through the ripped windshield. His hands and mouth were still bound, but there was no time to tear them free. He had to escape first, injuries be damned.

He staggered through the sharp, cut-off corn stalks toward the road. His legs gave way, knees buckling, and his shoulder was dead numb. The crash had pulverized his muscles and joints. Every breath brought a flare of pain beneath his ribs.

“Hey! You bastard!”

The man’s thunderous bellow cracked the night behind him. Like a beast’s roar, shaking with dry rage.

Siron turned and saw him, staggering upright in the darkness. Bathed in the headlights, he was drenched in blood.

The hair on Siron’s body bristled. Terror surged through his bloodstream straight to his heart. He forced his stiff body forward, each step an agony, convinced the man’s hand would seize him from behind any moment. But then adrenaline surged, drowning everything else, flipping on the survival switch in his brain.

Just then, far ahead, headlights flared. Two sharp beams cut through the wilderness and fell across Siron’s pale face.

Someone had come.

With all the strength he had left, Siron leapt across the ditch and climbed onto the road, running toward the light.