Property of a Gordon

Chapter Three.

Chapter Three:

"Get out," an anonymous voice barked, shattering the thick silence that had built during the ride.

The others shuffled out, obeying their orders without hesitation. They simply complied with their heads bowed towards the ground. You would think that out of five of us, at least one of the others would have a backbone. Apparently not.

I did the complete opposite, giving each heavily armored body a dirty look. They may have forced my drugged body into the truck, but there was no way they were going to get me to walk out on my own two feet. It seemed I was the only one who thought that way.

They watched, expressionless, as the four submissive cowards descended from the truck and followed yet another set of armored bodies. It seemed as if there was an endless supply prepared solely for us.

I wasn't able to withhold my disgust towards the werewolves any longer and found myself snapping, "I'm ashamed to even be associated with any of you!"

No one seemed to notice my absence until then, and their eyes finally whirled in my direction, turning ice cold.

"What are you, deaf? Get out now!" one of them snapped and I bared my teeth silently, my two feet remaining on the metal floor of the truck. I wasn't going to let it be that easy for them. Did they seriously expect to capture werewolves and not get any trouble?

"We don't have time to play around. Get her out and send her down to the Training Room immediately. We can't present her-" another one started, instructing the others. The rest was drowned out by the thundering of thick boots making their way inside the truck.

I snarled, still baring my teeth, hoping to at least slow them down with my facade. But their pace remained stable, unhindered. I coiled my body in preparation, bracing myself for their impact as I shielded my face and body with my arms. However, they came at me much faster than I'd been prepared for.

Three armored bodies were on me in swift movements, one at each of my arms and the last cuffing my feet with his hands. I snarled, growled, and glared at them, but they remained unyielding. However, the man on my right made the mistake of inching close to my mouth, his finger unintentionally beckoning my teeth. As I said, I wasn't going down without a fight.

I bit down, and the coppery, metallic taste of blood slowly filled my mouth. I could hear his ear-piercing yell, but I only bit down further until my canines finally nicked a bone in his finger. I allowed a second to pass before I continued on, feeling the satisfying snap of a bone breaking vibrate through my mouth.

Hands wrapped around my neck like a vise, cutting off any air supply. I gagged slightly but kept my mouth clamped on the finger just as tightly. I wasn't going to be the only one in pain.

Black dots were starting to blur my vision like splattered tar, and there was enough blood in my mouth that breathing was becoming a struggle. I knew I was going to die whether I let go of the finger or not, and it didn't help that I lacked the energy to even release it.

The armored body made the mistake of yanking back, and the whole truck descended into silence as his hand flew against his chest-missing one more finger than it had five minutes ago.

He was no longer yelling. The man was now screaming, his body quickly becoming pale. "Get my finger out of her damn mouth, now!" he snapped, his voice becoming as faint as his body by the end of his order.

I wasn't able to distinguish the words, but someone else began talking in response. Then, the unyielding grip around my neck was loosened and I immediately collapsed to the floor of the truck. I gasped for the air that entered me like a rusted knife rubbing against the inside of my throat.