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  The Ransom of a Night Hunter

  About the Author

  THE RANSOM OF A

  NIGHT HUNTER

  MEGAN DERR

  All Whitney wants is to go to dinner with his boyfriend and ask him to move in with him. Instead he winds up kidnapped, a mistake for which his family will harass him relentlessly—and which his kidnappers will swiftly come to regret.

  The Ransom of a Night Hunter

  By Megan Derr

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by

  Cover designed by Megan Derr

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition November 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Megan Derr

  Printed in the United States of America

  THE RANSOM OF A

  NIGHT HUNTER

  Whitney woke up in a trunk, his hands zip tied behind him, and most annoying of all, they'd taken his brand new shoes. Those hadn't been cheap, assholes.

  Had he seriously been kidnapped? Of course it had to happen tonight, of all nights, the one fucking night when he'd needed everything to be perfect. He'd gotten the dinner reservation. A new suit. Argh, said suit was lying in the street probably run over fifty times by now. So much for that, and it was fucking Armani too.

  Boy was his father going to lecture him six ways to Sunday when he heard about this.

  Whitney didn't even care who they were or why they were kidnapping him. He just wanted to get this over with and go home. Unfortunately, they'd made certain to disable the emergency open in the trunk, and even he would have trouble falling out of a car at certain speeds, so it looked like this was gonna have to be done the annoying way.

  The car eventually came to a stop, maybe half an hour or so after Whitney woke up. He twisted around until he was in position and waited.

  Voices. None familiar, not muffled as they were, anyway.

  Keys rattled, clicked in the lock, and Whitney squinted so the abrupt spill of light wouldn't affect his vision. As a figure came fully into view, Whitney kicked out, slamming one foot right into the bastard's nose, driving the bones up into his brain and killing him instantly.

  One down. He braced himself and swung out of the trunk feet first—only to be grabbed by two hulking menaces who were happy to press guns to his side in warning. Drat.

  "He killed Brenner!" One of them said, looking at the body and then at a figure out of Whitney's range.

  "I told you to be careful. Why didn't you bind his feet?"

  "He was out cold," the other man holding him said. "That shit should have knocked him out for hours."

  The still-unseen figure replied, "I warned you of that too. I warned you of a lot of things. Get him inside and locked up now."

  Whitney rolled his eyes as they dragged him off, stifling his impatience. He could probably handle a couple of gunshots, especially since they were using such a small caliber and clearly wanted him alive—for now at least—but that shit hurt and blood loss sucked, so he may as well bide his time. His night was already ruined, and now he had a fatherly lecture to look forward to. May as well get some fun in to make it slightly worthwhile.

  They dragged him into a half-constructed house on a lot that looked like it would be filled with fifty McMansions by the end of the month, down some stairs that definitely would not pass inspection, and into a cage that looked like it was meant to withstand a pissed off Grizzly. Whitney laughed as they threw him inside and turned the keys in not one, or two, but four locks. Adorable. He didn't know who these losers were, but even Mr. I Think I'm Well-Informed didn't know nearly enough.

  He looked at them as they stepped well away from the cage and righted their disheveled clothes. "You do know who I am, right, just to be clear?"

  They gave him disgusted looks, and the shorter one on the right said, "Whitney Dorset, eldest son of Ebenezer and Harriet Dorset."

  "Latest in a long line of supernatural hunters."

  Whitney laughed. "That's all you've got? Supernatural hunter?" He laughed harder.

  The men stared at him in disgust and left, muttering not-nice things about him.

  Left alone, Whitney stewed over the ruined night. He was supposed to be having dinner with Rain. Telling him about the apartment he'd scored, and how they should live there together. Graduation was only a couple of weeks away, and they weren't due at the mountain home until October. Living half the year with their combined families would be so much more bearable if they could spend the other half living together.

  He should be wooing his boyfriend right now, the man he'd been in love with practically his whole life. Ugh, stupid kidnappers. Whitney banged once on the bars, then finally went over to the locks. It was a bit tricky having to get at them through the bars and not being able to see them, but all it did was take him a few extra minutes.

  When they were all unlocked, he put his lockpicks back in the holster at the small of his back, where amateurs like this never thought to frisk him. Leaving the door closed, he went and chilled on the sad excuse for a cot they'd left in the cage.

  Someone came down to see him about an hour or so later, though he'd never been as good at tracking time as his siblings.

  It was one of the guys from before, the one who'd wailed about the asshole Whitney had killed. He was carrying a tray laden with a plate of food, a bottle of water, and even a piece of cheap grocery store cake. These dudes just got more and more adorable.

  As he got close, Whitney surged forward and slammed the unlocked door open so it cracked right into the jerk's head, sending him and the food flying. He snatched up the guys keys, rushed back into the cell, and locked the door, then threw the keys so they landed right by the guy's pocket.

  He'd just sat back down on the cot when three more guys came rushing down the stairs, guns out, looking like spooked deer. They ran over to the downed guy, who was bleeding rather dramatically from the head wound Whitney had given him. "Hank!" Two of them hauled him up and took him away, while the third snatched up the fallen keys and went to check the cage door. "What the fuck happened down here?"

  "Don't look at me, sunshine," Whitney replied. "I'm just the hostage. What am I going to do just sitting here? He's the dipshit who fell into the bars, talk to him."

  The man narrowed his eyes, but after a couple of minutes, just turned and left, bellowing up the stairs for someone named Samuel. Hmm. That was probably Mr. Know-it-All.

  Whitney went and picked the locks again, then returned to the cot and waited.

  It was two of the guys from before, the ones who'd dragged poor Hank away, who came to see him this time.

  One trained a gun on him, which was hilarious given how close together the bars were and how his hands trembled slightly, while the other went to unlock the doors.

  "What the—"

  Whitney moved as the guy stumbled back in surprise from the unlocked door and had him unconscious in seconds, and then turned on the dude with the gun before he could figure out what just happened.

  Leaving them at the foot of the stairs, one piled atop the other, he locked himself in again and tossed the keys to join them.

  He was almost having fun now. Maybe this wouldn't be a completely wasted evening after all.

  Eventually, two others guys came looking for the first two, and their freak-out at what they found caused another six guys to show up. Eh. Bit of a workout, m
aybe.

  He sprawled out on the cot while they screamed and shouted and demanded to know what was going on.

  "Dude, I am locked in a cage," Whitney replied. "How the hell should I know why two dumbasses fell down the stairs and cold-cocked each other?"

  He got more narrow-eyed looks, more silent treatment, and then four guys were left behind while the rest took the unconscious duo upstairs.

  Ah, well, so much for a workout. He yawned and tried to get more comfortable, although he'd have more luck sleeping on a bed of coals.

  "I don't see what the big fucking deal is," one of his new guards muttered. "He's just a fucking kid. What the hell makes him worth two million dollars and requires all this damn hassle?"

  Whitney opened his eyes and sat up at that. "Two million? Excuse me? My sister got kidnapped last year, and they demanded four million for her return! Why am I only worth two million?"

  "Shut up," one of the men snapped. "I think you have bigger problems."

  "Yeah, like the way I'm going to miss my reservation. Do you know how long it takes to get a reservation at the Celeste? I've been planning this dinner for six months! Oh, screw this." He walked over to the door, ignoring the way they all freaked out and pulled guns.

  Summoning all his strength, he yanked hard—and tore the door from its hinges. Throwing it aside, he stepped out into the main area of the room and started swinging. A couple tried to fire at him, but minus one clipping, the bullets lodged in the half-finished walls instead, and after that they were smart enough to stop trying.

  He had all four incapacitated in minutes, with about two broken legs, three broken arms, and one minor head injury scattered among them.

  Of course, that just brought even more of them down and started a whole new round of outrage and freaking out and blah blah blah. Whitney let them cuff him, hands and feet this time, and drag him upstairs.

  Mr. Know-it-All looked like Mr. Pissed-the-Fuck-off now. "Toying with and assaulting my men won't accomplish anything. Do you think this is some sort of game?" He jerked his head, and the men holding Whitney got him into the world's most uncomfortable chair and further strapped him down.

  Whitney rolled his eyes.

  "Well?"

  "Well what? Oh, is this some sort of game?" Whitney laughed. "Yes. I mean, come on, you didn't even bring werewolves or something to the party. Everybody here is plain, ordinary human."

  "Fuck you, I'm not plain anything," one of the guards said hotly. "I'm former SEAL."

  "Good for you," Whitney said.

  "You little—"

  Mr. Know-it-all caught the man by the arm and shoved him away. "He's just trying to provoke you."

  "He's a little monster," the man said.

  Another added, "He killed Bill and injured I don't even know how many anymore. I hope they pay the ransom soon, because this guy is a fucking nightmare."

  "He tore the locks! Like they were paper!" Yet another chimed in, voice a touch shrill. "How did he do that?"

  Mr. Know-it-all gave them all a disgusted look. "I warned you he's a hunter. They're not entirely human themselves."

  "I am one hundred percent human, thank you very much," Whitney said. "Run a DNA test if you really wanna know. The Dorset line has been completely human going all the way back to our founding in the twelfth century, so excuse you, asshole."

  "Then how did you break the lock?" one of the men asked.

  Whitney smiled sweetly. "A little something extra in my morning smoothies."

  "You little—" the man surged forward, and Whitney snapped the cuffs and zips holding him in place, catching the fist aimed at his face. He twisted the guy's arm so he was forced to spin around and sent him stumbling back across the room.

  By that point, two others had come forward and quickly got him tied back down—with extra zip ties, for all the good that would do. The only way to chain him up was to negate his strength, render him 'normal,' and they clearly didn't know that.

  "I thought you said he'd be fine in the cage," one of the men said, double checking all the ties and sighing as he tucked away the broken handcuffs. "What the fuck is wrong with this freak?"

  "Nothing is wrong with me, assholes. You're the ones who ruined my date. I had plans. I should be making out with my boyfriend right now. And you only demanded a two million dollar ransom. My sister isn't even a hunter, and they demanded four million for her! You're getting exactly what you deserve. Karma's a bitch. Suck it up."

  "Gag him," Mr. Know-it-All said. "Christ, he's annoying."

  Whitney laughed—then reared up on his bound feet, still strapped in, and slammed his head into the nose of the asshole who came to gag him. The man fell back with a scream, dropping the gag and cupping his shattered, heavily-bleeding nose.

  One of the others led the man away.

  "You really have no idea what you're doing, do you, Mr. Know-it-All?"

  "Banks," the man said. "My name is Samuel Banks."

  "I don't think you're supposed to tell your hostage that kind of thing. Oh, wait, wait. I get it. You're going to get the money, then kill me. Right, right." Whitney yawned.

  One of the guards cuffed him, leaving a nasty welt on his cheek and his ear sore. "Shut the fuck up."

  "Do that again and you'll never speak another word," Whitney replied, twisting his head enough to stare at the man, who reared back, making a noise like someone had stepped on a squeaky toy.

  Samuel started to speak but was prevented when a phone started ringing. He yanked what proved to be a cheap burner phone from his pocket. Relief filled his face as he answered it. "Yes?" The smug look faded into a frown and then into a scowl. "No, I'm not paying you."

  "Hey!" Whitney bellowed. "Is that my dad? Tell him he's not funny! Not even a little!"

  Samuel ended the call and dropped the phone on the table beside him and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This should have been a simple matter."

  "Ha!" Whitney said. "Shows what you know, fuckface. Next time, don't kidnap a member of the fucking Dorset family."

  Casting him a look of pure, unfiltered frustration, Samuel replied, "What the hell makes you think you're so special?"

  "I thought you knew everything about us 'supernatural hunters.' Guess not, huh?"

  "I know you like to call yourselves 'night hunters,' like that's any less stupid sounding—"

  Whitney laughed. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

  Glaring venomously, Samuel continued in biting tones, "I know you drink weird, secret concoctions that give you increased strength and other special abilities to help you hunt creatures that are hundreds of times more powerful, not to mention capable of things like breathing fire and turning people to stone and all of that. And that around here, the Dorset family is one of the most powerful and the only family to have one of their children roaming around a college campus completely unprotected."

  "Because I can take care of myself, occasional kidnapping aside," Whitney said. "You mostly got it right, except we don't drink 'weird, secret concoctions.' We drink blood, more or less. We extract certain bits and pieces from the blood of the monsters we hunt and turn those into elixirs. But not everyone can drink just any blood or combination of bloods. Drinking the wrong elixir is a good way to get yourself a slow, painful death, and there's no cure. Once you're fucked, you're fucked.

  "It's not money that makes the different night hunter families powerful. That's where you fucked up. It's what elixirs they can drink. And my family—" He flexed hard, snapping all the ties, and shook out stiff muscles as he stood. "Is one of only seven in the whole world that can drink dragon elixir." He slammed an elbow back into one of the guys dumb enough to come at him, knocking the wind right out of him. Stealing his gun, he quickly took care of the remaining guards and then rounded on Samuel. "Five thousand dollars, right now."

  "I beg your pardon?" Samuel asked, even as he lifted his hands in the air at a sharp gesture from Whitney.

  "Your dumbass goons ruined my brand new suit. That fucke
r set me back five grand. Reimburse me right now, or I'll leave you here to bleed out slowly and take the money anyway."

  "What in the hell makes you think I'm keeping several grand just—" The shot boomed out, filling the small room, drowning out most of Samuel's scream. He held his arm where Whitney had clipped it.

  "You only get one warning shot," Whitney replied. "Try again."

  "It's in my fucking car, in the green leather bag." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fob for a Jaguar, throwing it overhand.

  Whitney caught it easy, then motioned again with the gun. "On the floor, asshole, with all your little cretins here."

  "You didn't have to hurt and kill so many of them."

  "You kidnapped me. You were going to kill me. Fuck off." Whitney fired the gun into the wall just to leave him further afraid, then left through the kitchen and out the back door.

  The Jaguar was parked in the alleyway, a pretty green thing that was almost as good as his Porsche.

  He found another burner phone in the bag with the money and immediately dialed Rain's number. When it picked up, he said, "Hey, loser."

  "I'm the loser? Who got kidnapped half an hour before our big date? At some mystery restaurant that was giving you a hard-on?"

  "Hahaha," Whitney replied. "Look, I'm on my way back. I'll be there in like, twenty or so minutes, I think. Shit is starting to look familiar, anyway. I gotta call my family, though, so I'll see you soon."

  "Fine, just get here, you useless human."

  Whitney snickered as he hung up and then called his family. "Hi, Dad."

  "You want to explain to me why the hell you got kidnapped in broad daylight in a mostly empty parking lot?"

  "There's not a whole hell of a lot even I can do when shot from a distance with enough morphine to kill an elephant. I think it was morphine, anyway. Did you seriously tell them that you'd take me back if they paid?"

  "Well, you are a serious pain in the ass," his dad replied, a smile in his voice now. "Your siblings were already fighting over who got your room."

  "Nobody! Assholes!" Whitney said, laughing. "Look, sorry for all the trouble. I left them hurting, but like, only killed a few. No clean up or anything necessary."