Chapter Twelve

Caleb

The squad is rife with curiosity. Most know when to back off—I'm not a fan of personal questions at the best of times, let alone while there's a rogue omega in my den.

And then there's Maverick.

"She attacked anyone yet?"

I try not to glare. "No. And like I told you, she's not feral."

"Right." He leans back in his chair. "She just acts feral, because of her mate."

It's hard to argue this, though I'm still not a fan of his tone.

"You're doing god's work here, boss," he tells me. "Most alphas wouldn't be willing to take that kind of baggage back to their den, but you—"

"She's an omega, Maverick. Not a suitcase."

"Right. Of course." He finally quiets down, pretending to check his emails. "My bad."

The holding cells are mostly empty this morning. Apart from a couple stragglers waiting on their family packs to take them in, everyone has been sent to refuges. A part of me wonders if the stragglers are actually the lucky ones. It's not every day a rogue gets accepted back into their family—that's what makes them such ideal targets for trafficking. No-one to come looking for them once they're gone.

I wonder if that's why Faith wouldn't give me her family name. Wherever she came from … there might not a place for her there anymore.

I follow up on some paperwork before checking in with the New Caniss PD. God knows, if I don't chase them, this case will slip right through the cracks.

They might be satisfied with our twenty-eight rescues and arrests, but I'm not.

My phone pings throughout the day, Micah trying to keep me updated.

MICAH

Faith is settling in.

She's communicating – which is a good sign.

I pick up the phone and type back: What's she saying?

Three dots bob on the screen.

MICAH

Well, she's pretty sure we're all gay.

I smother a laugh. I'm sure Jaxon loved that , I type.

MICAH

You could say that.

He took off to run some errands.

At that I frown. He shouldn't be leaving the den without my permission—especially if it means leaving Micah alone with a dangerous rogue.

Micah starts typing again, like he can sense my worry.

MICAH

Faith seems calm, though. No triggers.

She likes the TV.

I try to visualize it—that fierce, scarred, radiant omega plonked on my couch, watching cartoons. A part of me wants to ask Micah to take a photo.

I quickly put the phone down.

***

Afternoon rolls around, and with it, a handful of hospital reports.

The omega Jaxon found in the ring with Faith—likely Faith's final conquest—is healing up nicely. She won't be discharged for a couple more days, but her refuge mother is planning to swing by the ward to introduce herself.

No traces of infection have come back on the rogues we tested. Thank god. It's not uncommon for disease to run rampant in underground organizations like this one—sexual disease, especially.

It's like Faith explained: the ringleaders were careful. They made sure their prisoners got fresh air, clean water, and at least one meal a day.

But honestly … in an arena of that size, filled with that many rogues, it's almost unthinkable that sex wasn't a bigger issue. There's no way the ringleaders could stop their prisoners from getting together.

I grit my teeth. Faith and her mate can testify to that.

That's when I check her file.

Vitamin D deficiency …. Vitamin C deficiency … B12 deficiency … low ferritin levels bordering on anemia. Nothing too unexpected.

Then I flip over to the next page.

Substantial traces of estralide discovered in patient's bloodstream, matching that of other samples. Likely the result of long-term dosing.

Note: effects will wear off in the coming weeks.

It all makes sense now. Estralide is the scientific names for hospital-grade blockers. They're hard core—potent enough to double as contraception—and definitely not for commercial use.

The text goes on, in bold:

Symptoms of withdrawal include but are not limited to: fever, heart palpitations, nausea, fatigue, excessive sweating, and emergency heats.

My blood runs cold. Faith has been in the arena for three years . If she's been taking estralide all that time, she won't just be withdrawing.

She'll be falling apart.

I realize I'm standing, pacing the office as I read. There's no way Faith can stay with us now. She needs to be in a hospital, where they can look after her—maybe ween her off more gradually.

No . I stop myself. I can't break her trust like that.

Whatever happens to Faith now … it's her body. Her call.

If she wants to stay at Wilder Den and help us track down the remaining ringleaders and rogues, I'll respect that. But if she'd prefer to be on her own, being treated for what is sure to be a very grueling couple of weeks, I'll respect that too.

Though I can already guess, in my sinking gut, which route she'll choose.