Chapter Fourteen

Jaxon

Our resident omega is none too happy when Caleb calls me back into HQ. Then again, neither am I.

"Right now?" I hiss to Caleb while Micah talks her down. "I'm finally starting to make some progress here."

"Progress." Caleb quirks a brow at me. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Guess I walked right into that one. What with Faith warming up to us, bit by bit, my inner alpha hasn't exactly kept his feelings secret. I'm spreading my scent all over the place in the vain hopes it will reach her.

"You have to admit," I say hoarsely, "we're a good fit for her."

Caleb glowers. For a second I think he's about to go all head alpha on me—snap at my unprofessionalism, put me in my place—but he must remember that Faith is still in the next room.

Tersely, he closes our bedroom door, and turns back to me with folded arms.

"I'm going to give you once chance to pretend I didn't hear that," he growls. "Faith is our ward . An unstable one, at that."

I almost— almost —bare my teeth. Caleb's sharp look stops me just in time.

"Headquarters," he says, firmly, "with me. First thing tomorrow morning." Before I can even think of arguing, he adds, "That's an order."

We go to bed without further discussion, Micah lying awkwardly between us.

Caleb makes sure we're out the door by sunrise—no doubt trying to avoid Faith's wrath.

Why he's holding out on her, I don't know. He's the one who said she could be involved in the investigation. He's the one who requested her permission to bring in a sketch artist. And yet, he's kept her holed up in Wilder Den, getting antsier by the day.

I want to ask, but the way he glares out at the road, gripping the steering wheel … I decide it can wait.

I spend the morning playing catch-up, seeing what the rest of the squad have come up with. Sirena's got eyes on all the surveillance cameras in the city. Her assistants are following up on the estralide lead—the ringleaders had to be sourcing it somewhere.

Thankfully Maverick's not in today—Caleb's got him running the tunnels. If there's something we missed, Maverick is bound to find it.

It's midday before Caleb and I head to the special remand facility across town, where four ringleaders are half a dozen guards are awaiting trial. Their lawyers haven't let us anywhere near them since the arrest, but now they've had a few days to cool off (and get their stories straight), we've been given the all-clear.

"I'll do the talking," Caleb says as we get our visitors' passes. "Feel free to butt in when it looks like they're getting comfortable."

We take it one at a time, starting with an alpha by the name of Gerry Bridger. I can tell at a glance he's nothing more than a grunt—just masquerading as one of the ringleaders—but he pretends to string us along, nonetheless.

"I've got nothing to say until you can promise me full immunity." He leans back, his handcuffs rattling against the table. "No jail time. No house arrest."

Me and Caleb exchange a look.

Caleb shrugs. "Alright."

Gerry looks taken aback. "A–alright?"

"Sure. Though, that's assuming you can give us the full legal names of the other two ringleaders, and tell us where they've gone into hiding."

"You're an important man, right?" I add, smirking, "I'm sure they told you that much."

Gerry swallows.

"Hm." Caleb stands. "That's too bad."

As we start to walk out of the room, the pathetic alpha is all but begging us to stay so he can tell us everything he does know.

Which, admittedly, is not very much.

"Who's next?" I sigh, filling up my second cup of shitty coffee.

Caleb consults his files. "Julius Darke. Another alpha—but with twice the criminal record. Including two counts of omega trafficking."

My blood turns to raging magma at the thought.

I crack my knuckles. "This'll be fun, then."

"Jaxon," Caleb warns.

"Yeah, yeah."

The bastard must scent my bloodlust the second Caleb and I walk through the door, because he's on his best behaviour. A true sociopath right down to his core.

"Frankly, I didn't even know about the tunnels. Boss told me they were unusable—blocked off, too risky, something or other." He sighs dramatically. "I was as disappointed as you were to hear about the getaways."

"This boss ," Caleb says, "what's his name?"

"Now that, I'd be delighted to tell you." Julius leers. "For a price."

Here we go .

Caleb must sense I'm about to intervene, because he cuts me a sideways glance, but I can't stop myself.

"How's this for a price?" I smack my hands on the table. "You give us the name, and I don't mention to all the guards at general pop how many minors you kidnapped for your trafficking scheme."

Julius's expression falters for a second. "Check your records, sir. You'll find all the omegas in my care were eighteen or older."

"Maybe. But the guards don't know that."

He turns his gaze to Caleb, as though checking my bluff. It's no small threat I've made here—the other alphas in general pop, not to mention the guards, will eat this guy alive if they think he's messing with kids.

"Hamish," Julius says at last. "I never got a last name."

Caleb is quick to take over the conversation, not letting me get another word in. He asks for a physical description, then mentions the estralide.

"Oh, sure." Julius shrugs. "I knew about that. Figured it was more humane that way, you know? Keep the rogues from getting too antsy." He smirks. "Make sure they didn't go popping out any pups."

My thoughts instantly go to Faith. Drugged up on blockers every day for three years, her inner omega starved, doomed for an inevitable withdrawal. Best case scenario? She goes through several days of pure hell. Worst case? She's infertile for life.

" Humane ?" I snarl.

Caleb rises, placing a hand on my chest. "Hallway," he mutters, "now."

Lip still curled, I storm out, not trusting myself to look at Julius Darke ever again.

What's wrong with you ? I snap at my inner alpha. I've dealt with plenty of scumbags before, including the trafficking kind. This guy is no different.

Except for the fact that he's been keeping Faith, my Faith, in a cage for the last three years.

Caleb shuts the door behind us. "Get your stuff," he says to me, "you're going back to HQ."

I open my mouth to argue. Shut it before I even find the words.

My head alpha is right. The way I'm acting right now, I'll only be a liability to the interrogation.

If only you'd send me back to the den, I want to grumble. I need to see the omega. Need to put my scent on her.

Then again—maybe that's the reason he dragged me out of there in the first place.