Chapter Fifty-Three

Jaxon

I pace the bullpen, checking my phone for the hundredth time.

"They're late."

Micah sits perfectly upright in my desk chair. "They'll be here."

I force myself to take a breath. Of everyone who's on edge right now, my packmate is probably struggling the most—and with good reason. This is the first time he's stepped foot in the RDF in over a year.

A lot of ugly memories here. Good ones, too, though maybe not enough to balance out.

"Sorry," I grunt, stopping in front of him. "I'll … relax."

He smiles up at me appreciatively.

Sirena walks in at eight a.m. on the dot, carrying a cup of coffee. Her eyes light up when she notices Micah.

"Oh my gosh." She grins. "Hey, you. Long time no see!"

He stands, accepting a hug. Only at Sirena's delight—asking him how he's been, what he's gotten up to—do I remember that they used to be good friends.

"Everything okay?" she asks at last. "I noticed Caleb in the parking lot. He seemed a little tense." She hesitates. "More than normal."

"He's waiting for someone," I explain.

"Maverick," Micah adds. "And, uh, Faith."

Sirena softens. "I see. I'll leave you guys to it, then—"

As she moves to her desk, her phone pings. She takes it out, her expression instantly changing when she sees the screen.

"What?" I demand. "Something wrong?"

"Uh … an APB just went out not far from here—some big collision on the freeway. Witnesses saw three masked alphas dragging an omega into an unmarked van."

Even before she offers more details, I have a sinking feeling in my gut. Sirena wouldn't be getting this antsy if there wasn't something more. Something bad.

The back door rattles, and Caleb comes marching into the bullpen. Everyone straightens to attention as his sharp pheromones fill the space.

"Jaxon, Hector, Delia—" he calls us out, "gear up." His jaw clenches. "We've got a lead."

Instantly the three of us are moving. Micah also springs to his feet.

"Caleb," he says, chasing us down the hall. "What's going on? Is this about the APB?"

Caleb growls, shouldering the back door open. "I want you to stay here, Micah. You and Sirena can man the phones."

"The phones?" he demands. "What are we waiting for?"

"If we're lucky, a ransom call."

That awful feeling in my gut solidifies. "Someone took her," I manage to grind out, "didn't they?"

Caleb all but throws his car door open. Delia and Hector climb into the back seat. He stops for barely a second, sliding his phone across the hood of the car.

Female omega. Mid-twenties. Black hair. Approximately 5'5".

There's a video embedded at the bottom of the report—footage from the nearest speed cameras. My blood already eating through my bones like acid, I dare to press ‘play'.

A waste truck slams into the side of a black car—Maverick's black car. A van in the adjoining lane bursts open, three masked figures ripping open the passenger door and dragging out …

Faith .

My Faith.

"Fuck," I snarl, watching as they stick her in the back of the van.

"Oh my god," Micah whispers.

"Jaxon," Caleb growls, "get in. Now ."

He doesn't have to tell me again. Looking at Micah one last time, my lingering gaze telling him, Don't worry, we'll get her back, I climb into the car. We're going to have move fast if we want to catch up with that van.

It won't give me much time to think of exactly how I'm going to annihilate the fuckers who took Faith.

Oh well.

I'll improvise.

***

By midday, Faith's face is over every possible news outlet. Every member of the NCPD, and of the course the RDF, has their eyes peeled.

And yet there's still no sign of her.

I rake my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to roar up at the sky. Where the fuck did they take her ?

"They must've changed vehicles," Delia says, the four of us standing over the trashed remains of that unmarked van.

"Hector," Caleb orders, "see if you can get a scent."

Hector, our best tracker (after Maverick), takes a whiff of the inside of the van. He comes out again with a grim expression. "They covered their tracks. Bleached the whole thing."

Caleb growls under his breath. "I want all of you in the tunnels—split up, find the three nearest entrances and get underground."

"They probably had another car," Delia reiterates, "I doubt they would've risked going on foot."

"You're not here to doubt," Caleb snaps, "you're here to take my goddamn orders."

She bristles, but doesn't hesitate, giving a curt nod before running off down the street. Hector is quick to follow.

Only I'm brave enough to hang back. "Caleb," I get out, "we should get to the hospital. See what Maverick knows."

For a second I think he's about to snap at me, too, before he bites his tongue.

"Maverick just got hit by a truck," he snaps. "No. He's not the person we need to be talking to."

I scowl. "Then who is?"

At last, Caleb meets my eye. His glare is like tempest, raging and roiling—more unpredictable than I've ever seen him.

He gets back into the car without answering. I have to be quick to follow suit, fairly certain he'll drive off without me if I'm too slow. Barking a couple orders into his radio, telling the others to report if they find anything, he starts driving.

Within two turn-offs, I realize where we're going.

The remand facility.

***

It's my first time meeting Axe—the guards' guard—up close and personal.

Just standing in the same room as this guy puts my teeth on edge. Stubbled bald, beady eyes, stitches around his head … he's one mean-looking motherfucker.

"You're back," he greets Caleb with a leer. "Lucky me."

"Want to get luckier?" Caleb asks, completely deadpan.

Axe recoils. "What, you coming on to me now?"

Without warning, Caleb lurches across the table, grabbing Axe by the scruff of his jumpsuit. I bristle to attention, shooting a quick look at the door. The wardens aren't going to be happy if they see this. Neither are Axe's lawyers.

"Don't flatter yourself, you impotent prick," Caleb hisses. "I'm here to make a deal. A fucking good one, if you have the information I need."

Axe's eyes flash. "I'm listening."

Reluctantly, Caleb releases him, and I release my breath.

"We need to know where the ringleaders are hiding. I'm starting to doubt they're even underground anymore, because we've searched those tunnels systems up and down, and turned up blank. So." He leans forward, bracing his hands against the table. "Where else could they have gone?"

Axe hesitates. "What's in it for me?"

"Name it," I pipe up. I can ruin this asshole's life later—right now, I'll give him whatever he wants.

"No jail time."

Caleb scoffs. "You think you can walk away from human trafficking with community service? Best I can do is a reduced sentence—five years instead of ten."

"You want information?" Axe shrugs. " No jail time. "

"The judge will never allow it."

"Then I guess I can't help you."

My glare flicks to Caleb. It can't end like this . We can worry about the judge after we've found Faith.

"Hang on a second …" Axe's eyes light up. "They got her, didn't they? No wonder you're so pissed—I'll bet they stole that feral little bitch back."

"Watch your fucking mouth," I snarl.

"Three years," Caleb snaps. "Three years, in a protected ward."

"Hmm …" Axe licks his lips. "This is too good. I warned you, didn't I?" Then his voice hardens. " No jail time . That's my final offer."

"I can't promise you that," Caleb says, "even if I wanted to."

"Hang on." I hate the words bubbling up inside me. They feel like oil, slippery and tainted, as they roll off my tongue. "We … tell the judge he's a victim. Trafficked by the ring, indoctrinated—I mean, there's a case of Stockholm Syndrome if I ever saw one." I clench my fists. "He'll go to a refuge. A guarded refuge, but still …" I cut Axe a loathsome glare. "Better than prison."

I dread to meet Caleb's look. Don't even want to imagine the way he's looking at me—maybe with disappointment, or surprise, that I'd even suggest such a thing.

"Sure," Axe declares at last. "You get me off on Stockholm Syndrome , I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

I blink. Caleb blinks.

That was easier than I thought.

"Done," Caleb bites out. "Now tell us— where are the ringleaders ?"

There's another, agonizing beat of hesitation. I'm worried Axe is about to demand we put it in writing—waste even more of our time—when he sighs.

"They're still underground. Just not in the city."

I scowl. "What? They left New Caniss?"

"Not exactly. There's this rich fuck—pretty sure I already mentioned him to your boss over there—" he nods at Caleb. "Old alpha, smokes cigars, probably owns more yachts than t-shirts."

Caleb's jaw slackens. "The one who bid on F-7."

"That's your guy. He's got a vested interest in making sure the ringleaders don't get arrested."

"So he's what?" I throw my hands up. "Letting them camp out in his mansion?"

"No." Axe grins. "In his bunker ."

No wonder we couldn't track down their new base. We assumed they stayed on the move, making themselves impossible to pin down. Instead, they've been sitting still, tucked away in a top-secret hideout.

"What's his name?" I demand. "This rich fuck. Better yet, what's his address?"

Axe sighs. "Like I said last time, I don't have a name. Or an address. They were real picky about getting us in and out—only the top-ranking ringleaders knew where we were going."

My frustration boils over. "Then what the fuck good are you ?"

"Jax—" Caleb puts a hand on my chest. The rest remains unspoken. This is the best we're going to get .

The two of us are storming out to the car, wanting to return to headquarters and share what we've learned, when he grunts, "You did good in there."

I stop. "What?"

"The deal. The guarded refuge." He slams his door. "That was smart."

Pride tingles deep in my stomach—faint, but familiar. Head alpha is pleased with me. The feeling doesn't last long before I remember the situation we're in, and the fact that I'm still fucking furious with him, but it'll hold me over.

At least, long enough for us to find our omega.