4. Whizz

Istared at the map on my laptop screen skeptically. Greenfield and Stone Valley—two small towns, apparently linked by a series of vanishings.

Marc”s call had sparked a glimmer of hope, but I couldn”t help feeling wary. Countless times, I”d followed leads that turned into dead ends.

My time in Greenfield didn”t yield much. The kindergarten where Dylan Riggs worked seemed normal, and his coworkers knew nothing.

Questioning didn”t get me far, and the whole thing felt like chasing a ghost.

Sighing, I sat in a plain coffee shop, my laptop open. Uncertainty filled me, and I wondered if I was caught in yet another wild goose chase.

Had I been lured into another puzzle without answers?

I decided to visit Dylan Rigg’s neighbor. She had a fuzzy memory of that night, mentioning distant screams.

It wasn”t much, and I thanked her, trying to shake off disappointment.

Mounting my Harley, I headed to Stone Valley, knowing the truth lay somewhere between these two towns.

I made my way to the building where Manuel, Mitch Osborn’s fiancee lived. Manuel had been expecting me.

Manuel”s eyes were red-rimmed, his face etched with a mixture of sorrow and frustration.

I could see the pain he was carrying, the weight of uncertainty that had settled on his shoulders.

As I approached him, I offered a sympathetic nod.

”Hey, I”m Whizz,” I introduced. “We spoke on the phone last night.”

He looked up, his eyes briefly locking with mine before he nodded in acknowledgment.

”I”m Manuel. Thanks for coming, man,” he said.

Stepping into Manuel”s apartment, I was immediately hit by a sense of disarray.

Clutter seemed to dominate the space, with scattered clothes and various objects strewn across the floor and furniture. Manuel was a mess since Mitch”s disappearance.

As I navigated through the clutter, I couldn”t help but notice the framed photographs that adorned the walls— that of Manuel and Mitch.

My heart ached for him. While I didn”t have a special someone in my life at the moment, I knew shifters mated for life.

Manuel cleared the sofa, creating a space for us to sit.

He turned to me and asked, ”Want anything to drink? Beer?”

I considered it briefly but shook my head.

”Just water,” I replied, understanding the importance of staying clear-headed for this meeting.

There was no room for distractions or clouded judgment.

He disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned with a glass of cold water, setting it down on the coffee table between us.

We settled onto the sofa. I noticed Manuel”s hands fidgeting nervously.

I could also see the gratitude in Manuel”s eyes, his hope that maybe, just maybe, someone could shine a light into the darkness that had consumed his life.

”I want to help, Manuel,” I reassured him.

His voice trembled slightly as he began recounting the events of the night Mitch had disappeared.

”We were just hanging out at home after work, nothing out of the ordinary. Mitch mentioned he was craving ice cream. I was tired and the convenience store was only a block away, so I let him go on his own.”

Manuel paused, his hands clenching and unclenching as if reliving the moment.

He resumed, ”But then I decided to tag along because I realized we were running low on toilet paper. I knew Mitch”s usual route, so I caught up to him in an alleyway.”

He hesitated before continuing, his expression a mixture of anguish and frustration. ”And then out of nowhere, these guys appeared. Werewolves. They grabbed Mitch, and before I could react, they forced him into a van.”

My brows furrowed. ”Did you see anything specific about the van? Any distinctive features?”

He looked at me. ”Yeah, it was unmarked, black. But I managed to snap a photo of the license plates before they sped off.”

My interest piqued. ”You have the photo?”

Manuel pulled out his phone and showed me the blurry image.

The license plate numbers were visible, though it would take some work to enhance the image and decipher them fully.

”This is valuable, Manuel,” I said, my tone earnest. ”It could be the key to finding Mitch and the others.”

I couldn’t help but form a connection in my head. These kidnappers had a pattern.

They usually targeted victims who didn’t have many family and friends.

Dylan Riggs’ co-workers knew little about his social life. For all they knew, it was practically non-existent.

As for Mitch Osborn, he was an orphan and considered Manuel his only family.

Maybe I was still clinging to the hope I would find Jake, but I was determined to help Manuel.

”I hope so. I just want him back, you know?” Manuel was telling me.

”I understand,” I reassured him. ”We”re going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this.”

As I spoke, I could feel a spark igniting inside me.

Maybe I would never find Jake, but at the very least, I could help Manuel and the others like him.

When Jake had been taken, I was young and alone. Now, I had resources at my disposal. Venom and the MC also had my back.

”Manuel, I”ll take this photo and work on enhancing the image,” I explained. ”We”ll decipher those license plates and find out more about the van. With this lead, we might finally have a breakthrough.”

He nodded, his grip on the phone slightly loosening as a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

”Thank you, Whizz. Thank you for helping us.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. ”We”re in this together, Manuel. We”ll find out what”s happening and bring your fiancé back,” I told him.

As I left Manuel’s apartment, I realized I shouldn’t have made him that promise.

It was cruel to give someone false hope, only to have it dashed later on but I couldn’t help myself.

I saw a little of my old self in Manuel, and those like him.

Sittingin front of my computer, I stared at the blurry image of the license plate that Manuel had managed to capture.

I had a special software tool, one that had helped me crack numerous cases, and I was hoping it would work its magic once again.

With a few clicks, I fed the image into the software and watched as it worked its digital wizardry.

Lines and shapes began to sharpen, and the previously illegible characters slowly became more defined.

It was a tense moment, like waiting for a jigsaw puzzle to reveal its final picture.

As the image cleared, my heart skipped a beat. I could make out the numbers and letters, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

The van was registered to Gregory Hicks, a werewolf and an ex-con.

I quickly pulled up Gregory”s file on my computer. His record was extensive, filled with a list of offenses ranging from theft to assault.

The most alarming entry, however, was a charge of kidnapping in the past.

My gut twisted as I read that the charges had been dismissed due to lack of evidence.

Gregory Hicks had a history, and it wasn”t a good one. But what sent a chill down my spine was the realization that he had managed to evade justice in the past.

It meant he was cunning, dangerous, and not someone to be taken lightly.

Digging deeper, I began searching for any properties under Gregory”s name. It didn”t take long for me to hit a lead.

He had inherited an old estate from his grandfather in a small town called Crimson View.

The pieces were starting to fall into place. Gut instinct told me I had finally hit the jackpot after years of searching.

An unfamiliar and dangerous emotion surfaced in my chest. Hope.

I knew I had to tread carefully. The van, Gregory”s criminal record, and now the old estate—it was all connected.

I thought of Dylan and Mitch’s disappearances, even Jake’s.

They all shared similarities I couldn’t ignore. Terrible excitement hummed in my veins.

If Gregory was the culprit I’d been searching for all this time, then he couldn’t have been operating alone.

Most likely, he had a crew with him. I breathed in and out.

One thing was certain. I needed to head to Crimson View, but first I needed Venom’s advice.

I left my room and went in search of Venom. He wasn’t in his office. Mayhem, our VP, informed me Venom was in the garage.

The rumble of engines and the clank of tools filled the garage as I made my way to where Venom was tinkering with his motorcycle.

The scent of gasoline and oil hung heavy in the air, a familiar and comforting aroma.

Venom looked up as I approached, his face partially obscured by the shadow cast by the bike”s headlight.

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question in his gold eyes.

I took a deep breath before I spoke. ”Venom, I think I”ve finally got a solid lead on the missing omegas.”

He set down the wrench he”d been holding, his attention fully on me now. ”Tell me,” Venom urged.

I relayed everything I”d discovered: the van registered to Gregory Hicks, his criminal history, and the old estate in Crimson View.

Venom listened in silence, his expression thoughtful.

When I finished, he leaned against his motorcycle and folded his arms.

“It sounds like you have a real lead,” he remarked. “It’ll be dangerous to go alone.”

I nodded, the weight of my findings pressing down on me.

”I know, but I can”t just sit back and do nothing. There’s a high possibility Dylan and Mitch are still alive and are being held in Gregory’s estate.”

Venom”s gaze didn”t waver. ”You still insist on going alone?” He asked.

I hesitated, my pride and determination warring with the rational voice in my head.

”Yeah, it”s a personal matter. I don”t want to drag a fellow MC member into my mess,” I pointed out.

He regarded me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed and pushed off the bike.

”Whizz, you might think it”s personal, but there”s no way of knowing what you might be walking into.”

His words hit home. I knew he was right. This was bigger than just me. I couldn”t let my pride blind me to the dangers ahead.

With a reluctant nod, I conceded, ”Alright, I”ll take Piston and one other biker with me.”

Venom”s eyes softened, and he clapped a hand on my shoulder.

”Good. Remember, we”re family, and we”ve got your back. Happy hunting, Whizz. I hope you find the answers you seek.”

After my conversation with Venom, I returned to my room. I grabbed my cell phone.

After taking a deep breath, I dialed Piston”s number. The seconds felt like hours as I waited for him to answer.

”Whizz,” Piston”s voice crackled through the line. ”What”s up?”

”Piston, I need to talk to you,” I began, the weight of my words sinking in. ”I”ve got a lead on the missing omegas, and it”s pointing to Crimson View.”

I finally opened up to Piston about Jake. There was a brief pause on the other end.

“You”re heading to Crimson View? Alone?” Piston asked, his voice laced with concern.

I could hear the worry in his tone, and it warmed my heart.

Piston and I had been through thick and thin together, and he was always there when I needed him.

”Yeah,” I replied, ”but I don”t want to drag you into this.”

Piston didn”t miss a beat. ”Whizz, we”re brothers, and we”ve faced danger together before. Someone”s gotta watch your back, and I”m not letting you go alone,” Piston said.

A sense of gratitude washed over me, and I managed a small smile. ”Thanks, Piston. You”ve always had my back,” I said.

Piston chuckled. ”That”s what brothers do.”

Then he added, ”Hey, you remember Nitro? He rode with us before. He”s tough, and he”s always up for a challenge. I think he might want in on this.”

I considered it for a moment. The more allies we had, the better.

”Alright, bring him along. The more people we have on this, the greater our chances,” I said.

But there was a question that had been gnawing at me, a question I had buried deep within for years.

I took a deep breath, my voice hesitant.

”Piston, do you think... do you think there”s a chance my brother Jake is still alive?” I asked.

Piston”s response was solemn. ”Whizz, there”s always a chance. You can”t give up hope.”

My heart ached with a mix of emotions—hope, doubt, fear.

I had lost hope a long time ago, but hearing Piston”s words reignited a spark of possibility.

With a reluctant nod, I agreed, ”You”re right. There”s always a chance.”

We ended the call with the promise to ride to Crimson View the next morning.

As I hung up, I pulled out an old photograph from my wallet—a picture of Jake, our dad and me.

The last family photo we’d ever taken. Shortly after Jake had disappeared, our dad died of a broken heart, leaving me alone in my guilt.

I stared at it for a moment, and whispered, “Jake, I really hope you’re still alive.”