Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STONE
By the time I reach the treeline, the first fire truck is already pulling up, its flashing lights painting the night in red and white. I stay hidden among the branches, my silhouette lost in the darkness as I watch the chaos unfold.
I pull the burner phone from my pocket and make a quick call, asking for a specific detective—one my anonymous friend assured me isn’t corrupt. I tell him there’s evidence in the barn, tucked inside a metal cabinet, and hang up before he can ask questions.
Then I move. Fast. It doesn’t take long to reach my car parked deeper in the woods. I pop the trunk, strip out of my smoke-scented clothes, and shove them into a plastic bag for disposal later. Fresh clothes go on quickly—can’t risk being caught in anything blood-stained.
I take one look back at the billowing dark cloud filling the sky. It’s at that moment it hits me that in all the chaos at the house, I never once asked the fucker Jimmy about his cousin. Joey needs to answer some questions for me as well. He’s been MIA with no one having any clue where he is. He just up and disappeared one day, and I don’t believe the bullshit story about the fire. I’ve searched and there’s yet to be a death certificate issued, which leads me to believe Tom is fucking helping him hide. There’s not a doubt in my mind he’s biding his time, lying low, preparing for his next kill. And I’m not letting that happen.
Could the omega I was texted about be the one in the picture? My Kismet. Or does Pack Carlisle have more than one omega they've bought and sold? If he’s with them, and they’re as bad as Levi says, then we need to get him out of there—fast. We need to make a plan and put it into action. I need more information, and there’s one person who can give me answers. One person who knows the truth and has been helping me all along.
Sliding in behind the driver’s seat, I take a breath and pull up the message thread on the burner. The screen lights up, that same number still sitting at the top. I never expected that cheap, untraceable phone showing up on my doorstep would lead me to my omega. My Kismet bond.
Me: The omega you said was tied to Tom, do you know what he looks like? His name?
I wait a moment for a reply, but it doesn’t come. Needing to put as much distance as possible between myself and the shitshow behind me, I start my car and get back on the road.
My mind is a whirlwind of erratic thoughts from everything I’ve learned today. Frustration and anxiety hit hard, knowing I couldn’t save my sister, and now there’s a chance I may lose my Kismet before we ever have a chance to meet. The only good thing, if that were to happen, is that I wouldn’t have to suffer the agonizing pain of losing a bonded mate.
Fuck!
My mind drifts back to the realization that I might have a pack—a real one. Levi is Kismet to this omega too, and he already has a bonded beta. How am I supposed to navigate that? I’ve been a loner, especially since leaving the police force, with trust being a hard thing for me to give. Can I really trust Levi? He seems like an okay guy, but all I know about him is his club, and even that’s vague, since they’re not from around here.
Then there’s Sasha. The fierce beta that’s finagled her way into my thoughts quickly. Something about her stirs a desire inside of me, but she’s bonded to Levi. I’m so lost in my head that when I pull into my garage, I have no recollection of the drive or how I made it. Thankfully, I don’t think I hurt anyone.
I mean, I’m sure if I hit someone or something, it would jostle me out of the oblivion I was in.
I turn the car off and pick up my phone, but still nothing. Why the hell am I putting so much trust in someone I don’t even know? Who the fuck are they? How are they getting this fucking information? My fingers move impatiently over the keyboard as I send another message, frustration taking over at the lack of response.
Me: I need to know.
I’ve barely hit the send button when I notice the bubbles dancing up and down on the screen.
Unknown: I see you said his. Did your adventure today supply you a treasure trove of information?
Me: Adventure?
What? How could they know what I did today?
Unknown: Yes, a trip to a certain cannibal’s house.
Me: How the fuck do you know that? Who the hell are you?
I can feel my blood pressure rising as my heart races. Instead of just giving me the information I need, this fucker wants to pretend like he’s Willy Wonka or the Cheshire Cat speaking in riddles. Giving just cryptic information, providing enough clues to keep me hooked on the line.
Unknown: A friend. One who knows you’re on the same side as I am.
Me: And what’s that?
Unknown: Protecting omegas from the corruption within the Foundation.
Me: How about you drop being the riddler and tell me who the omega is? What’s his name?
Unknown: You were a good boy today. So I’ll be nice. His name is Flynn.
Me: Can I get more than that?
Unknown: Patience. You’d think he was your omega. It’s Flynn Ryan.
Me: Is this him?
I send a picture of the photograph we found with Tom and the omega with him. I have to know if this is my omega.
Unknown: That’s him. That’s Flynn. Save him and let me know you did. Tom has a history of tiring of his toys and disposing of them.
Me: I will
Unknown: Thanks. I’ll be in touch with more information.
Flynn Ryan is his name. I like the sound of it.
Funny thing— Tangled was my sister’s favorite movie. She watched it so many times I still know the songs by heart. Her favorite character? Flynn Rider. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a hand in this—sending my omega to me from wherever she is now, with a name that feels like a wink from beyond.
I close the garage door and pop the trunk, pulling the bag of clothing from it. A small sigh of regret floods through me, knowing I had on one of my favorite shirts and now I’m going to have to burn it.
Note for my future self, wear old clothing I don’t give a shit about losing.
I head around to the backyard, thankful I live on the end of a cul-de-sac, and toss the clothing into my burn barrel. I grab the half-empty bottle of lighter fluid from beneath the deck—left over from last summer—then scan the yard. A small fallen branch catches my eye, and I pick it up, using it to spread the clothing out before soaking everything. I want to make sure it burns quickly and evenly.
Not wanting to singe my eyebrows off, I head inside the house and get a tattered piece of washcloth and head back outside. I tie the cloth around the stick and douse the end with fluid, making sure to hold my head away from it as I flick my lighter. Dropping it inside the barrel, I watch the clothing bursting into flames.