Chapter 14
14
T he office reeks of sour sweat and the sharp tang of urine.
The warehouse owner, a portly Beta with thinning hair and expensive shoes, sits with his torso bound to a rolling chair, his wrists zip-tied together and his left eye swollen shut from where Rico introduced his face to a filing cabinet during the initial takedown. Dried blood from his split lip forms a crooked line down his chin.
I circle behind him, letting him track my movement until I disappear from his peripheral vision. The absence of sight heightens fear. A trick I learned early in this business.
Cassian guards the door, his hand resting on his holstered gun and a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He’s watched this dance a hundred times before.
Caleb stalks forward, hands flexing at his sides. “Let’s keep this simple. Where’s Jade?”
The owner’s good eye darts around the room. “Don’t know anyone named Jade.”
Raphael leans on the desk, arms crossed. His posture appears relaxed, but tension tightens his shoulders. “We’re not here to play games. Young Omega, blond hair, blue eyes. Part of your ‘special shipment’ a few days ago.”
“I move merchandise. I don’t learn their names.” The owner’s chest heaves with panicked breaths. “Look at the manifests. Everything’s documented.”
“We did.” I complete my circle to stand in front of him again. “Your manifests ended last week.”
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across the cramped office. File cabinets line one wall, their drawers hanging open from our earlier search. A desktop computer sits dark and lifeless. Rico made sure of that, removing the hard drive before the owner could wipe it remotely.
Caleb grabs the back of the chair, tilting it onto two legs so the owner’s balance becomes precarious. “The Finishing House. Where is it?”
The owner’s face pales. “I don’t?—”
“Wrong answer.” Caleb lets the chair drop forward, and it rolls a few inches before stopping.
“I’m just a middleman,” the owner pleads. “I receive the merchandise, I process it, and I send it where I’m told.”
I step closer, invading his space, letting him catch my scent. As an Omega, I shouldn’t frighten him, but he’s seen enough death in this line of business to recognize it when it stares him in the eye.
“Where do the special shipments go?” I demand.
His jaw clenches. “I told you, I don’t?—”
Caleb’s fist connects with the man’s stomach, cutting off his words. The owner doubles over as far as his restraints allow, gasping.
“Wrong answer,” Caleb hisses. “Try again.”
Raphael pushes off the desk. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He steps between Caleb and the owner. “Listen to me. We’re not interested in shutting down your operation. We just want the Omega. Tell us where to find him, and we walk away.”
“This is just a business.” The owner straightens. “I have clients who value discretion. If I start giving up information?—”
“If you don’t start giving up information,” I cut in, “your business concerns will be irrelevant. Dead men don’t have client lists.”
Raphael throws me an irritated glare. “What my associate means is that we can make this worth your while. Financially.”
The tension in the room thickens. Caleb radiates anger beside me, his scent sharp with aggression, and Cassian shifts his position by the door.
“I can’t help you,” the owner says finally. “Even if I wanted to, we’re not told where they take them after they leave here. Different destinations for different merchandise. It’s compartmentalized.”
“Bullshit,” Caleb spits.
The owner’s eye darts to Caleb, then back to Raphael. “It’s the truth. I get my cut for providing the space and keeping the merchandise maintained. The transportation and final delivery are all handled by others.”
“Names,” I demand. “We need names.”
“I don’t have names. Just a burner phone number.”
“Give it to us.”
The owner hesitates. “It changes every week.”
My patience snaps, and I grab the man by his collar. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not?—”
“You’re lying,” I repeat, pulling him forward until our faces are inches apart. “Every operation like this has backup protocols. Contingencies. There’s no way you only have one burner phone number with no other contact information.”
“I can’t.” His double chin wobbles. “These people will torture me if they find out I told you anything.”
“ I’ll torture you right now.” I poke him in the belly. “You like eating. How about I take you back to my playhouse, and cut off your tiny cock? I’ll put it in the freezer to keep it nice and safe while I let you starve. And when you’re desperate enough, I’ll cook you up a nice little sausage to eat. You can spend months consuming yourself. Your toes, your fingers, your calves, your forearms?—”
“The Finishing House is mobile!” His pulse spikes in his throat. “The Finishing House is mobile! It moves. That’s all I know.”
Raphael places a hand on my shoulder. “Avery?—”
I shrug him off, the contact sending unwanted heat through my system. “Don’t touch me.”
Cassian stomps forward, his focus fixed on Raphael, losing focus with his jealousy. The warehouse owner’s body tenses, his expression a mask of desperation.
“Cassian,” I warn, but too late.
The owner kicks hard against the floor, sending the rolling chair backward. It crashes into Cassian, throwing him off balance. In the split second of confusion, the owner’s zip-tied hands reach out, grabbing for Cassian’s gun.
Everything moves in a terrible slow motion. Cassian recovers, reaching for his weapon, but the owner already has his fingers on it. Raphael lunges forward. Caleb shouts.
I dive for the man’s arms, but my fingers close on empty air.
The gun goes off, a deafening crack in the confined space. But the barrel isn’t pointed at any of us.
It’s angled up, pressed under the owner’s chin.
Blood sprays the ceiling in a fine mist as the owner’s head snaps back, his remaining eye wide and staring. His body convulses once, twice, then falls limp, slumping in the chair as gravity takes over.
Silence descends, broken only by our heavy breathing.
“Fuck!” Caleb kicks the desk, sending papers flying. “ Fuck! ”
The metallic smell of blood fills the room, mixing with the acrid scent of gunpowder. I step back, my shoes squeaking on the floor where blood begins to pool.
“He chose death over talking,” Raphael says. “What the hell was he so afraid of?”
Caleb whips toward me. “You went too far with your fucking mind games!”
“Don’t act like you weren’t ready to get your knife out and start peeling fingernails.”
Cassian stares at his gun, now returned to his holster but marked with blood spatter. “He was afraid of someone more powerful than us.”
Caleb turns on Cassian, fury etched into every line of his face. “You let him get your weapon. You fucking amateur?—”
“Back off!” I step between them. “This isn’t Cassian’s fault,” I say, even though it is to some degree.
“No?” Caleb’s expression is wild, desperate. “Then whose fault is it, Avery? Our only lead just painted the ceiling with his brains, and we’re no closer to finding Jade!”
The adrenaline left coursing through my system from the fight earlier crystallizes into cold anger. I move into Caleb’s space, forcing him back a step. “Control yourself, or wait outside.”
His shoulders bunch, and his breathing is ragged as his hands curl into fists. I brace myself to dodge his swing, but then he deflates.
Caleb’s jaw tightens as he stares at the floor. “He was my responsibility.” A breath shudders through him. “I was supposed to look out for him.”
“We’ll find him.” Raphael’s focus moves across the room, a distance in his expression now, already planning their next move.
I turn away from the body, needing space and air that doesn’t carry the stench of death.
My focus lands on the desktop computer, dark and silent. “Maybe the hard drive can give us a lead.”
“I’ll get Ezra on it.” Caleb storms from the room.
“We should get moving,” Raphael says. “Even in this area, all this gunfire will draw the police.”
I look at the dead man one last time. Whatever he knew died with him, and whatever he feared was terrible enough for death to be preferable to betrayal. The thought sends a chill through me despite the lingering heat of the fight in my blood.
“Grab anything that might be useful,” I tell the others. “We’re out in five.”
As we exit the office, leaving the cooling body behind, Raphael’s gaze follows me. When I look back, his face is unreadable, but a silent charge passes between us.
Then Cassian’s hand brushes mine, pulling my attention to him. “Ezra’s waiting with the hard drive. Last chance for answers.”
I follow him down the hallway and back downstairs.
Ezra hunches over the hard drive, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. The warehouse’s main floor stretches around us, the bodies of the guards left lying in their own blood. Only our two teams remain, the distance between us growing with each failed attempt to extract data.
The blue glow from Ezra’s screen catches the sharp angles of his face, illuminating his growing frustration.
“Anything?” Caleb paces behind him, his boots scraping the concrete with each turn.
Ezra’s jaw tightens. “The drive is fried. Someone knew what they were doing. This wasn’t just deleted data. It was physically corrupted.”
I lean closer. “How?”
“Electromagnetic pulse, most likely. Small, targeted.” Ezra’s fingers continue to dance across the keys, but his shoulders slump with defeat. “Whatever was on here is gone.”
“So, we have nothing.” Raphael stands apart from the rest of us, Caleb at his side. “This entire night was a bust.”
“We freed over thirty Omegas,” I counter sharply. “That’s not nothing.”
Fatigue and frustration etch deep lines around Caleb’s mouth. “It is if we came for Jade.”
Rico twirls his knife between his fingers. “At least you know the kid’s still alive as of a few days ago.”
Caleb takes a step forward. “That’s not good enough!”
“Everyone calm down ,” Raphael interjects, Alpha Command sliding into his words.
I feel it like a physical pressure, not directed at me, but still present in the air between us.
“Don’t use that voice,” I warn him.
His eyes meet mine, heat passing between us that is nothing like the desire-fueled inferno from the last several hours. “Then control your people.”
“My people don’t need controlling.” I glare at Caleb. “We’re not the ones losing our cool.”
“You cold, fucking asshole!” Caleb lunges toward me, but Raphael grabs his shoulder to keep him in place.
Ezra closes his laptop with a resigned click. “It’s over. Whatever thread we were following has gone cold.”
The finality of his words settles over us, and no one speaks for a long moment. The warehouse creaks around us, the building settling as the night deepens outside.
“So that’s it?” Caleb breaks the silence. “We just give up on him?”
“We regroup,” Raphael says. “Try a different angle. We have data from the other sites we hit tonight. We’ll find property records, bank accounts…”
“That could take weeks,” I point out.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Raphael challenges.
I don’t, and the admission sits bitter on my tongue.
Cassian’s hand settles on my shoulder. “Our contract was to assist in taking down six locations and to free what Omegas we found there. We gave you a bonus seventh, so our business arrangement is over.”
I stiffen, lips parting then closing again. Nothing Cassian said is wrong. And we’re out of leads.
“You still owe us for services rendered,” Rico reminds Raphael. “Our payment wasn’t contingent on finding your man.”
Caleb stares at us in disgust. “Are you serious right now?”
Jace shifts his weight beside me, his hand drifting toward his weapon. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch.
Raphael’s eyes lock with mine. “Avery?”
“We’ve more than fulfilled our side of the agreement. The job’s over.” I pull my shoulders back, shrugging off Cassian’s hand. “Are you reneging on our agreement?”
Raphael’s expression hardens. “We need to keep searching.”
“You can’t afford to keep us on retainer while you chase ghosts.” I turn to my team. “We’re done here.”
Raphael stomps forward, then freezes when Jace points his gun at him and a red dot appears on his chest from where Lena perches on a crate near the bay door.
A hint of desperation fills Raphael’s expression. “You can’t seriously be planning to walk away after everything that’s happened!”
I hesitate, my heart twisting, and before I can stop the words, they slip past my lips. “You could come back with us.”
Cassian stiffens, the muscle in his jaw bulging as he clenches his teeth, but he remains silent.
And so does Raphael.
I thought my heart was done breaking for this man, but he still finds new ways to crush me. “That’s what I thought.”
“Avery.” Raphael takes a step forward, closing the space between us, but not enough. “Don’t go.”
“There’s no reason to stay.” I lift my chin. “The contract is fulfilled to the extent possible. Anything further requires a new agreement.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” Caleb explodes. “You’re just using that as an excuse to walk away.”
“I don’t need excuses.” I tap my foot, wanting to be gone from here. Nothing that happened tonight changed things between me and Raphael. “I need payment for services rendered and resources expended.”
The divide between our two groups has become literal. My people and me on one side, Raphael’s family on the other, and miles of space between us.
Jace moves first, taking a position slightly in front of me, Cassian on my right, and Rico sliding into place on my left.
The message is clear: this conversation is over.
Raphael takes in the wall my people have formed around me. “So that’s how it’s going to be?”
“This is how you made it.” I turn to leave, my team moving with me like a single organism, each person clear on their role in our exit strategy.
“Avery!” Raphael calls after me. “You’re still my mate.”
“Don’t start acting like that matters to you now.” I keep walking. “Have the rest of the payment ready in cash. Then we can talk.”
Off in the distance, the sound of police sirens splits the air, and we move into a jog. Lena drops down to the floor as we reach her, and she covers our backs as we head through the bay door.
Outside, the night air hits my face, cool and clean after the stale warehouse atmosphere. Our SUV and van wait, engines running, and we pile inside, Cassian taking the seat beside me.
We pull away from the warehouse, the building growing smaller with distance. Raphael is probably already planning his next move, trying to figure out how to bring me back without giving up anything on his side. He always was a strategist.
What he doesn’t understand is that some things can’t be calculated, negotiated, or bought. Some wounds don’t heal. Some partnerships, once broken, can never be restored.
Cassian’s fingers drum on his knee. “What was that back there?”
I don’t have to ask what he’s referring to. “A confirmation that nothing’s changed.”
He turns to me. “And has it?”
“No.” I stare out the window. “We go forward with the plan.”