ALEX #12
"You are out of your mind, you know that? Jared, this isn’t a simple trip, it’s winter and that region Storm pointed to is in North Carolina, and this time of year there might even be snow, are you sure this is a good idea?"
Jared stays silent for a moment, then lowers his gaze and clasps his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, and then lifts his celadon-green eyes at me, which are of a shade between green and silver.
"You know… I have nothing. This is my chance at everything. I have to believe, just like you, Alex, just like you believe that one day you and Bay will be together. Because you do, right?"
I fall silent. I guess Jared sensed it without me even saying it out loud.
And I know I would want to do the same as what he wants to do.
Follow the fated mate. And I was even more reckless!
I had no certainty that Bay and I were True Mates when I went to Blue and asked for his help; I did it almost blindly.
And what happened? Four years of nervous waiting.
It was like choosing a tiny dot on a map without direction or hope, and yet, year after year, I stayed on that path.
I shift my gaze to Storm, who is watching me with a hint of melancholy on his face, and then he says,
"Alex, I believe he will find him there, I truly believe it, because for the last two months I kept staring at that point every time I thought of Jared, and it can’t be a coincidence."
I give him a sad, resigned smile, then turn to Jared and say,
"Okay. I get it. I really do. Good luck, Jared, but make sure to take your gun with you. I will stay with Tommy until you come back for him with your True Mate."
Jared wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, whispering into my ear,
"Thank you, Alex, thank you so much."
And then only one thing is left for me. Making the call and bringing Bay the good news.
◆◆◆
That day I’m coming back from a meeting with Sebastien.
We took a short walk along the beach and talked about my academic plans.
Sebastien promised he’d show up for my PhD defense.
He seems genuinely proud that I chose an academic path.
He admits he once dreamed of the same thing, but his father always had a very business-oriented mindset and pushed all his sons to build careers in big business.
Before Sebastien met Rhys, he worked as a stock analyst in one of the family’s companies because his father wanted him to gain experience, but he never felt drawn to it.
His passion was social justice work. He’d always been an activist for omega rights, and during one of the marches where people were demanding mandatory paid leave during heat and recovery, he met one of the organizers, Rhys, who was there on behalf of the Omega Red Line Agency.
Back then, Sebastien’s father decided that marrying into the wealthy Red family might be a great idea and encouraged him to pursue that relationship.
I listen to this with a certain admiration, because I could never have the strength and drive to run a large organization with footholds across the country, helping thousands of omegas in difficult situations.
On top of that, after Rhys lost interest in the agency following the death of his parents, Sebastien had been running it all by himself for more than three decades, though now he has the help of his sons.
After our meeting, Sebastien offers to drive me home, but I’m in the mood for a short walk along the shore.
I like the sound of the waves, the wide sandy beaches, the smell of the sea breeze.
I stroll, thinking about my future, about my progress in therapy, about how my histamine response index is dropping every month, and I’m getting closer and closer to… my future shared with Bay.
That thought is pleasant, and for a moment I drift in the clouds, dreaming of a life together, of children, of a sweet everyday life. The dreams become bolder, more defined every day.
Eventually my walk has to end. The beach thins out, so I decide to head back to the street and grab an Uber.
There’s a level crossing nearby cutting across the road. Because it’s a side road and hardly anyone uses it, apparently no one thought to put it in a tunnel, so whenever a train goes by, the whole line of cars has to stop behind the barrier.
As I walk along the edge of the street, a row of cars catches my eye. One of them has completely blacked-out windows, which surprises me, since you need special permission to have a car like that in our state. The front and back windows are tinted too, which is even stranger.
A weird kind of unease creeps up on me, a painful twist in my gut. What is this? Where is this anxiety coming from? I’ve never had any extraordinary intuition, but now I slow down beside some low bushes and watch the car.
Damn, I have no idea why.
It’s absurd. Why would I care about some black car waiting at a train crossing with ten other cars?
Then the back door opens, and some guy in a suit steps out with a cigarette in hand. He clearly plans to wait for the train to pass while taking a smoke break.
But when he opens the door, for a second I can see inside the car. I see someone lying motionless across the back seat, someone with a long platinum braid…
Wow, what the hell?
I crouch lower behind the bushes so the alpha won’t notice me. He smokes for a moment, then pulls out his phone and stares at the screen before lifting it to his ear and making a call.
My excellent omega hearing lets me catch the words even from here, a bit muffled but still clear enough.
"Yes, yes, we have them both," a pause, "Yes, we took the dad too."
There’s another pause while he listens, and then he says, "No, we’re going to warehouse C34."
My heart is pounding, I’m terrified he’ll notice me behind the bushes. I wait as he keeps smoking. Just in case I grab my phone and get ready for the moment he opens the door to get back in.
A moment later the train passes, the rumble drowning out everything. As soon as the alpha tosses the cigarette and climbs back into the car, I use that second to snap a photo, hitting the button repeatedly just to be sure. I also manage to photograph the license plate as the car drives off.
When all the cars stuck at the crossing finally disappear, I start scrolling through the photos with shaking hands.
I’m almost sure that inside that car is… Lake Nolan.
His profile is a bit shadowed and his face looks small in the photo, but he really does resemble Lake! Either I’m hallucinating or this is his doppelg?nger.
The worst part is that there are probably two people inside, both unconscious. I see the outline of another body beside the blond one, but I can’t make out the details, the photo is too dark. Still, I have the impression it’s another omega.
The alpha, also caught in the picture, looks eerie, honestly like some kind of gangster with his black suit, dark glasses, and that grim, blank expression.
What now? What to do?
Call the police? Or Bay?
My hand trembles as I dial Bay’s number, but even though I call nonstop, ten, twenty, thirty rings… he doesn’t pick up.
I try calling Lake too. Nothing.
That’s strange. Lake always picked up right away, which only makes it more likely it was him, though of course it isn’t a hundred percent proof.
What could have happened?
What am I supposed to do now?
I crouch there, hesitating.
Yep, I should call the police. I open the list of emergency numbers and stare at it, but for some reason I feel this internal resistance every time I try to tap the number. Something literally stops me.
There’s one person I could call, someone who might actually help me. I’m sure he has access to vehicle registration databases and can track the car, because he’s done it before.
Ennio Ferro.
Unfortunately, I don’t have his number. I only know he’s the CEO of the real estate development company that built my house, getting his personal contact info feels almost impossible. But I have to try.
I look up the company’s website and find the customer service number. I call and ask if there’s any way to contact Mr. Ferro regarding something extremely urgent, but of course I get a polite refusal. I ask if they can at least tell him that Alex Strada called, but again I get a firm yet polite no.
Finally, I start to beg the consultant, my voice shaking, telling him this is a matter of life and death and that if they tell Ennio, he definitely won’t be mad about being bothered. The consultant doesn’t respond to that and simply ends the call.
I curse in frustration.
Gripping my phone, I sit on the curb, thinking deep. Maybe I should just try the police? Why complicate the matter?
Damn it, I’m not giving up yet!
Who could help me get Ferro’s number? Maybe the Lowens. Rich people probably cross paths with mafia types at charity events and all those fancy gatherings where everyone likes to show up and throw money around.
But as I sit there debating with myself, my phone suddenly starts ringing.
It’s an unknown number.
I answer, and I hear…
Ennio’s voice.
"It’s really not a good idea to try to reach me through my consultants, Alex," Ennio says coldly.
"Oh the merciful Fate! Thank you for calling back. I just witnessed something extremely disturbing! Can I send you a picture? It’s a photo of a car that, in my opinion, has Bay’s dad, Lake Nolan, inside, being kidnapped by someone who looks like a mafia soldier!
Though of course I could be wrong. I also have the license plate. "
There’s a moment of deep silence, and then Ennio says, "Send me the photos."
I quickly pick the best shots along with the one with the license plate and send them to him.
I wait while everything loads. The silence stretches on. I see that he’s opened the pictures.
The silence lasts so long that I force myself not to say anything.
Finally Ennio speaks, his voice calm and low.
"Thank you for the photos. I’ll take care of it."