Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
ANSEL
It’s been five days since my sun and moons have been taken. Pack Alston managed to help us get the equipment needed to find the underground door into the compound, and while we have found evidence that it exists underground, we haven’t found the entrance.
We can’t blow our way in without possibly having the fucker collapse in on itself and killing Cassidy, Bellamy, or Winter. That’s an unacceptable option, so we continue to hold onto the tendril of patience none of us have.
I’ve been kicked off the property because I was frustrating Abbott. I kept wanting to go further out with the equipment, and Abbott told me there’s no way the doorway is further out than a mile from the main gate.
He also told me that the owner of this property doesn’t own anything outside of two miles, but I still think he’s wrong. Just because the umbrella corporation doesn’t own the land past the parameters set, doesn’t mean he’d ever know what’s been built underground.
I got in a fist fight with him over it, and now I’m in time out at Pack Mayor’s house with Shiloh as he trolls the dark web for information.
My eye is swollen, my ribs hurt because Abbott’s punches are the equivalent of an anvil hitting your body, and I’m not any closer to finding our people.
Everything is taking too goddamned long!
“Breathe, Ansel. You’re turning purple,” Silas murmurs, placing a glass of sweet tea beside me on a table.
Do I want tea? No. Will I drink it because it’s sweet enough to hurt my teeth and it’s polite?
Fuck yes I will. Southern hospitality is ingrained in my blood, even though most of it might now be made of sugar at this point after the last few hours of being here.
Taking a breath to appease Silas, I take a sip of tea as well. It’s exactly as sweet as I thought it would be, since I’ve been drinking my weight in sweet tea since my stomach is too tangled in knots to eat anything.
Swallowing hard, I shake my head.
“I feel fucking useless,” I sigh.
“All of our allies are chasing down leads in the city for word or trace of Clara or any of her men. The homeless hear things, and we are willing to listen to what they have to say. We are also looking into Jake as well, miserable son of a bitch that he is,” Lyle mutters next to me.
“We found out yesterday that his mother is no longer living in the senior home that she’s been in.
The woman has dementia. There’s no way she left on her own steam. ”
I need to talk about what we know, and I think everyone in this room knows that. The list of things that we don’t know are long enough to strangle us all with the unknowns.
“Think he got her out, or someone else did?” Shiloh asks, working at his usual spot in the den. “My money is that Clara did it. We wouldn’t stoop to hurting his mother. We aren’t animals.”
The ‘unlike Clara’ part is unspoken, but I hear it loud and clear.
“Jake has been with us long enough to know that,” I grunt. “I bet she’s threatening him. Regardless, he made the wrong fucking decision. We would have helped him. What are you working on?”
His eyes flick to me before he nods, understanding that I need to talk shit out so I don’t go even more stir crazy.
“There are some areas that are encrypted on the dark web, and without a password, breaking in entails careful manipulation of its failsafes,” he begins.
“I don’t want to push too hard and get caught, and also I can’t use any of my typical tools to do it for me.
So instead, I’m working on it in spurts so that I won’t get too impatient and fuck it up. ”
“Understandable.”
“The reason I’m looking at this particular chat room is because I saw a passing poster of an auction announcement happening this week. There are no known auction houses that I know of, as we don’t allow them to exist,” Shiloh continues.
“Except that’s not true. Clara has been operating in Savannah for awhile,” I counter.
“Tybee Island, and another place outside of Savannah,” he explains. “We’ve become used to only existing within our city, and forgot how close in proximity we are to other places.”
“We need to change that,” Easton grunts, listening from the entrance to the den. He hasn’t been there long, only catching the tail end of the conversation. “I think that Clara is getting help, I’m just uncertain about who would do that.”
“I think if we find her, we’ll get those answers. Otherwise, it’s a needle in a haystack,” I admit.
“So when is the auction?” Lyle asks, his lips pursed.
That’s why he’s the lawyer, focused on the important details without any emotion. I wish I could cut myself off from how I’m feeling. The hurt, the worry, the disappointment in myself. Shiloh has his mask over his features, but the tapping of his foot tells me it’s thin at best.
“Tomorrow at two in the afternoon,” Shiloh breathes. “I need an address, but there isn’t one anywhere on the dark web that I’ve seen. I’ve asked, offered to pay for the information, and I was told it was ‘invitation only’.”
“So why announce the auction on a shady bulletin board at all?” Silas muses. “Is it to create a frenzy?”
“I think Clara is trying to do exactly that, as well as build up a clientele for when she rebuilds her omega inventory,” Shiloh says, his nose twitching in disgust as his own phrasing.
That’s how human traffickers see their omega captives, and it’s disgusting. I also have to hold back a rush of revulsion before I focus on my next question.
“She’s stalking our omegas, and she took Cassidy as well. There’s really no details about who is being auctioned off? What is she planning to do with Cass?” I ask.
“The auction doesn’t describe who is being sold, simply that there is a small number of omegas who will be available,” Shiloh sighs.
“The sheer lack of information is concerning. She could quietly sell Bellamy and Winter, but with how she came in guns blazing at your warehouse, Lyle, I don’t think that’s what she wants to do. ”
“Her actions are more in line with revenge and cash flow,” Lyle agrees. “So we’re running out of time.”
Pulling out my phone, I blow out a breath. I can’t stay in time out anymore.
Me
The auction is tomorrow. We’re losing the light and I know you’re going to need to pack up soon. Tomorrow, we need to extend the area we’re searching. There’s no other choice.
Abbott
Done. Fuck, tomorrow is too damn close.
Me
If you break the machines in the dark, we’re fucked.
“I told Abbott,” I explain, glancing up. “The gloves are off. Tomorrow, we will extend the search. I know we’ve only had the machines for a day, but we’re running out of time.”
“You’ll need bodies if you find them,” Easton says. “Not just your own men, but people to exterminate the crowd so they’re not a problem. We have no idea how many people will be at this thing.”
Lyle rubs the bridge of his nose before shrugging. I can almost see him throwing his lawyer hat into the trash and lighting the bitch on fire.
“We also need to destroy the bunker so it can never be used again,” he says.
“I was thinking about bombing the fuck out of it. I need to reach out to my supplier tonight to get me whatever he can,” I reply. “I have a smaller stash at the house, but I’ll need more than that. I have a really bad feeling that this thing is huge.”
“Who does the umbrella company belong to?” Silas asks. “Have you found that out?”
“I paid someone fifty grand to find out for me on the dark web forty minutes ago,” Shiloh says, not worried about the money.
Whatever it takes to get the answers, is what we’ll pay.
“And?” I growl under my breath.
“He was working on it,” he says apologetically, clicking something before he blows out a breath. “Just got my answer. Rowan Enterprises belongs to Winchell Rock. Fuck, why is he involved?”
“He owned The Hug Project,” I explain to Pack Mayor. “Maybe he’s pissed at Clara? I don’t get it either.”
“It sounds like a little kidnapping is in order so we can get some answers,” Silas says smoothly, texting someone.
They’re just as crooked as we are, they simply hide it better, which is saying something.
“Try to get some sleep tonight,” Easton says, glancing at Silas who nods at something he’s seeing on the screen of his phone. “You’re spread thin. We’ll send someone for Winchell and put him on ice for you. It’s why we have the warehouse, after all.”
I chuckle under my breath as I nod.
“Shi, want to see a man about some bombs with me?” I ask, enjoying the feral nod he gives me as he shuts his computer.
“I’ll keep working on hacking into this room. I hate when I’m told I can’t go somewhere. It makes me want to break in even more,” he complains. “It’s possible there’s nothing to it, and that pisses me off too.”
“It’s like an itch you can’t scratch,” Easton agrees.
I’m full of sugar and energy. I’ll need a run after meeting up with my bomb guy.
Me
How much boom juice do you think you can get me?
What? I can't say the word ‘bomb’ in a text, especially when buying them.
Harold
Enough. Meet in twenty at the usual spot?
Me
Give me an extra five and I’ll be good.
“Gotta roll, Shiloh,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Our guy is not patient.”
“None of us are,” Lyle says, standing as he walks Shiloh and I to the door. “Always follow your gut, Ansel. You know it doesn’t steer you wrong.”
“I know,” I admit, saying goodbye as I walk to the extra truck we keep but rarely use. Shiloh climbs into the front seat, while I jog to the passenger side, ready to give him the address.
Hold on. We’re coming. Just…hang in there for me. Please.