11. Ren
Chapter 11
Ren
T he world narrows to a single point of focus as the glass barrier between me and the alphas rises with a mechanical hum. Every muscle in my body tenses, coiled and ready despite the pain radiating from my dislocated shoulder. I’ve been waiting for this moment—waiting for them to slip up, to give me the opening I need.
Two alphas. Gas masks covering their faces, combat gear covering their bodies. Professional killers, like the ones they sent to the pack house. They’re taking no chances with me.
Good. It means they’re afraid. And fear makes people careless.
I remain utterly still in the chair, maintaining the same defeated posture I’d adopted when Hailey was forced to her knees before Caldwell. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think the fight has left me.
“This one’s supposed to be dangerous?” the taller alpha snorts, his voice muffled through the mask. He approaches casually, one hand resting on the holstered weapon at his hip. “Doesn’t look so tough to me.”
The second alpha, broader through the shoulders with a bull-like build, hangs back slightly. More cautious. “Don’t underestimate him. Widow said he and his pack killed six of her people.”
“Look at him,” Tall says, gesturing dismissively. “He’s half-dead already.”
He’s not entirely wrong. My body is a catalog of pain—dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, torn ligaments in my knee. The bullet graze along my temple has stopped bleeding, but my right eye is swollen nearly shut, and I can taste blood pooling at the back of my throat.
But pain is just information. And right now, I’m choosing to ignore it.
Bull approaches me from the left, drawing a wicked-looking combat knife from a sheath at his thigh. “Orders were to make it messy,” he says, voice cold. Detached. “Widow wants pictures to send to the pack.”
A flash of molten rage surges through me at the thought. Stone. Jax. Finn. They’d receive images of my mutilated corpse. Would carry those mental scars forever.
Not happening. Not today.
“Should we ungag him?” Tall asks, circling to my right. “Let him beg?”
Bull considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not worth the noise. No one to hear him, anyway.”
They’re wrong about that. Somewhere above us, Hailey is being dragged away by Caldwell. Hailey, whose scent still lingers in the air—vanilla and honey turned sharp with fear and chemical heat. Hailey, who met my eyes in that final moment, searching for reassurance I couldn’t give her.
Because at that moment, I’d made my choice. To give them exactly what they wanted to see—an alpha who’d lost everything, who’d surrendered to despair.
It was the only way to make them lower their guard.
And it worked.
Tall moves behind my chair while Bull approaches from the front, knife gleaming in the harsh overhead lights. “I’ll hold him still,” Tall says. “You take point.”
Bull nods, eyes cold behind the mask as he raises the knife. “This is nothing personal, Ironwood. Just business.”
I remain slack in the restraints, head lolled forward as if defeated. Tall’s hands fasten around my upper arms from behind, fingers digging into my injured shoulder. The pain is white hot, but I use it—channel it into the rage building inside me.
“Let’s start with the eyes,” Bull says, bringing the knife toward my face. “Widow was specific about that.”
Now.
As the knife comes within inches of my right eye, I slam my head backward with all my strength. The back of my skull connects with Tall’s masked face, the impact jarring his head sideways with a sickening crunch of plastic on teeth.
“Fucking—!” He reels back, blood spraying inside his mask as his split lip smears against the filter canister.
Bull reacts instantly, knife slashing toward my throat, but I’m already moving. I throw my weight sideways, toppling the chair I’m still strapped to. We crash to the floor together, the impact sending fresh waves of agony through my injured shoulder.
But the chair breaks. The wooden arms splinter on impact, and the leather restraint around my right wrist tears free.
One hand loose. All I need.
Bull recovers quickly, rolling to his feet with ease. The knife weaves patterns in the air as he circles, waiting for an opening. Behind me, Tall is still disoriented, blood streaming from his nose beneath the mask.
I lie still, seemingly trapped by the half-broken chair and remaining restraints. Waiting.
Bull approaches, knife extended. “Nice try,” he says, voice tight with anger. “But you’ve just made this worse for yourself.”
The moment he steps within range, I lash out with my free hand, grabbing his wrist and yanking him off-balance. He falls forward, and I thrust upward with all my strength, driving the splintered end of the broken chair arm into the gap between his mask and body armor.
Blood fountains from his throat, hot and metallic on my face. He makes a wet, gurgling sound, eyes wide with shock behind the mask. The knife falls from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor beside my head.
I grab it before his body has fully collapsed on top of mine.
“What the fuck?” Tall yelps, finally regaining his senses. He draws his sidearm, a matte black pistol, aiming at my head. “Don’t move!”
I freeze, still pinned beneath Bull’s twitching body. The knife is hidden beneath his bulk, pressed against my palm. I need to time this perfectly.
“Widow’s going to be pissed,” Tall mutters, stepping closer, gun trained on me. “Fucking amateur hour with this one here.”
He kicks Bull’s body, rolling him off me. The movement gives me the split second of distraction I need. I slash upward with the knife, opening Tall’s inner thigh from knee to groin. The femoral artery.
He screams, staggering backward, blood pumping from the wound in rhythmic spurts. The gun fires, the shot going wide, embedding in the concrete wall behind me.
I’m on my feet before he can aim again, ignoring the fire in my damaged knee, the agony of my shoulder. With my left hand still restrained to the remains of the chair, I swing it like a flail, catching him across the temple.
He goes down hard, the gun skittering across the floor. I’m on him in an instant, driving the knife up under his chin, through the bottom of his mask, and into his brain. His body jerks once, twice, then goes still.
Silence descends, broken only by my ragged breathing and the steady drip of blood onto concrete.
Two alphas. Thirty seconds. Not my cleanest work, but I’ll take it.
I retrieve the gun, then use the knife to cut through the remaining restraints. My arm hangs useless at my side, the shoulder swollen to twice its normal size. No time to fix it now.
I strip Bull of his combat gear—his mask, body armor—and put them on over my bloodied clothes. The mask will hide my face and filter out the worst of Hailey’s heat pheromones, allowing me to think clearly. The body armor might make the difference between life and death if I encounter more of Heath’s security.
Fully equipped, I check the gun—Glock 19, nearly full magazine, one in the chamber. I tuck it into the holster on my tactical belt and sheathe the knife on my thigh.
Now for Hailey.
I move to the door, pressing my ear against it. Nothing. The corridor beyond seems quiet. I turn the handle slowly, easing it open just enough to peer through the crack.
Empty.
But not for long. Someone will come looking for the alphas eventually, wondering why they haven’t reported in. I need to move fast.
I slip into the corridor, immediately assessing possible routes. Based on what Heath had said, I know we’re on one of the lower levels. Caldwell would want privacy for what he plans to do to Hailey—somewhere secure and soundproofed.
My money’s on the upper levels. It’s where Heath and Caldwell had gone before.
I start toward what looks like a main corridor, moving as quietly as my injuries allow. Each step sends daggers of pain through my knee, and the makeshift body armor grates against my dislocated shoulder with every movement.
I need to fix that before I go any further.
Finding a recessed doorway for cover, I brace myself against the wall, positioning my arm at the correct angle. This is going to hurt like hell.
I take a deep breath, then drive my body forward while pulling my arm up and out.
The joint pops back into place with a sickening crunch. White-hot agony floods my system, and for a moment, my vision swims, black spots dancing at the edges. But then comes the relief—immediate and profound as the worst of the pain subsides.
I rotate the shoulder carefully. Still damaged, but now at least functional. It’ll have to do.
As I step back into the corridor, a door opens at the far end. A beta in a lab coat emerges, head down, focused on a tablet in his hands. He hasn’t seen me yet.
I duck back into the recessed doorway, weighing my options. Kill him silently? Try to avoid detection? Or, perhaps the most useful, interrogate him?
He draws closer, still oblivious to my presence, muttering something about “irregular hormone patterns” and “need to alert Widow.”
Information about Hailey? This beta might be exactly what I need.
I wait until he’s almost level with my hiding spot, then step out smoothly, catching him by the throat and dragging him into the recessed doorway before he can make a sound. His tablet clatters to the floor as his hands fly to mine, trying to pry my fingers loose.
“Make a noise,” I growl quietly, the gas mask lending my voice an even more terrifying quality, “and I will snap your neck. Nod if you understand.”
He nods frantically, eyes bulging with terror.
I ease my grip just enough for him to speak. “Where did Caldwell take the omega?”
“I—I don’t know,” he gasps. “I just process the lab work. I don’t?—”
I tighten my grip again, silencing him. “Try again. Where would he take her?”
The beta’s eyes widen, his pulse racing beneath my fingertips. “Th-there’s a private elevator. East wing. It goes straight to the garage level.”
“And from there?”
“I don’t know!” he chokes out. “Please! I just process samples.”
I study his face. He’s telling the truth—at least partially. “But you know where he takes them, don’t you?”
“Takes who?”
I slam him against the wall, hard enough to make his teeth clack together. “The omegas. His collection. Where does he keep his stash?”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by genuine fear. “I don’t know the exact location. No one does except for the boss. Somewhere in the mountains. A compound or estate. That’s all I know, I swear!”
My blood runs cold. If Caldwell gets Hailey to his private compound, I might never find her again. And time is running out—by now, he’s probably already on his way.
I make my decision quickly. “You’re coming with me.”
“What? No, please?—”
“Shut up.” I grab him by the collar, pressing the knife against his ribs. “Walk. East wing. And if we encounter anyone, you’re just escorting a security officer to the exit. Understand?”
He gives me a jerky nod, sweat beading on his forehead.
We move through the corridors, the beta walking stiffly in front of me, the knife concealed but pressed firmly against his back. Every step is agony for my injured knee, but I push through it, focusing on Hailey. On getting her back.
“Who else is in the building?” I ask quietly as we turn a corner.
“Um…on this level…just uh…” he whispers.
“Talk fast.”
“Just security, lab personnel, and…” he hesitates.
“And?” I press the knife harder.
“Heath. Alpha Heath is still here.”
My jaw tightens. Veyra Heath. Widow. Architect of so much suffering—my pack’s, Hailey, countless others. She’s here, in this building. Within my reach.
For a moment, I’m tempted to change course. To hunt her down and finish what I started when I infiltrated her facility. But Hailey comes first. Always.
Heath will have to wait. But her day will come. I’ll make sure of it.
We reach the east wing without incident. The private elevator stands at the end of a short corridor, its doors sleek and unmarked. A keycard scanner glows red beside it.
“I don’t have access,” the beta says quickly, reading my intention.
I pat him down, finding his ID badge clipped to his belt. “But you have this.”
His face falls. “It won’t work. I don’t have clearance.”
I consider our options. We could try to find stairs, but that would take too long and increase our chances of being spotted. We need that elevator.
Just then, the indicator above the elevator lights up. Someone’s coming up.
I drag the beta into an alcove, pressing the gun to his temple. “Not a word,” I breathe into his ear.
The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open. Two security guards step out, engaged in conversation.
“—said he’s taking her to the mountain house tonight.”
“In her condition? That’s a three-hour drive.”
“Yeah, well, Widow says the heat will last at least a week with what they gave her. Fuck. Did you catch her scent? Made me so hard I could have knotted my fist. Caldwell’s a lucky fucker to?—”
They notice us too late. I’m already moving, the gun a blur as I bring it down on the first guard’s temple. He crumples without a sound. The second reaches for his weapon, but I’m faster, driving my knee into his solar plexus despite the pain that shoots up my leg. As he doubles over, I strike the back of his neck with the butt of the gun. He joins his colleague on the floor.
I should kill them, but I need the bullets for bigger prey.
The beta stands frozen, eyes wide with terror.
“The mountain house,” I growl, grabbing him by the collar again. “Where is it?”
He shakes his head frantically. “I don’t know! I swear! Caldwell owns property all over.”
I drag him into the elevator, kicking the unconscious guards clear of the doors. The beta fumbles with his keycard, swiping it over the sensor. Nothing happens.
“It won’t work,” he says, voice trembling. “I told you?—”
I grab one of the guards, pressing his limp hand against the scanner. The light turns green, and the elevator hums to life.
“Garage,” I order, and the beta presses the button with shaking fingers.
The descent feels interminable. Each second that passes is another second Caldwell has with Hailey. Another second he’s putting distance between us.
When the doors finally open, we’re in a cavernous underground garage. Rows of black SUVs and luxury vehicles line the concrete space. At the far end, a ramp leads up to what must be the exit.
The garage is mostly empty—and there’s no sign of Caldwell or Hailey.
Fuck. I’m too late. My heart hammers in my chest as I scan the area.
The beta’s eyes dart to the exit ramp. “I…I don’t know.”
I follow his gaze just in time to see taillights disappearing up the ramp—a dark van moving fast.
“Is that him?”
The beta hesitates, and I press the gun harder against his temple.
“Yes,” he whispers. “That’s one of the transport vehicles.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Caldwell is getting away with Hailey. I need to move. Now.
“Where’s your car?” I ask the beta.
He shakes his head, trembling now. “My—my keys are in my locker upstairs. I can’t?—”
“Damn it!” I snarl, my grip tightening on his collar as desperation claws at me. Once Caldwell hits the main road, it will be nearly impossible to track him. I’ve lost precious time already fighting my way out, and every second counts.
Then I spot them—more black vans, identical to the one Caldwell just left in, parked in a neat row near the elevator. I turn the beta toward them.
“What about those? Pretty sure keys for those aren’t kept upstairs.”
His silence is all the confirmation I need.
I push him forward, toward the vans. “Move.”
“Y-you can let me go now. The keys are inside. You can drive it yourself.”
His words sent a dart of pain through me. Because I can’t. Not even now, I can’t. I can’t drive it. I can’t touch the wheel. Not after…not after…
Armed men burst from the stairwell just as we reach the nearest vehicle. Shouts echo through the garage, followed by the unmistakable sound of weapons being readied.
“ Get in. Drive ,” I order, shoving the beta through the passenger’s door before climbing in behind him.
The beta fumbles with the keys hanging from the ignition, hands shaking so badly he can barely turn them. The engine roars to life just as the first shots ring out, bullets pinging off the metal exterior.
“Go!” I roar.
He floors it, tires squealing as we lurch forward. More bullets follow us, one shattering the rear window as we race up the exit ramp.
We emerge into the evening air. The facility sits isolated in a clearing, surrounded by dense forest. About fifty miles north of Burlington, if I had to guess. The mountain silhouettes in the distance look familiar—we’re still in our home state, near the border.
The black van that must be carrying Caldwell and Hailey is just visible ahead, turning onto a main road that snakes through the trees.
“Follow them,” I order.
The beta complies, hands tight on the steering wheel. “They’ll kill me for this,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“Only if they catch you,” I reply grimly. “Now drive faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I can! It’s dangerous to drive this fast on these roads. What do you want to do? Die?”
I laugh, a cold sound that makes him pale. “You think I care about dying right now?”
I see the moment he realizes he’s fucked. Well and truly fucked.
His problem.
“Your phone.” I shift in the seat, strapping the knife to my leg as I keep the gun trained on him. “Give it to me.”
The beta hesitates, then reaches awkwardly into his pocket, pulling out a smartphone. I take it, quickly dialing one of the few numbers I have memorized.
Jax answers on the first ring. “Talk.”
“It’s me.” My voice is raw.
“Fuck.” His voice breaks with relief. “Where are you?”
“Heath’s facility—she’s still there. But she’s not alone.”
A beat of silence. Then, low and dangerous: “How many?”
“At least six armed. Maybe more.” I swallow hard. “But she won’t be there long. If you move now, you can catch her before she runs.”
Another pause. I can hear him weighing the risk—our resources against armed guards, against Widow herself.
“And Hailey?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Caldwell has her. I’m going after them.”
“Alone?” His voice cracks.
“Only way.” I force the words out. “If I don’t make it?—”
“Don’t.” A sharp inhale. “Don’t fucking say it.”
But I have to. Because this might be the last time.
“If I don’t make it,” I say again, slower, “tell Finn I’m sorry. About everything. That I?—”
“You’ll tell him yourself.” Jax’s voice is steel. “We’re coming for you. Both of you.”
The line goes dead before I can argue.
I stare at the phone, throat tight.
He didn’t let me say goodbye.
My good friend, my brother who took me in and showed me I could have a family again, won’t accept that this might be the end for me. Even if I get Hailey out.
I swallow hard, focusing on the road ahead. Caldwell’s van continues its steady pace, unaware of our pursuit. He thinks he’s gotten away clean. Thinks he’s won.
He has no idea what’s coming for him.
I check the gun, confirming the full magazine. The knife at my thigh is secure, and the body armor I took from the dead alpha feels heavy but reassuring against my battered ribs.
The beta glances at me nervously, then back at the road. “What…what are you going to do?”
I don’t answer immediately, watching Caldwell’s taillights winding through the darkness ahead. When I speak, my voice is so calm it seems to frighten him more than rage would have.
“I’m going to get her back.”