24. Ren
Chapter 24
Ren
T he Ashgraves send a black sedan. Tinted windows and a driver who barely acknowledges me beyond a polite nod when I slide into the backseat. I’m not surprised.
“Mr. Ashgrave asked me to give you this,” the driver says, passing back a sealed envelope without turning around.
Inside is a single sheet of paper with an address written in neat block letters. I pop out my phone, typing it in. It comes up as an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district. Typical.
I slip the paper back into the envelope, settling into the leather seat as the car pulls away from the curb. My ribs ache dully, a persistent reminder of what happened a week ago. Of how close I came to losing it all. The bruising on my face has faded, but I still look like I went ten rounds with a heavyweight.
Which, in a way, I did.
Meeting with Riordan Ashgrave doesn’t settle any nerves in my gut. The Ashgraves have a reputation, even though no one can truly pin any backdoor dealings on their pack. Maybe it’s a good thing. A pack of feral alphas wearing suits. Dealing with them isn’t a choice.
But if they can help us locate Heath, confirm Caldwell’s status…it’s worth the risk.
I watch the city pass by outside the window, familiar streets giving way to the less-maintained roads of the industrial district. Warehouses loom like sleeping giants, many abandoned. It’s the kind of place where people disappear, where questions go unanswered.
The perfect place for a meeting that never officially happened.
The car slows as we approach a sprawling concrete structure, its windows boarded, walls tagged with graffiti. No other vehicles are visible, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. The Ashgraves are nothing if not thorough in their security measures.
“I’ll wait here,” the driver says as the car comes to a stop. “Mr. Ashgrave is expecting you inside. North entrance.”
I nod, exiting the vehicle without comment. My hand instinctively checks the gun holstered beneath my jacket. The weight of it is reassuring, though I doubt I’ll need it today. The Ashgraves may be many things, but they’ve never been known to betray any deals they make. Which is good for me.
The north entrance is unlocked, the heavy metal door scraping across concrete as I pull it open. Inside, the warehouse is cavernous, dust motes dancing in shafts of light that filter through broken windows high above. Most of the space is empty, save for a few abandoned pieces of machinery and a small table set up in the center of the floor.
At the table sits Riordan Ashgrave.
Dark hair, cut short, frames a face that’s handsome in a severe way. He watches my approach with cool assessment, neither rising nor offering any greeting until I’m standing across from him.
“Ironwood,” he says finally, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. “Thank you for coming.”
I take the seat, matching his neutral tone. “Didn’t realize I had much choice.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “There’s always a choice. But I’m glad you made this one.” He pushes a manila folder across the table. “I believe this is what you’re most interested in.”
I open the folder, finding photographs and documents detailing surveillance on Veyra Heath. The most recent image, dated just three days ago, shows her boarding a private plane in Toronto, her distinctive features partially obscured by large sunglasses and a scarf, but unmistakable nonetheless.
“She’s alive,” I state the obvious, something cold settling in my stomach at the confirmation.
Riordan nods. “Two gunshot wounds. Non-fatal, though I understand that wasn’t for lack of trying on your omega’s part.”
“Where was she headed?”
“Switzerland, initially. But we believe that’s just a stopover. Her final destination is likely somewhere without extradition—Venezuela, perhaps, or one of several Asian countries where she has connections.”
I flip through the rest of the file, absorbing details about Heath’s movements in the days following her escape from the facility. “And Caldwell?”
“No sign of him since the raid.” Riordan’s expression darkens slightly. “The official report claims he was killed in the crossfire between Heath’s security forces, but no body has been recovered.”
“Convenient,” I mutter.
“Indeed.” He watches me with that same cool assessment. “I must admit, I’m surprised by how this played out. I would have expected you to handle it…more discreetly.”
I close the folder, meeting his gaze. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I thought you’d take them both down yourself. Quietly. Permanently.” He tilts his head slightly. “Your reputation suggests a preference for direct solutions.”
There’s something almost like disappointment in his tone, as if he expected better—or worse—from me. It stirs an unexpected defensiveness in my chest.
“It’s bigger than me,” I say simply. “Bigger than personal vengeance. What Heath and Caldwell were doing—an operation that extensive needed to be exposed, not just eliminated.”
Something shifts in Riordan’s expression. Reassessment, perhaps. “A surprisingly civic-minded perspective.”
“It wasn’t my decision anyway,” I add, deciding to correct his assumption. “Finn was the one who exposed them. Our omega. He broadcast it to every news outlet and law enforcement agency he could reach.”
Surprise registers briefly on Riordan’s face. “Your omega did that?”
I nod, unable to keep a hint of pride from my voice. “While I was chasing after Caldwell, Finn was the one who brought it all down. Without him, the world would have never known.”
“Brave,” Riordan comments, the single word carrying genuine respect. “And resourceful. Most omegas would have crumbled under that kind of pressure.”
“Finn isn’t most omegas.” The simple truth comes easily. I’d spent so long holding myself apart, convinced I was protecting him by keeping my distance, that I’d failed to see how strong he’d become, how capable.
“Clearly,” Riordan says. He’s studying me now, eyes unreadable, but it’s clear he’s turning my words over in his head. Pack Ashgrave doesn’t have an omega. That in itself is strange. A pack with their connections should have no trouble finding one. Unless…they don’t want an omega.
The moment snaps as he taps another folder, thicker than the first, that sits on the table between us. “Which brings me to the other reason for this meeting.”
He slides the second folder toward me. Inside are reports, photographs, and what appear to be internal police documents, all related to the investigation into Heath and Caldwell’s operation.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, scanning the contents.
“Evidence that’s disappearing from the official investigation.” Riordan’s voice takes on a harder edge. “Key witness statements being retracted, financial records going missing, surveillance footage corrupted. Someone is undermining the case against Heath and her network.”
I look up sharply. “What?”
“Someone inside law enforcement.”
“Fuck.”
He nods. “Heath wasn’t acting alone. She had—has—protection at high levels. Which means even with the public exposure, even with the evidence your omega released, there’s a risk this all gets buried.”
The implications sink in slowly, a cold weight pressing against my chest. If Heath has allies within law enforcement, within the justice system itself, then the danger to our pack hasn’t passed. It’s simply evolved.
“Do you have names?” I ask, leafing through the documents with greater urgency.
“Not yet. But we’re close.” Riordan watches me process this new information. “Whoever it is has access to evidence storage, police databases, witness protection protocols. That narrows the field.”
I close the second folder, my mind already racing through contingencies, protective measures we should implement. “Why share this with me? This goes past what I did to help your cousin.”
Riordan offers a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re partners now, aren’t we? Twenty percent stake in your Burlington operations buys a certain level of transparency.” He leans forward slightly. “Besides, your pack has a vested interest. If Heath’s protectors decide you’re a loose end that needs tying up…”
He doesn’t need to finish the thought. The threat is clear enough.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, not because I need his guidance but because I want to gauge his intentions.
“For now? Vigilance. Security. We’re tracking Heath, and we’ll continue investigating her connections here.” He stands, signaling that our meeting is concluding. “My people will be in touch with updates. If you learn anything relevant, I expect the same courtesy.”
I rise as well, tucking both folders into my jacket. “Understood.”
He extends a hand, which I take after only a brief hesitation. His grip is firm, direct, like the man himself. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m genuinely sorry about what happened to your mates. No omega deserves what Heath and Caldwell were doing—trafficking, forced heats, auction blocks. It’s medieval.”
The sincerity in his voice surprises me. For all their ruthless methods, the Ashgraves do have a moral compass.
“Thank you for this,” I say, nodding toward the folders in my jacket. “And for your help at the facility.”
“Partners,” he says again, releasing my hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
He’s about to move away when I remember something else. “Hey.”
Riordan pauses. Looks at me.
“There’s a missing omega. One who escaped with Hailey. Her name’s Vi. She has purple hair. That’s all I know. If your men see her…”
Riordan nods. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
Meeting concluded, I retrace my steps through the warehouse, mind churning with the new information. Heath’s alive and on the run. Caldwell’s possibly still alive as well. Corruption within law enforcement threatening to unravel the case against them. And through it all, the constant, gnawing fear that our pack remains vulnerable.
The black sedan is waiting where I left it, the driver impassive as ever when I slide into the backseat.
“Where to, sir?” he asks.
“Downtown,” I reply, not wanting to return directly home until I’ve had time to process everything Riordan shared. “The train station.”
As the car pulls away from the warehouse, I scan our surroundings out of habit, noting the desolate landscape of abandoned buildings and empty lots. We’re nearly back to the main road when movement in the side mirror catches my attention—a dark sedan pulling onto the road behind us, maintaining a careful distance.
It could be nothing. A coincidence, another vehicle happening to leave the industrial district at the same time. But coincidences aren’t something I’ve ever put much faith in.
I watch the sedan for several minutes as we navigate back toward the city center, noting how it mirrors our lane changes, maintains a consistent distance, never quite closing the gap but never falling too far behind either.
“The black sedan three cars back,” I say to the driver, keeping my voice casual. “Do you recognize it?”
He glances in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing slightly. “No, sir. Not one of ours.”
“How long has it been behind us?”
“I noticed it as we were leaving the warehouse district,” he admits. “But I assumed it was additional security for Mr. Ashgrave.”
I shake my head, continuing to monitor the vehicle. “No. Their security is more discreet.” Decision time. The old me—the one who operated alone, who kept the pack at arm’s length—would handle this myself. Find a way to lose the tail, double back, identify the threat and neutralize it if necessary.
But things are different now. I’m different.
I pull out my phone, dialing Jax.
He answers on the second ring. “Everything okay?”
“Not sure,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “Meeting with Ashgrave went fine, but I’m being followed on my way back. Black sedan, two people inside from what I can see. Been on us since we left the warehouse.”
Jax’s response is immediate, all business. “Where are you now?”
“Heading toward the train station.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes. Text me when you arrive and where exactly you’ll be.”
“Will do.” I hesitate, then add, “Don’t tell Hailey or Finn. No need to worry them yet.”
“Agreed. Just hang tight. I’m on my way.”
I end the call, turning back to the driver. “Change of plans. Take me to the train station as planned, but don’t wait. I’ll find my way from there.”
He nods, not questioning the instruction. “Yes, sir.”
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence, my attention divided between the sedan still following us and the mental catalog of what I learned from Riordan. By the time we reach the train station, a busy transportation hub in the heart of downtown, I’ve mapped out several possible exit routes, identified potential vantage points where I can observe without being seen, and formulated a basic plan to meet Jax without leading our tail directly to him.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver as we pull up to the curb. “Tell Mr. Ashgrave I appreciate his cooperation.”
“Of course, sir.”
I exit the car casually, not rushing, not giving any indication that I’m aware of being followed. The station is busy enough at this hour to provide cover but not so crowded that I can’t spot potential threats. I enter through the main doors, immediately angling toward the electronic departure board as if checking train times.
From the corner of my eye, I spot them—two men entering the station about thirty seconds after me, both in dark suits, both moving with the controlled alertness that marks professionals rather than amateurs. Not law enforcement—they lack the badge-heavy posture—but definitely trained. Private security, perhaps, or something less legitimate.
I move deeper into the station, pulling out my phone to text Jax my exact location and a description of the men following me. Then I head toward the restrooms. The narrow entrance will create a bottleneck, forcing them to either follow me in, potentially trapping themselves, or wait outside, giving away their position.
As expected, they opt to wait, one positioning himself near the water fountain across from the restroom entrance, the other moving to cover the secondary exit that leads to the platforms.
Inside, I take a moment to check the folders from Riordan, ensuring they’re secure inside my jacket. Then I send Jax another update: two men, dark suits, one at each exit. I’ll create a diversion, head toward the north parking lot.
His response comes seconds later:
Already here. Our SUV, north lot, row C.
A burst of satisfaction cuts through the tension. Jax has always been efficient. It’s one reason he leads our pack, why we all defer to him even when we disagree with his methods.
Now for the diversion. I exit the restroom, immediately spotting the first man still positioned near the water fountains. Our eyes meet briefly—he doesn’t bother pretending he’s not watching me. A warning, then. Not trying to be subtle anymore.
I head toward the food court, moving against the flow of commuters, making myself a more difficult target to follow without being obvious. As I pass a group of college students with oversized backpacks, I “accidentally” bump into one, sending his bag to the floor, spilling books and a laptop across the polished tile.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize loudly, bending to help gather his scattered belongings, using the commotion to mask my quick assessment of where my followers are positioned. The first man is pushing through the crowd toward me, irritation visible on his face. The second is moving to cut off my potential escape route toward the platforms.
Perfect.
I help the student repack his bag, apologize once more, then suddenly change direction, heading toward a service corridor partially hidden behind a newsstand.
I hear rapid footsteps behind me as I push through the service door, finding myself in a narrow hallway used by station staff. I move quickly, not running but walking with purpose, following signs toward a loading dock that should, if the station layout is standard, connect to the north parking area.
The door at the end of the corridor opens onto a concrete platform where delivery trucks would normally unload. Beyond it, the north parking lot spreads out in neat rows, and there, exactly where he said he’d be, is Jax’s black SUV.
I scan the area for my followers but don’t see them—they’re still inside, perhaps confused by the maze-like service corridors, or perhaps they’ve realized I’m meeting someone and decided to hang back.
Either way, I’m not waiting to find out. I move quickly across the lot to the SUV, sliding into the passenger seat beside Jax.
“Anyone follow you out?” he asks immediately, already putting the vehicle in drive.
“Not that I saw, but they’re professionals. They’ll figure it out soon enough.”
He nods, navigating out of the parking lot with careful attention to his mirrors. “Did you get a good look at them? Anyone we recognize?”
“No. Generic suits, athletic builds.” I glance in the side mirror, watching for any sign of pursuit. “They weren’t trying to hide that they were following me, though. It felt like a message.”
Jax’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “A message saying what?”
“That we’re being watched. That even with an alliance with the Ashgraves, we’re not untouchable.” I shift in my seat to face him. “The meeting with Riordan confirmed some things we suspected and revealed some we didn’t.”
As we make our way through downtown traffic, I brief him on everything Riordan shared—Heath’s survival and escape, the uncertainty about Caldwell, and most concerning, the evidence of corruption within law enforcement that threatens to undermine the entire case.
Jax listens without interrupting, his expression growing more grave with each revelation. When I finish, he’s silent for a long moment.
“We need to tell the others,” he finally says. “All of this affects the entire pack.”
“I know.” I look out the window, watching the familiar streets of the city pass by. “But I keep thinking…maybe I should handle this myself. Find Heath, end this for good.”
The thought has been gnawing at me since the moment I saw her photograph in Riordan’s file. Heath, alive and free, potentially rebuilding her operation from somewhere beyond our reach. The idea of it sits like poison in my veins.
“Ren.” Jax’s voice pulls me back from darker thoughts. “That’s not who we are anymore. Not who you are.”
“Isn’t it?” I turn back to him, something raw and painful clawing at my chest. “I keep thinking about what could have happened to Hailey. What did happen to her. I want Heath to suffer for that.”
The admission costs me. A violent impulse I’ve been trying to suppress since we escaped the facility.
Jax doesn’t immediately dismiss my feelings, which I appreciate. “I understand,” he says after a careful pause. “Believe me, I do. When I think about Heath, about Caldwell, about what they did to both of you…” His jaw clenches tight. “But going after them alone, making this a personal vendetta—it puts you at risk. It puts the pack at risk.”
“And doing nothing doesn’t?” I challenge.
“I didn’t say we do nothing.” He navigates around a slower vehicle, checking his mirrors again to ensure we’re not being followed. “I said we don’t do it alone. We decide together now. All of us.”
The echo of the promise we made to Finn, to Hailey—no more secrets, no more unilateral decisions. I recognize the wisdom in it, even as part of me rebels against the constraint.
“What if they don’t understand?” Saying those words voices one of my deepest fears. “What if they can’t see why Heath needs to be dealt with permanently?”
Jax gives me a sidelong glance. “You’re not giving them enough credit. Hailey stabbed a beta. Finn was the one who shot Heath. They understand the stakes better than anyone.”
He’s right, of course.
“Okay,” I concede. “We tell them everything. Decide as a pack what to do next.”
Relief crosses Jax’s face, subtle but visible. “Thank you.”
As we approach home, I find myself scanning the streets, the houses, the parked cars—looking for anything out of place, any sign that we’ve been followed despite our precautions.
But as we pull into the driveway, what I see instead sends an unexpected wave of warmth through me: Hailey and Finn on the front porch, clearly waiting for us. They stand as the SUV comes to a stop, and a part of me feels guilt that I have to burden them with this.
But it’s not a burden if they want to know. And they have a right to.
I just have to tell them.