Chapter Thirteen
Two days later
Lucky
Lucky had no choice but to return to class.
He’d already missed enough time because of Lincoln, and couldn’t afford to miss more.
Although his parents had been welcoming and accepting of both Chase and Ford over dinner two nights before, he hadn’t missed the relief and temporary flash of fear in their eyes when he’d walked into the kitchen each morning.
The way they’d both hugged him before he left the house reminded him that they’d had to wake up, every day since Friday morning, unable to be near him, not knowing what he was going through.
Realising all they’d suffered in silence, the fear of losing their only child, was heartbreaking.
Ford had been waiting outside the house, as promised.
He’d reassured them that Lucky wouldn’t be alone until he’d found and arrested the men Lincoln had talked to.
That helped his papa relax, but he’d still decided to take time off from his clubs and volunteering to be home in case Lucky found it too much.
Ford dropped Lucky at the front gates with a reminder that he’d pick him up at the end of the day, kissed him so long that he didn’t want to get out of the car, then left Lucky to walk in alone.
That wasn’t normally a problem, except everyone was looking at him.
Did they not know that Ford was his mate?
Or were the rumours already circulating about why he’d been absent?
Halfway to Caroline and Phoenix, Lucky raised his hand to wave.
Caroline rushed over. “What happened?”
Lucky had been so emotionally and mentally tired he’d settled for a loose ponytail tied at his neck, a black jumper with long sleeves, and jeans. Lucky frowned at Phoenix, who wrapped him in a hug. “Is there something wrong with how I look?”
“You just look tired after what you’ve been through. How are you feeling? This was all so…awful.”
Lucky should have expected the questions and curiosity. Although he’d had a group call with them, talking in person was definitely better. “It helped to have Chase and Ford. I got to forget about everything going on outside those four walls.”
Phoenix clasped his hand, looking worried. “I’m only telling you because I already put my foot in it, but…you should know about Kain.”
Caroline nibbled her bottom lip and grabbed Phoenix’s arm. “Not now.”
“We’ll never mentioned what happened again, I swear,” Phoenix said, which was a promise he cherished. “But…you should know that Lincoln was Kain’s true mate.”
“What?” How could someone as sweet as Kain be cursed with Lincoln as a mate?
Phoenix glanced behind him, as though he expected Kain to arrive any minute. “He feels bad about what Lincoln did.”
Lucky sighed, wishing Kain was here. “He’s not responsible for Lincoln’s behaviour. I just wish he’d told us about their bond sooner.”
“There is no bond!” Caroline clarified, looking scandalised, even though Kain wasn’t here to take offence.
“Kain said he recognised the bond one night at a party where they both got drunk. Lincoln kissed him and Kain was so horrified he left. After he talked to his folks about not wanting Lincoln for an alpha, he was told to register the bond so he could have it rejected once he was of age.”
Lucky frowned, not sure he was following. “Why can’t he just reject him?”
“Alphas with their ridiculous laws.” His friends answered in unison, then laughed.
Caroline picked up the topic with a smile.
“The problem is that Kain felt the bond but he's certain that Lincoln didn’t. So Lincoln has to officially reveal the bond to Kain before he can reject it. Though I imagine that will change now he’s been arrested. ”
Lucky nodded, thinking back to how Ford had promised to find out what happened after they handed Lincoln to the ORT.
He’d been medicated until the effects of the OX wore off, but none of them knew what charges would be brought against him and what evidence they had other than Lucky’s word.
If they couldn’t prove Lincoln had been responsible or that he’d been in possession of OX, Lucky would have to testify or they’d pull Rafe from his undercover work to give an official report.
If an ORTa said Lincoln was responsible, Ford was sure that would be enough to close the case.
He hoped that wasn’t necessary, but he needed to speak to Ford.
Phoenix ran his fingers over Lucky’s ponytail. “You’re here, it’s over and we won’t mention it again. You do look lovely, just more timid than usual, but it suits you.”
* * * *
Chase
Lifting a smoke to his lips, Chase took a long drag and ignored Grant’s grumbling about a low score on the game he was playing on his phone. “Do you have to do that now?” The pinging noises were grating on his last nerve.
Grant sniffed and crossed his ankles to lean against the low wall.
“You’re just pissed because your mate wasn’t in your bed last night,” he snarked, having made more than a few quips about how lucky he’d been to skip class just so he could fuck his mate.
The fact he was making light of the whole thing was actually a relief.
It was better than the looks and whispers he’d gotten from complete strangers when he stepped onto campus.
“My mate has never been in my bed.” Chase took another drag and held it, releasing it when he spotted a familiar car. Ford sat in the driver’s seat, the focus of Lucky’s attention. They lingered over a kiss, no doubt both cursing their agreement to live separately.
He watched Lucky approach his friends and gave them a chance to catch up, but his patience was thin.
He ground his cigarette under his shoe and crossed the quad, going the long way around to see Ford sitting in his car, typing on his phone.
Chase knocked on the driver’s window, and was surprised by how his stomach swooped when Ford opened the door to step out.
“How are ya, meda?”
Ford
He swore as his phone rang just as he was about to get close to Chase. He grabbed the phone from his back pocket and put it on speaker. “Sykes, what d’you got for me?”
His phone pinged to say Sykes wanted a video call. Ford rolled his eyes and accepted, raising an eyebrow at his best friend and colleague.
Sykes leaned back in a solid plastic chair.
“That mate of yours lives up to his name,” he insisted, raising a cup of takeaway coffee in a toast. “I got three pings on Lincoln’s location from the time of Lucky’s kidnapping.”
“Three?” Chase stepped forward, so Ford leaned against the car and let Chase move close to see Sykes. He had every right to be involved—this was about his mate, and if Ford’s fears were founded, they’d be protecting Lucky from this shit for months.
Sykes nodded, turning sideways on his chair as he grabbed a printout from the desk. “I had a team of techs working on the trackers we knew about—one for Lincoln, one for Lucky, and one that you stuck on the notes Lincoln tried to give you.”
While Sykes rifled through paperwork, Chase leaned closer to Ford. “What notes?”
“Lincoln tried to pay me less than what he owed, so I slipped a tracker onto the money. It was barely visible to the naked eye, but would tell us where that money led, after he left me,” Ford explained, finding it interesting that the money had ended up anywhere.
“The little shit was supposed to be getting me more money, not spending what he had. I presumed he gave it to Scout, to get him to nab Lucky.”
“Ah.” Sykes grinned and held up a photo still from a security camera. “But this is who he gave the money to.”
Ford laughed, recognising the face strategically tipped to be recognised by the camera. “Fuck’s sake. He paid Scratch?” He shook his head, thanked Sykes for the info, and hung up, satisfied that they had a potential lead.
“Who or what is Scratch?” Chase sounded confused, like he couldn’t fathom their use of nicknames and codenames.
Ford wasn’t sure how best to explain it, but gave it his best shot.
“Scratch is an old omega, like mid-seventies at least, who sells legal highs on the street. He’s been homeless since forever and they call him Scratch because…
well, because that’s what he does. He does a little ‘I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine’. He’s well connected to the Market.”
“An omega?”
That was the tricky part and not, technically, his story to tell.
But fuck it, he wasn’t lying to his mate.
“Scratch spent a Gods-awful number of years in the Market as their pet, toy, research bunny. You name it, he probably went through it, and he didn’t come out as well as Jesi,” he hinted, though he wouldn’t mention the numerous mental breakdowns, the forced sections in a mental health facility and the memory loss he’d been through.
According to his file in the ORT, poor Scratch had suffered at least four miscarriages that they knew of, had three kids taken away from him by the Market and sold, and had passed through eight different ‘owners’.
It was a miracle Scratch was alive and relatively sane.
“For all he’s been through, the man is a mountain of valuable information about the inner workings of the Market.
In exchange for that knowledge, we keep an eye on him,” Ford explained, because it was important for Chase to understand.
Scratch was their first stop whenever an undercover ORTa needed information without drawing attention to themselves.
If they needed help but couldn’t use the usual channels, a whisper in Scratch’s ear got the right people warned to prep an extraction.
“Scratch is invaluable to us and we keep him safe, clothed, fed, and slip him some money every now and then. In return, he acts like an undercover ORTa.”
“If Lincoln paid him, then―”