Chapter 27 Red
Chapter twenty-seven
Red
Voices laugh at me from the shadows and glass crashes behind me. I spin, reaching for my alphas, but Zack slips from my grip. A dark shadow tows him away in a silent undercurrent. My alpha throws me a terrified look, and I thrash, shouting his name, but the gloom swallows him whole.
I jerk awake, panting. Just a dream.
A heavy arm slides over me to lock around my waist, and my heart’s frantic beating settles.
Reality clicks into place one piece at a time.
I’m okay . . . I’m in bed with Rickon, and Zack’s close by beyond the prison walls.
He won’t get hurt a second time, not now that he understands self-defense.
I press my fingers to my aching forehead, and then freeze.
Rickon snores softly in front of me, pillowing his face on one hand. He sleeps with his knees bent up so they touch my thighs. Which means the arm around me doesn’t belong to him. Neither does the cherry wood scent.
Callisto stayed the night.
I relax and let my eyes slide shut. If Rickon’s alarm hasn’t gone off at the crack of dawn, it means we’re filming in the afternoon. I can take my time and enjoy waking up next to Calli.
I’ve never seen the alpha so vulnerable as he was last evening, and, strangely, it reminded me of myself trapped in the hub’s nest, scratching at the doors to get out.
While we held him sandwiched between us, Rickon explained how his anxiety manifested after I left to search for Zack.
It’s strange to think of the big, capable alpha breaking down, but it also proves what I’ve suspected for a while now—Callisto needs us.
I savor the warm weight on my stomach. This is how it should’ve been; the way nature intended for Calli, Rickon, and me to find each other. Despite his outward success, maybe Callisto is the slowest to heal from his scars. And in that case, he’s been putting on the most convincing act of us all.
Could I have handled things differently? If I’d been able to explain myself properly, Zack wouldn’t have stepped in. I could’ve told Callisto I needed more time without breaking his hopes.
But regardless of how my heart feels, I won’t act without Zack’s approval. We’re a team now.
I roll a little, pressing my shoulder to Callisto’s broad chest. With his arm around me like this, we slot together well. In fact, the fit reminds me of the upcoming sex scenes, and the size of Brad when he stands right behind me. Except this touch doesn’t repulse me. Quite the opposite.
My body melts, and my scent thickens. Fuck! Think pure thoughts, Red, or we’ll end up doing something we can’t take back.
I reach out and tuck my hand under Rickon’s. That should at least explain my morning interest if the alphas wake now. If Zack were here, he’d already have caught my scent and worked his cock between my thighs from behind.
I bite my lip to contain a giggle.
Rickon stirs and rolls onto his back, a mutter slipping from his plush lips.
After Callisto calmed down last night, they swapped stories from their childhood, and I listened with fascination.
Even when I went back to learning lines to give them some privacy, they didn’t return to the topic of making out during my heat.
All three of us exist in a delicate balance where we can’t say what we really want.
In Callisto’s case, he’s careful not to pressure us, and that’s pretty decent of him. I think he’s learned his lesson.
“Morning,” Rickon whispers, eyes still closed.
“Good morning, alpha,” I reply, voice thickened with sleep.
He beams, the way he does each time I call him by his designation. He rolls back over and searches his way to my face like an adorable sightless kitten. I chuckle as he peppers on my lips with a series of tiny pecks.
“Callisto’s still here,” I murmur, in case he plans to take things further.
“Meh. Calli doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, a hurricane wouldn’t wake him. Besides, you smell too good to resist.”
I chuckle and throw my arm around his neck, pulling him close again.
A shrill ringtone slices through our tender moment, and Callisto flinches. “Hello?” the lawyer mutters by my ear, answering in his sleep.
Rickon and I giggle, and then my alpha leans over and fishes Callisto’s phone out of his laptop bag. He shakes Callisto hard. “Hey, wake up. It’s from Leroy Hanamack.”
Callisto comes to groggily and his hand strokes my belly as if we’ve always slept together. Then he realizes and snatches his arm off me. “Leroy?” he croaks, answering the phone.
We’re close enough to hear the voice on the other end say, “I thought you might like to know, your tip-off was a good one. My team is prepping to raid right now.”
I tilt to watch over my shoulder as Callisto checks his watch and frowns. “You secured a warrant overnight?”
“Of course. This is our best lead in a case involving weaponized alpha scent. This is our nation’s top security matter currently.”
My spine tingles. Because I’m right in the middle of it, I forgot how serious the attack is in the eyes of the state.
Callisto nods and rubs sleep from his eyes. “Right.” He frowns, and blinks hard to chase sleepiness away.
Leroy’s distant voice sounds down the line. “Since you’ve been so involved, I’m calling to see if you want to come in and watch the raid footage with me.”
“Me?” Callisto glances at us. “Sure, but I’m with Red and Rickon Jones right now. Can they also come? This concerns them.”
Leroy falls silent for a moment. “All right. So long as they sign nondisclosures.”
Callisto lifts his eyebrows in silent question, and we both nod. Anything to find out what provoked Zack.
“We’ll be there in sixty minutes,” he tells the OCB leader.
I leap to my feet. It’s a fifty-minute drive into the city, so I only have nine minutes or less to get ready. Rickon scrambles after me, sorting clothes and tossing me the deodorant.
As I smash a brush through my hair, I watch Callisto. He calmly rolls up his sleeping bag and sets it to one side, stacking his pillow on top before fitting his belt through his pant loops and shaking out his suit jacket. Even with his shirt creased to high heaven, he looks good.
He catches me watching and smiles.
My heart scampers and I jerk away, feeling like a child caught doing something naughty.
As we leave the tent, I stare at the huge concrete walls capped in barbed wire. Behind those walls, Zack’s starting his day without us.
Callisto offers to drive, and we pile into his car, which is luxurious with none of Brad’s pretentious sports-car vibes. We’re halfway back to the city when a thought occurs to me. “If this is a matter for national security, why is Leroy telling us about it?”
Callisto throws a lop-sided grin into the rearview mirror. “You figured that out, huh?”
I hold his gaze. “Shouldn’t this be something he tells you about after it’s done?”
He nods, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“Well, if any of us are involved in the crime, this would be the precise moment we’d frantically call someone to give a warning.
And he can’t ignore the fact I got an anonymous tip.
” His brown eyes flick back to meet my gaze in the mirror.
“You’re already under a kind of surveillance from the OCB. ”
I never thought about Josef and Pierce that way, but I suppose he’s right. And the Bureau has my old phone now.
“So, this is a test?” Rickon asks, scorn hardening his voice.
“Yep, think so,” Callisto says. “I’d say more for me than you two.”
I scoff. “How ridiculous. We’re the ones trying to solve this crime! We don’t have anything to hide.”
“No, we don’t,” Callisto muses.
I stiffen, my hand tightening around Rickon’s. I’d say I’m pretty good at detecting lies, and my instincts tell me Callisto’s lying. But about what, exactly? He wouldn’t hurt me, and I know for a fact he’s doing everything possible to get Zack out of prison. So what isn’t he telling us?
A chill grips me. What if Ray’s blackmailed him too?
I can’t even ask because if his theory about the OCB is correct, then they could be monitoring our conversation right now. With a sigh, I rub my forehead and turn back to watch the road.
We zip past semirural landholdings where people water veggie patches and search under their car hoods.
Are their days as complicated and exhausting as mine?
The pace is frantic and the hardest part is we don’t get any mental rest. With filming, the scene takes a day to shoot, and then it’s done and dusted and everyone goes home.
In my reality, nothing ever wraps up.
After doing identity checks and signing confidentiality agreements at the OCB headquarters, we’re escorted to the tenth floor. I shudder as I recall being dragged here against my will after Hudson attacked us, cutting my freedom run short.
Rickon notices. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yep. Just some unpleasant memories.”
He slips his arm around my shoulders, and we walk close together, bumping with each step.
An agent ushers us into a conference room where three men wait, only one of them familiar. The last time I saw the OCB assistant special agent in charge, I was naked and delirious from Zack’s bonding. Heat blazes in my cheeks as I remember.
The head agent lifts his hand in greeting. “You’re just in time. Take a seat.” If he suspects us, he doesn’t show it, turning away to put on a headset.
The big screen at the head of the conference table displays video feeds, all presumably mounted on helmets or vehicle dashes.
One of the other agents explains we might see violence, if people inside the building resist arrest. He says the agents mostly use rubber bullets but can switch to live rounds if necessary.
“Sure you’re okay to watch, Red?” Callisto asks, studying me closely.
I nod. “Anything that gets us closer to freeing Zack.” Plus, if they really are raiding a place connected to Ray, it involves me too.
Leroy holds up his fist, and the agents ask us to be quiet. Rickon takes my hand as the clock on the wall ticks over to 9 am.
On the screen, the video feeds all jump at once, rushing forward to surround an oversized warehouse.
I pick one camera to focus on so I don’t go dizzy watching all the shifting views, and the agent opens a side door and darts into the building, weaving between hoists and tall tool chests.
Rubber tires hang on the wall, along with signs showing evacuation points and safety warnings.
The camera sweeps over two city taxis. The whole garage looks just like a regular workshop.
A blinding light blazes across the screen, and all the feeds sputter with activity. Men in oil-stained overalls pull weapons from under workbenches and open fire, peppering the air with bullets.
I gasp and jerk back in my chair. Rickon squeezes my hand, and I cling to him as chaos breaks loose. Bursts of white and red light flash in rapid fire, and the feeds blur as the agents duck and run to subdue their attackers. Agent Leroy curls one hand into a fist, body tense as he watches.
A lump forms in my throat as one camera feed tilts and stops moving. This isn’t a movie filmed via careful special effects—the agents are real men, throwing themselves into danger to end crime.
I focus on my original camera choice, holding my breath as the agent checks the path around a scrap metal barrel, and then darts forward.
He crashes into an attacker firing a rifle in another direction, knocking the camera and momentarily filling the view with blue cloth as they tussle.
His fist descends, and the mechanic-turned-criminal goes limp.
Quick as a flash, our agent secures his opponent’s hands and feet with zip ties and surges forward, looking for the next threat. He ducks through a doorway into a short corridor, and when he glances over his shoulder, more agents follow on his tail, all grim-faced with weapons ready.
They surge into a storeroom stacked with car parts on tall shelves, and when they sweep the space, an agent points to a workbench angled away from the wall.
Together they heave on it, and the whole bench and wall behind swings out, revealing stairs descending into darkness.
The team switch on headlamps and swarm down the steps.
Beams of light pool on pallets stacked high with boxes and dozens of luggage bags in an assortment of sizes and styles. The agent sticks his hand in the top leather bag and pulls out a fistful of narrow glass cylinders, the oil within turning gold under his headlamp.
“Haze,” Callisto breathes out.
The hand in the image drops the capsules and spins as if interrupted. He runs until he reaches the other agents gathered in a second underground room. I gasp as their headlamps illuminate cages no bigger than dog crates with two naked men huddled inside.
Nausea burns up my throat as the captives snarl and throw themselves at the bars, frothing and scratching, wilder than Zack when I first met him.
Scars riddle their emaciated frames, and chains dangle from their wrists, but most startling is the oily film glistening on their skin.
Even at this distance, it feels familiar.
The light sweeps along the cages, revealing a third naked alpha at the far end. Instead of attacking the bars, the wildling shivers and thrusts slowly into a big body pillow. When he glances up, his glassy eyes can’t focus. He pants for breath and returns to his rut.
He slips in the oil and kneels up, revealing an IV line taped to his jaw and a long thin tube running over his shoulder and out past the bars.
I cover my mouth with my hands and moan, rocking in my chair.
I wasn’t the only one.