The Warehouse
Warren
This place is pretty far from town, surrounded by trees and a few condemned buildings. It’s the perfect place to question someone.
I park near the side entrance and cut the engine.
For a moment, I sit there with my hands on the wheel, feeling the heat of my anger coil tight in my chest. I picture Tansy’s face, how she flinched when her fear took hold.
The way her eyes filled with tears and her breath stuttered when I kissed her.
That memory sharpens everything inside me into something clear and dangerous.
I step out of the car and shut the door softly. Tonight, I’m in jeans and a dark tee. Clothes I don’t mind burning afterward.
“Hey, Warren,” a voice cuts from my right.
I turn and find Finn leaning near the entrance. He looks exactly like I remember him. Tall. Fit. Dirty blond hair neatly styled. He’s wearing a tailored suit that probably costs more than my car, crisp and unwrinkled.
“Finn,” I greet him. “I thought you were taking some time off. Didn’t your omega have another kid?”
“She did,” he says with an easy smile. “But I had to come out here for some business that couldn’t wait.” He glances back at my car. “I was hoping I might see Cassian. I haven’t heard from him since he was shot.”
“He’s as good as new,” I tell the alpha. “He’s been focusing on bonding with our new omega.”
Finn’s brows lift, surprised. “New omega? Congratulations.” He steps forward and grips my hand, giving it a quick shake.
“Thanks,” I say, but my attention slides past him toward the warehouse. I rein it in and force myself to stay present.
Cass’s business relationships matter, and Finn is not someone to rush or disrespect.
Still, my fingers flex once at my side, restless, like my body already knows where it wants to be. I give him a brief nod, the universal signal that I appreciate the sentiment and am ready to move things along.
“Did you ever figure out why Caleb did it?” Finn asks, completely oblivious to how ready I am to end this conversation. “Was he working with someone else? Or was it personal?”
“No idea,” I say, letting out a sharp breath. “But the motive is always the same in our line of work.” I vaguely motion to the two of us. “Money. Wounded pride. Sometimes both. The important thing is that the asshole is dead.”
“Still,” Finn gives me a pointed look. “I’m sure it would have felt better if your pack had been the one to handle him.”
“You have no fucking idea,” I say, squeezing my fists tight. “At least the cops believed our cover story.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“Drive by,” I say, giving him the shortest version of the story I can muster. “They wrote it off pretty quickly. It happened in a bad area, so they didn’t spend much time looking into it.”
“That’s good.” Finn glances at his watch, his eyes widening slightly when he sees the time. “I’ve got to go.” He hooks a thumb back at the warehouse. “Jimmy is already set up in the back room.”
“Thanks for letting us use the place.” I reach out and shake his hand one more time.
“Anytime. Tell Cassian I said hello.” Then Finn heads off toward his car.
The second his back is turned, a sharp surge of anticipation hits me. Every cell in my body is focused, my pulse kicking harder, and my fingers flexing once at my side.
Everything narrows as I walk toward the door. The sounds around me fade. My jaw tightens. My shoulders set. Every muscle pulls in close, coiled and ready.
This motherfucker put his hands on my omega.
He traumatized her, making her too frightened to even enjoy a simple kiss. And fuck knows how many other omegas he hurt, but it’ll never fucking happen again.
I shove open the door to the warehouse and step inside.
The air is heavy with the smell of rust and concrete, with a faint metallic tang underneath it all. The lights overhead buzz softly, casting a dull yellow glow over rows of stacked pallets and metal shelving.
Near the center of the warehouse, a folding table is set up beneath one of the lights.
A handful of Finn’s men sit around it, cards spread out between them, beer bottles clustered near their elbows.
Laughter cuts through the quiet. A couple of them glance up when they see me.
One nods. Another tips his chin in acknowledgment.
I return their nods and pick up my pace, heading straight for the plain metal door on the other side of the room. I wrap my hand around the handle, feel the cold bite of the metal, then pull.
This room is much smaller, tighter, lit by a single overhead light. In the center, a chair sits bolted to the floor, with a small drain positioned beneath it.
Zack is tied to it, wrists bound to the armrests, ankles secured, his head hanging forward like he is too scared to look up. His freshly bleached hair hangs in his face, hiding his eyes.
Jimmy stands right behind the fucker, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that tells me he’s actually been here for a while.
The alpha smiles when he sees me, the shadows making the lines around his eyes appear especially deep.
He’s only twenty-two, but he always looks so worn around the edges.
Like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a decade.
“You’re right on time,” Jimmy says with a bright smile. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”
I close the door behind me and it latches; the sound echoing around the small space.
Zack shifts in the chair when the door shuts, the restraints creaking as his shoulders tense. But he still doesn’t look up.
Jimmy glances at me, then back at Zack. His smile fades into something more serious as he steps to the side, giving me a clear line of sight.
I take a few steps forward and stop directly in front of Zack. Close enough that he can smell the rage pouring off me.
“Look at me, Zack,” I command.
He hesitates, then slowly lifts his head. His eyes go wide when they land on my face. He tries to talk, but the gag stuffed in his mouth only allows for a few muffled sounds from his throat. His eyes dart to mine and then away again, confusion cutting through the fear on his face.
My hand flies out, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking his head back.
A sharp yelp tears from his throat, his body going rigid in the chair as he’s forced to stare up at me, his neck exposed and vulnerable.
The confusion in his eyes is gone now, replaced by pure, unadulterated terror.
His breathing hitches, his chest heaving rapidly, and his pupils shrink to pinpoints.
He squeezes his eyes shut as I scan his face, finding the thin scar cutting through his eyebrow. Exactly like Tansy described.
A cold sense of certainty settles in my chest.
We have the right guy.
I tug his hair hard, and a sharp, ragged gasp is torn from his throat. “Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.
Zack’s eyes snap open, scanning my face again like the answer might suddenly appear. He swallows around the gag, then shakes his head slowly. No.
I figured as much.
“You hurt my omega,” I growl quietly, letting my words bleed into the air.
Fear floods his eyes, washing away the last of his confusion.
Then he shakes his head again, then tries to talk around the gag, his jaw working frantically, but nothing comes out except for desperate, muffled whimpers.
He looks at me, pleading silently, his entire body trembling as reality crashes down on him.
I nod through his pleas. “Yes, Zack. You did.” My eyes flash with rage. “You put your filthy fucking hands on her.”
The frantic noises die in his throat, choked off by a sob, and he sits there shaking, weeping silently behind the gag.
The scent of his fear is intoxicating, sharp and acrid in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of the room. It satisfies the beast inside me on a primal level, seeing the man who hurt my beautiful mate reduced to this blubbering mess.
I reach behind the fucker’s head and grab the knot in the gag, jerking it up and over his head.
He gasps, sucking in air, his lips moving as he immediately tries to defend himself, to spin some lie. "No, wait, I didn't—"
I cut him off with a vicious right hook to the nose.
The impact is solid, bone crunching against my knuckles. His head snaps back with a sickening crack. Blood sprays instantly, gushing from his nose and running down his face and chin. A groan of pain escapes him, but the sound is music to my ears.
My knuckles sting, but the satisfaction that blooms in my chest is undeniable. It feels so fucking good to finally put my hands on him, to inflict even a fraction of the pain he deserves.
Zack slumps in the chair, dazed, his breath hitching through the blood bubbling in his nose. He tries to lift his head, his eyes swimming with tears and shock.
"There’s no getting out of this," I tell him, my voice low and devoid of mercy. "No one knows where you are, and no one is coming to save you." I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me despite the blood slicking his skin. "You're not leaving this room, Zack. Not until you tell the truth.”
That seems to break something inside the beta. His face crumbles, and his body shakes. “I–I’m sorry,” he sobs.
I nod slowly, encouraging him to continue. "Go on," I say, my voice dropping to a deceptive calm. "I'm listening."
“I d-didn’t mean to,” he chokes out, the words rushing together in a desperate jumble. “I swear. I’m j-just…s-sorry.”
"Sorry for what, Zack?" I keep my tone soft, almost gentle, like I'm a parent trying to coax a child into admitting they stole a cookie before dinner. "Tell me exactly what you’re sorry for."
Zack shakes his head frantically, his eyes darting around the room as if the answer might be written on the walls. "I...I don't know," he stammers, his voice rising in panic. "I don't, I just—"
His words are cut short as I drive my fist into his mouth.
His head snaps back, making the chair rattle where it’s bolted to the floor. The beta slumps forward, dazed, blood trickling from the corner of his split lip.
I pull my hand back and glance at my knuckles. A jagged cut splits the skin, and a thin line of blood wells up, dark and stark against my flesh. I touch it with my thumb, smearing the warm liquid, savoring the sharp sting and the metallic scent.
It feels so fucking good.
“We’re going to try that again, Zack,” I say with an annoyed sigh. “What are you sorry for?”
But Zack doesn't answer. He’s slumped in the chair, his head lolling to the side, eyes glazed and unfocused. He looks like he's on the verge of passing out.
“Hey!” Jimmy steps forward from the shadows and taps the side of Zack's face with a firm, stinging slap. "Pay fucking attention!" he barks. "Don't you dare check out on us."
The sharp shock forces Zack to focus. He flinches, his eyes clearing slightly as he looks up at Jimmy, then me, panic setting in all over again.
Then the beta starts to ramble through his bloody teeth, the words spilling out in a desperate, disjointed stream.
"I touched them.” He begins to cry again, his voice cracking.
"I touched a lot of them. I don't know their names, I swear, but I touched their bodies.
I groped them when they were unconscious.
I grabbed their tits...there was one that I, uh.
.. I fingered her. I did it. I touched them all. " His words fall apart as he sobs hard.
My whole body sears with rage as he lists his crimes, each confession making my blood boil hotter. But I need one more thing.
Leaning down, I get right in the asshole’s face, forcing him to look me in the eye. “Do you feel bad for what you did?”
"I do," he sobs, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I swear, I feel bad. I know it was wrong."
The beta is a fucking pathetic sight.
Blood is gushing from his broken nose, mixing with the snot bubbling from his nostrils and the endless tears streaming down his face. His skin flushes a dark, blotchy red, making him look even more grotesque.
"You owe my omega an apology," I growl, my voice low and dangerous.
Confusion washes over Zack's face. His dazed eyes sweep the tiny room, clearly looking for her, as if she might be hiding in the corner.
Losing the last of my patience with this asshole, I grab his face, my fingers digging into his cheeks, squeezing until his lips are forced into a pucker. He whimpers in pain, his eyes widening as he’s forced to focus solely on me.
"Say it," I command, my voice a lethal whisper. “Tell Tansy you’re fucking sorry.”
"I'm sorry, Tansy!" he screams out, the words tearing from his throat. "I'm sorry, Tansy! I'm so fucking sorry!"
Deep satisfaction settles in my chest, heavy and dark. I stand up straight, a slow smile spreading across my face as I look down at the trembling wreck of a man.
"See?" I say, my tone almost light. "Was that so hard?"
Zack shakes his head, blood pouring from his broken nose and over his lips, dripping onto his shirt in a steady, dark stream. He looks pathetic, utterly broken.
"Good," I say, the smile vanishing instantly. "Because now it’s time to get started."
Then I raise my fist and really get to work.