Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
RUNNING IS A habit I picked up to help exhaust my mind after a night of restless sleep. One that no longer helps after so many years. The short walk to my second-floor apartment helps me cool off. I need a shower, and I should probably eat something before diving into my next distraction.
My phone chirps with a message as I walk into the bathroom. Turning on the water to heat, I strip the sweaty clothes from my body and check the alert. It’s a message calling us into the office for a meeting.
My roommate, Ridley, and I both work for the DAU. The Designation Activist Underground is a private organization who focuses on advocating for equality and freedom for people of all designations and pack dynamics. They fund scientific research for affordable, safe suppressants and birth control, as well as organizing peaceful protests to combat anti-pack, anti-designations laws being proposed in courts across the country.
Privately, the DAU works similarly to a federal intelligence agency. They monitor anti-designation territories and perform rescue operations to free at-risk citizens from the clutches of extremist organizations. Ridley and I work on the agency side, often taking missions that require us to provide security for refugees until threats against them are mitigated. Occasionally, we step in to assist with extractions or raids on discovered illegal operations.
Several days ago, we finished a security operation for a small pack who escaped one of the extremist anti-pack territories in the Midwest, so it’s odd for us to be called back this quickly. Not that I have any complaints about staying busy. Sitting around our apartment is the perfect recipe for ferality.
After showering, I knock on Ridley’s door, pounding hard enough to startle him awake. He just laughs it off. “Mornin’ Lex!”
This asshole is far too damn chipper all the time.
“We’re being called in,” I tell him, heading into our kitchen to start breakfast. Eating is a priority if we are going to be briefed when we get to headquarters. He nods and hurries into the bathroom, reemerging fifteen minutes later with wet hair.
“Donovan rarely gives us back-to-back missions,” he comments as we rush to my car. Our boss, Donovan Griffith, is a leader of the DAU. He’s an older alpha, in his 60s, with tenure in the political field and a short military career to back him up. He’s overprotective of every single person we rescue, regardless of their age and designation, but that’s what makes him the best. Donovan genuinely cares about making the world a better place, and isn’t pretending like a lot of the other assholes out there.
I grunt my agreement, and Ridley rolls his eyes. He is used to my surliness after working together for four years.
When we pull up to the former warehouse the DAU has turned into their headquarters, we’re both on alert as we notice the nearly full parking lot. Something big must have happened.
The large meeting hall is full of hushed voices as we enter. Donovan immediately spots us and waves us to the front where he and another DAU leader, Lukas Dromir, are waiting for everyone to arrive. Ridley is chatter happy as he follows behind me, saying hello to nearly every agent we pass. I exchange terse nods with the few agents I’m friendly with, but I mostly keep to myself.
“Thanks for coming in,” Donovan says, shaking my hand and turning to do the same to Ridley. “I know you only returned last night from your last case, but I have another urgent mission I’d like to assign you.” He gets distracted when the doors open again, his eyes flickering over everyone in the room. Once he’s sure no one is missing, he turns back to us. “I’ll fill you in after this.”
Nodding, we move to stand against the wall, away from the crowd. My muscles feel tense as I cross my arms over my chest. I’ve already clocked every upper level DAU agent in the room, as well as a few of our undercover agents who aren’t currently on assignment. The unsettling feeling I had upon arriving only grows in intensity.
“Okay, let’s get settled in.” Donovan addresses the room, the weight of his alpha presence commanding attention even from the strongest alphas here. A gift he refuses to use for his own gain. “I know you’re all wondering why we called you in, and I won’t sugarcoat things. Hell is trying to descend upon us.”
“As of eight this morning, we have confirmation that New Hampshire Senator Adam Pierson, known follower of anti-designation cultist Grant Montgomery, is announcing his run for presidency.” Dromir clarifies, pressing a button to show an image captured of both men outside of Montgomery’s church.
The anti-designation movements still sweeping parts of the country need to be dismantled. It’s been nearly a hundred years since the first designations presented. Years of research have determined there is no ‘cure’. This is what humanity looks like now. It’s time they accept it too.
“Pierson will announce his intention to the public within the next twenty-four hours, followed by the launch of an aggressive campaign tour. Which will kick off next week.”
A hush falls over the room with this news. It isn’t shocking to hear the Pastor is making moves to claim a position of control over the government, but it is unsettling to hear it is happening sooner than we expected. Insiders in New Hampshire have been giving us information about the questionable activities within the Montgomery cult for years. We cannot do much to bring the group down without tangible evidence, which is something we haven’t been able to find.
A candidate running with the backing of a man known for an unethical, sadistic approach to dealing with designations within his community spells catastrophe for us all if he is successful. Many of the people in this room have seen firsthand the horrific things the Pastor and his followers have done to those who don’t fit his image of perfection.Brutal beatings, maimings, and deaths from neglect are the most severe of his sins.
“We got our hands on the full roster of his campaign stops for the next several months. A joint task force is being formed with the FCDA to ensure these rallies don’t turn into riots.” Dromir flips the screen to a map showing all the stops. They’re evenly split between anti-pack states and sanctuary states, with stops in all the anti-designation territories.
I understand why they called us all in. Ensuring the safety of the communities at each of these locations will take priority over our regular missions.
The FCDA—Federal Criminal Detection Agency—can make arrests, something the DAU cannot do legally. When we find evidence of criminal activity, we pass the information on to their task forces. Where they can make arrests and announce investigations to the public, they cannot make moves to rescue at-risk citizens in anti-pack territories. Technically, bonding as a pack is illegal in those areas, so they would have to arrest the pack instead of helping to get them to safety the way we do.
It is likely Ridley and I will join the task force, as we both have worked with the FCDA in the past. A friend I toured with during my stint in the military suggested me to the DAU after my enlistment ended seven years ago.
“Welcome home, Ferguson.”
A hand claps on my back as a body slides into the seat next to me at the bar. Creed Barrett’s after rain scent fills the surrounding air, settling my anxiety with its familiarity. It’s been a long time since I was in New York. Hell, this city isn’t even my home. It’s just the place I settled in after leaving my hometown in Virginia.
“Creed.”
“Still as quiet as ever. Does it hurt to talk when you never use those vocal chords of yours?” He orders a beer and another soda for me as he jokes.
“How’d you know I was back?”
He shrugs, flashing me the FCDA badge he now carries. I had heard he joined the feds after he got out two years ago. Still doesn’t explain why he used his role there to keep tabs on me.
“So, what’s next for you?”
“Dunno.”
Creed hums, sipping his drink and spinning around to rest his elbows against the bar. He watches the surrounding crowd with distaste. If I’m a broody asshole, he’s a judgmental one. I guess our bad attitudes are why we grew as close as we did. That and neither of us tolerated the racist shit some of the other guys in boot camp liked to spew his way.
“I have an idea, if you’re open to it.”
I raise one brow, looking at him from the corner of my eye.
“There’s someone I want you to meet. You done here?” When I nod, he tosses a couple of bills down on the bar and heads out the front.
“Where exactly are we going?” I question as I slide into the passenger seat of his CTV-5 Blackwing. He talked about buying one of these all throughout our tour. I’m glad he used the money he saved up back then to make his dream come true. Though I’m not sure how practical it is for New York winters.
“The DAU.”
Curiosity keeps me in the car as we drive out of the city and head upstate. The DAU is an organization we’ve all heard whispers about. Publicly they lobby for equality, but rumor has it they have a private sector that takes on covert national missions. It makes sense the FCDA would be involved in monitoring their operations.
We pull up to an old warehouse with an empty parking lot. If I didn’t trust Creed with my life, I’d go on the defensive being brought to such a sketchy place. Lights at the top of the building let me know we aren’t here alone. I’m still cautious as we cross the lot and step inside. Security greets us, accepting Creed’s badge and taking my military I.D. It’s a comprehensive process, with metal detectors and cameras covering every inch of the large entry space.
After we’re cleared for entry, Creed leads me up a set of stairs and down a hallway filled with closed offices. The last door on the left is ajar, with light spilling out. He knocks on the frame and steps inside, pulling me in with him. We’re greeted by an older alpha. Laugh lines frame his mouth and the corner of his eyes, and he beams as he stands to welcome us.
“Mr. Barrett, I’m glad you could make it. This must be the friend you told me about. Donovan Griffith. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offers us both a bottle of water as we sit across from his desk. “Well, Mr. Ferguson,”
“Just Lex. Or Ferguson.”
He grins, bobbing his head in agreement with my demand. “Lex, how much did Creed tell you about our work here?”
I frown at the man next to me as I mention he dragged me here from the bar to meet someone, adding no other details. Donovan’s laugh booms through the small room, his head shaking. He doesn’t seem upset with Creed, though. He’s more amused than anything.
“Well, let me fill you in.” I listen as he describes the missions their company undertakes. From rescues to raids to temporary private security, they take designation safety seriously. “What I would like is to offer you a position here. I know you recently left the service, and the transition back to civilian life can be jarring. This will give you a purpose, an income, and a schedule to help ease you into life outside of a military compound.”
“Why me?” I can’t help but ask. I don’t have connections out in the world, no strings to pull or family waiting for my safe return. Growing up in the foster system left me with a skewed view of the world, something my time as a soldier solidified.
“You have an admirable record of service, Lex, and you come recommended by not only Creed but three other federal agents. We’d be lucky to have you in our ranks.” Donovan assesses me with knowing blue eyes. He won’t force me, but he also won’t let me walk because of my lack of self worth.
I need a job. A way to keep my feet under me after the money I’ve saved over the past eight years dries up. Shrugging, I run a hand through my short, blonde hair. “When would you like me to start?”
Focusing back on the present, I listen as Dromir steps forward. The image behind him switches to a picture of Pierson and Montgomery meeting outside of the church on his expansive property in Whitlan, New Hampshire. The massive house in the background where the Pastor and his family live is further proof that man has no interest in following the word of God. He only wants power.
“Tensions are already high. Pierson has been making promises he has no intention of keeping. Lies he fabricates to win the citizens’ favor long enough to get him into office. We all know he has Montgomery’s backing. A successful campaign run could be catastrophic for us all.”
Donovan steps to his side. The energetic happiness he usually exudes is gone. Replaced by a grave stillness that speaks to all of us before his mouth even opens. “Over the next year, we will intensify our efforts to dismantle the Montgomery cult. We will expose the reality behind their actions, and Pierson’s connection to the group. It’s time for Grant Montgomery to be held accountable for all the lives he has ruined.”
“This will also be the time to pin down the connection Harrison Pharmaceuticals has to the Montgomery family. If Evander Harrison is using his company to conduct anti-designation research on the Pastor’s behalf as we believe, we need to find proof.”
Disgust pulses through me at the mention of the billionaire pharmacologist in charge of one of the most affordable pharmacy companies in the country. Several of the refugees from New Hampshire have mentioned the Doctor’s involvement in the torture they to undergo when they’re caught by the cult. Unfortunately, no one has found enough evidence to prove he takes part in anything beyond the sermons Montgomery offers.
The room is full of chatter as the meeting ends. Several groups split off to address their roles in the upcoming battle, but Ridley and I wait until Donovan is free to address us.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, boys,” he says as he ambles over, looking exhausted. “Let’s head up to my office.”
As soon as we step into his safe space, the door clicking shut behind us, he beelines for the canter of bourbon on the shelf behind his desk. My eyebrows raise as I watch him pour several fingers full before taking his seat. This man is not a heavy drinker, even on the worst of days.
“The assignment I have for both of you is personal. Kind of.” He takes two file folders off his desk and passes one to each of us.
“Soulbound Echo Studios have recently hired an omega in our designation protection program. Omen Powell is the daughter of Pastor Grant Montgomery. She and her roommate, Bea Powell, are going to be touring with the band Primordial Covenant, beginning the first week of June.”
I open the folder to see a picture of Sarah, and next to her is a stunning woman labeled as Bea. Golden skin and dark, curly hair frame dark blue eyes and pouty lips. Alarm screams through my mind when I struggle to pull my eyes away from her photo.
“With the tour running alongside Pierson’s campaign, there are several coinciding stops. We have concerns the increased number of protests outside of the band’s concerts may lead to the Montgomery family discovering the identity we helped Omen create when she fled the cult four years ago.”
“Why not pull them from the tour? Soulbound will agree if they believe there is a threat to either omega’s safety.” Ridley asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the pictures inside of the files.
Donovan frowns, leaning forward to rest his arms on the top of his desk. “Omen grew up in the cult her father runs and has suffered abuse at his hands for most of her life. She’s free from his captivity. It would be unfair to stifle her growth. Which is why I said this mission is personal. As a leader of the DAU, it would be the easiest call to have them both step back until we dismantle the Montgomery cult and the threats against her. As a man who has witnessed Omen’s trauma and watched her overcome it, I’d much rather send the two of you to keep them safe than trap her behind gilded bars.”
“Understood.” I say before Ridley can add anything. Protecting omegas is what alphas were born to do. If missions like this keep me from going feral later in life, I’ll never decline one, no matter the reasons behind it.