Chapter 20 #2
“That’s where you’re wrong, Wren. It would have been the worst thing.
You’re not just a random run-of-the-mill woman.
You’re the woman who picks up sad little ugly starving dogs and gives them a home.
You give money to the homeless guy who parks his buggy next to the little grocery store where you buy your groceries every week.
You donate to homeless shelters and domestic violence centers because you have a heart for people.
You put your life on the line for your brother, knowing it could get you killed.
And you have made my life better in every single way that matters.
So, if you had died, it sure as fuck would have been the worst thing to me. ”
She swallowed hard, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m glad I didn’t stay dead.”
I had my own tears falling at the thought as I gently wrapped her in my arms.
“I’m glad you didn’t stay dead too. So glad.”
When the paperwork cleared, I didn’t let her return to her house. She curled up in my bed with Rocket against her belly and slept for a whole day straight.
I set up water, pills, snacks, and the remote within reach. Put the laptop by the bed, just in case she wanted to hack a government server for fun. I didn’t leave her side.
Not even once.
We turned my living room into a war room.
The kind with rings on the table from fifty years of spilled whiskey, and all the chairs scuffed by people who couldn’t sit still.
Every surface was covered in something: tactical maps, burner phones, three laptops, and a battered legal pad with my handwriting on every inch.
The whiteboard I’d pulled in from the garage was already losing its magnets under the weight of bad news.
Bronc presided over it, arms crossed, beard shot with more silver than last month.
Next to him, Arsenal hunched forward, a knuckle pressed to his lips, eyes flicking between the digital feed and the wall.
Pearl brought in coffee, poured herself a cup, and sat with her back to the window.
Only Gunner seemed relaxed, booted feet up on the ottoman and a Glock tucked into his waistband, safety off. Juliet hovered here and there.
Nobody said much at first. We watched the sunrise through the gap in the curtains, a slant of blood orange over the half-built bones of the new clubhouse.
You could hear the hammering even at this hour—construction crews working two shifts, trying to raise the frame before Greenbriar could send a second wave.
When Bronc spoke, it was to the floor. “Advance said they cleared Greenbriar territory last night. Not a single wolf. Not a single soul.”
I grunted. “Everything abandoned. Looks less like they ran than just moved. It didn’t look rushed. Looked like a relocation.”
Pearl frowned, eyes sharp behind reading glasses. “Abandoned, or just hiding?”
Arsenal pointed to the map. “They’re not local anymore. They left the perimeter scattered. We tracked three separate convoys, all heading different directions. Our assumption is they met up at a central end location.”
Gunner said, “Like trailing fucking smoke.”
Bronc’s jaw flexed. “We need to hit them before they get organized. This was their big shot, but it’s not the last. They know it failed, but I’m sure they think they shook us. I’d bet they want to hit us quick while they think we’re scattered and scared.”
I sipped cold coffee, wishing it was bourbon. “We don’t even have a location. Could be Amarillo, could be Lubbock, could be fucking Mexico. We can’t chase ghosts.”
Pearl said, “You’re not going to like this, but some other packs are starting to talk. Some of the smaller ones are asking if Iron Valor’s up for the job. The Council wants answers.”
“Council can suck my dick. I’m so goddamn sick of the Council. I have fucking kings in my corner. These small packs forget who they’re dealing with.” Bronc’s voice rose to a growl, causing Juliet to stroll to his side. One touch of hers had an immediate effect on him.
She spoke next. “We need to let calmer heads prevail here. We are smarter than Greenbriar. We certainly wouldn’t have made a move that made us look as incompetent as the one they just made.
That’s the message that needs to be pressed.
They are a desperate renegade pack who clearly attacked a peaceful pack without cause.
We’ve learned from past Council experience that going to them for aid is futile.
So I say, we continue as we’re going. But we sure as fuck better collect every scrap of evidence as we go.
We’ll have to prove every claim when we’re brought up on charges, as we surely will be. ”
I had to point out the obvious. “They aren’t working alone. Parker knows there are demons and vampires involved as well. To what degree? She’s not sure. But she’s seen them there.”
“This just keeps getting better and better.” Bronc’s frustration was reaching an all-time high. “We have a few days until the clubhouse is finished. That’s when we’ll be most exposed. We have to assume Silas knows it.”
Pearl took off her glasses, polished them. “What’s the plan?”
Bronc looked at me. “Wrecker, you’re point on cyber as always. Get every possible feed, every data point, every sniff of a target. No mistakes.”
“I got you. Finding them is the first step. They still think the back transfers are occurring. That might be our in. Hopefully, there will be an IP address I can ping. It will be fucking poetic justice if that is the thing that gives them away.”
I stood and stretched. "I’ve gotta head to my computer room so I can access everything. I have a good feeling about this." I didn’t notice when the living room got quiet. It was only when Pearl cleared her throat that I looked up.
Parker stood in the doorway. She wore sweatpants and one of my old shirts; the sleeves hanging off her wrists like she was twelve. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and the bruises on her face were turning a sickly yellow. But she stood on her own, one hand braced against the frame.
Nobody said anything for a long second. Then Bronc nodded at her, slow and respectful. “You should be in bed.”
She ignored him. “You need me.”
It wasn’t a question. Just a statement of fact delivered from chapped lips that mine wanted so badly to soothe.
Arsenal started to protest, but Gunner cut him off. “She’s right. Nobody runs a trace like Parker.”
I didn’t say anything. Just gestured for her to follow me.
She walked over with a small limp, and we headed to my den.
I put my arm around her and helped her into the big chair.
Thanks to her shifter healing her left arm was out of the brace but still in a sling.
She slipped it off and flexed her fingers as though she wanted to see if her hand still worked.
It did. Within seconds, she was knee-deep in phone records, looking for anomalies, making notes on the pad between her knees.
Pearl brought her a cup of coffee. Parker took it without looking up.
Everyone wound up in the room with us. Bronc watched all this, jaw set, a proud father with no words for his kid.
“Got something,” she said, not five minutes later. “Three phones. Two dumps prepaid. One keeps pinging the same tower in Farwell.”
Arsenal leaned forward. “That’s west. Near the border.”
“Could be a relay. Or could be they’re making a show for us.” She looked at Bronc. “You want me to go in?”
He looked at me, then her, then back at me. “You okay with this?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. “You need me to do it. And I want to.”
Bronc nodded. “Do it.”
She got to work, fingers flying. Gunner watched the feed, calling out hits on vehicle plates. Arsenal started running background on every rental property within ten miles of the ping. Pearl paced, her phone glued to her ear, organizing food and perimeter checks for the construction crews.
I watched Parker. She had her jaw set, lips pressed together, a bead of sweat on her brow from the effort.
She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. It dawned on me then that I was more than in love with her.
I respected her. She was perfect, and it was so much more than her beauty—her curves, her softness.
I realized her mind was maybe the sexiest thing about her.
After two hours, she had a map of the entire area, a dozen likely addresses with acreage who owned them, and a list of cars tied to Greenbriar proxies. Looked like they’d moved west.
She looked up at me, eyes clear for the first time in days. “You okay?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I am now.”
The others finished their tasks and drifted into the kitchen for more coffee. The house was quiet, just the two of us and the hum of the laptops. I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed, careful of the bruises.
“You don’t have to do this, Wren.”
She grinned, lopsided. “I want to.”
I grinned back. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m carrying you to bed.”
She snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I leaned in, kissed her hair. “Just don’t die again. I’m not sure my wolf can take it.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
We went back to work.
Outside, the construction never stopped. The world kept spinning, and the war wasn’t over. But the house was full of light, and for the first time since the fire, it felt like we could win.
Maybe that’s all you ever get.
Just a chance to try again.