Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gy
"You just let her leave?” I shout at Cujo the second Willow’s taillights disappear. It’s completely hypocritical, but I assumed he would thump his chest then handcuff her to my bed or something.
Dude is a psycho. But no, for once in his life, he acted like a sane, rational adult. The fuck? Can’t count on anything anymore.
This night went from amazing to complete fucking trash. I got my first taste of Willow’s sweet nectar, and now she’s gone. The urge to chase her becomes all-consuming.
Keys. Keys. Where are they? I step back into my house, not even bothering to close the door since I’ll be heading straight out. Then it hits me like a boulder—my car’s downtown.
Bike’s faster anyway. It’s just parked at the clubhouse. Quickly, I snag the keys off the hook and head directly for the exit, but Cujo steps in my way.
“Going after her?” Of course I am, you imbecile. Yanking my arm out of his hand, I sidestep the giant, only for his next words to make me pause. “Or do you want all the info first?”
“The fuck do you mean?” I answer gruffly, not willing to wait much longer. Keys in hand, I slam the door behind me and leap over the porch steps. Cujo follows me effortlessly, his lengthy strides catching up too damn fast.
“Well, we could stalk her, or we could go to Fen’s and hunt down Malachi.
He’s already working on her background, but now that we have a name, I bet his searches will be a lot more effective.
” Cujo’s shit-eating grin makes me want to punch him in the jaw.
Of course, he’s already using our MC hacker to look into her. Dammit, why didn’t I think of that?
Taking a deep breath, I recognize the olive branch for what it is and slowly relax my tense muscles. Even though my instincts are demanding Willow’s immediate return, she asked us for space. And the big fucker isn’t wrong. We need to know what we’re up against.
Pausing for a moment, I vent my frustration by kicking a large rock with the steel toe of my boot and watching as it tumbles up the path.
I hate that Cujo’s being the logical one here.
There are only two options: have him do the digging on his own while I chase after Willow, or find out firsthand and not let Cujo withhold any important information.
“Let’s go find Fen.” Who knows what he might dig up—it could blow back on the club, too—and the last person I want trying to explain everything to Cerberus is Cujo.
“Already texted him. He’s in his cave.” The two rooms Fenrir’s taken over for his tech in the clubhouse are affectionately known as the cave. Often dirty, always dark, he spends more time there than anywhere else.
The walk over is quick and silent, our steps eating up the ground. Two Alphas on a mission.
Even though it’s late, the clubhouse is busy.
As we enter the space, the scent of leather, smoke, and dust from the road sinks into my nose.
There are plenty of people milling about tonight: relaxing on couches, playing pool, and even a crowd over by the darts board.
But we don’t head into the main area; instead, we turn to the right and step into a row of closed doors.
There are a bunch of spare rooms down here.
The original plan was to house the brothers or club bunnies there, but we found that such close quarters didn’t work.
Also, Mama C banned club bunnies when she became the queen, and no one dares to utter a word.
For the most part, only Fen and Cerberus spend much time in their spaces.
Fen, because he needs a quiet spot with his computer, and Cerberus, because he needs a place to fuck Mama C.
Cujo beelines it to Fen’s door, knocks three times, then waits for the charismatic lug to open it. If there’s one thing Fenrir doesn’t like, it’s people entering without being admitted. Pup’s most recent black eye is a testament to that.
Seconds later, the door swings open with a squeak, and Fen motions us inside. “Hey, guys, give me a minute, and I’ll show you what I’ve found.”
Fenrir wades through a pile of candy wrappers to get to his seat, kicking them aside to clear a path for us.
“Getting that information about Malachi gave me a goldmine of info.” He sits at his computer, tapping and clicking until the itch to leave pulses under my skin.
Where’s my girl? I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap off a few texts.
The first is to Pup, sending him downtown to go get my fucking car
The second is to Willow. I open the box ready to type out a demand for her immediate return, but I rein in my hindbrain instead, and opt for something simple.
Me
Let me know when you’re home safe.
Willow
I’m fine. Going to bed.
Her quick reply helps, but her anger is clear. Must fix this. Immediately. Fearful that she might pull a runner, I send Puppy a text, forcing him to go sit outside Willow’s house all night to make sure nothing happens.
As soon as I’m done, Fenrir clears his throat, and my eyes snap to his. He turns his screen, and my heart stops. So. Much. Blood.
“All right, so while I don’t have all the details yet, I’m pretty sure you guys have stepped into something really fucking big. Have you ever heard of the Banyan Massacre?” The name doesn’t ring a bell, and I glance at Cujo, gauging his reaction.
“He was some rich dude, right? Something about a party…” Cujo looks off to the side, his brows furrowing as he tries to remember. Fen doesn’t leave us hanging for long.
“Yeah, yeah, close enough. Pack Banyan was a group of mega-rich music moguls. Everyone seemed to love them. At their youngest daughter’s graduation party, a group of assailants broke in.
They murdered two of the pack members right there at the celebration, William and their omega, Saria.
Then the enemy combatants took George Banyan and his four daughters, threw them into a van, and fled the premises.
Rumor has it they brutalized and tortured the girls before killing them and leaving their bodies in the desert.
During the recovery operation, the only body recovered was George Banyan’s.
” Fen points to a picture of two smiling Alphas.
They look like the epitome of a healthy, wealthy pack.
Yet nothing about them stands out. Nothing that looks like Willow belongs with them.
“Okay, so what does this have to do with Willow?” Cujo asks. “She certainly doesn’t look like this dude at all.” Then clicks to another picture, and my breath gusts out. This woman is much older, but her silvery eyes are unmistakable. A perfect mirror of the woman who was in my bed a few hours ago.
“Well, the name Malachi only belongs to a few people in the system, and he was caught red-handed with Mr. Banyan’s body.” The hair on my arms stands on end. Murder. Torture. No remains. That could definitely lead to WITSEC.
He clicks again, and an image of four stunning women appears on the screen. They all look similar: silver eyes, blonde hair in different shades, some a little shorter, some a little taller. But only one pulls my focus.
“These are the daughters. While facial recognition tells me Willow has some of these markers, she doesn’t specifically match any of them.
” He clicks around, zooming in and out. “To be honest, they all look the same to me. I haven’t spent much time with your chick.
I’m not sure which sister is the one you’re dying to lock on your knots, but I think we’re getting close. ”
“What’s that one’s name?” I ask, pointing to the woman on the far left of the screen.
She’s slightly taller than her siblings.
Beautiful honey-blonde hair and pink lips that I long to kiss.
But what catches my eye the most are the slender, tapered fingers holding her glass of champagne. Not bent, not broken.
“I believe Rosaline? The way the newspaper labeled them is a little confusing. But the sisters’ names are Wilhelmina, Rosaline, Ophelia, and Aspen.
” My brain sticks on the first—Wilhelmina.
It’s close to Willow—the kind of thing WITSEC likes to do: create an alias that’s similar enough that the fresh identity feels valid.
“She’s not Rosaline. She’s Wilhelmina Banyan. And very much alive.” I crack my knuckles, wanting to get my hands on this Malachi.
“Well, if that’s true, she stands to inherit an enormous fortune. The family had millions upon millions of dollars.” His screen suddenly goes blank. The picture disappears, and my pulse jumps.
“Fuck, fuck, oh shit, no!” Fen leaps to his feet, twisting the screen to face him. “What the hell!” Cujo and I leap up, snaking around the desk. Files start popping up and disappearing across the computer display.
“No, no, no, no,” he roars, fingers flying frantically over the keys. Sweat drips down his brow. I’ve never seen Fenrir panic like this before.
As much as he slams the keyboard, it doesn’t seem like he can access the computer. There’s nothing he can do to take back control. “Motherfucking twatwaffle. Get off my computer. Get the hell out!” He curses up a storm until a little box pops up.
WildHuntz: Don’t go down this road or I’ll D.E.S.T.R.O.Y E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Stay out of my way, Fenrir (==3
The message is there for a moment before it’s gone, and everything comes back online. But every single blasted piece of information about Wilhelmina, Willow, and the Banyans has vanished.
“What just happened?” Cujo looks between us while Fen sits in his seat, moaning like he’s been sucker punched.
“We need to call Church,” I say while our favorite hacker groans.
I guess the only good news is that my omega is not connected to the Black Plague.