Chapter Fifty-Nine
Gy
“Who the fuck was that? Who stole our omega?” Cujo roars. We zoom in and out, but there’s nothing - no license plate, no make of car, not a stitch of unique-looking clothing. Just two men, a black SUV, and my stolen Omega.
“The feds,” Fen suggests simply, and everything clicks into place. Of course it’s the fucking feds. For a second, I’m grateful, then rage hits hard.
“Let’s call Church. We need everyone, and assurance we’re alone.” Cerberus eyes scan the room.
The room where we hold club meetings is soundproofed and checked for bugs regularly.
While I don’t believe that anyone’s wiretapped my place, right now, my trust is wearing thin.
Cujo nods tightly, barely holding on. The pulse pounding in his temple is one of his tells that he’s unraveling.
The shared bond had started to settle him, but with Willow gone, he’ll be more unhinged than ever.
His knife comes out, flicking between his fingers as we trudge toward the clubhouse.
Cerberus clasps me on the shoulder and squeezes in a show of understanding, but it’s hard to embrace his acceptance over my own self-loathing.
I should have never left her alone, never assumed she would be fine while we hunted the Black Plague.
We knew her past was after her and still allowed ourselves to focus on wiping the rogue bikers from existence. As VP, I was supposed to be in those trees, but as an Alpha, I should have been guarding my girl.
Not some wet-behind-the-ears prospect I barely know.
I put the club before my girl, and now she’s gone.
Tromping through the MC’s land in the middle of the night, my mind keeps going back to that image: the dark figure pulling my omega out of a burning building. Not me.
Fen’s right. It has to be Calloway and that Alpha who runs the team. It’s the only thing that makes sense. When she couldn’t reach us, Willow must have pushed her SOS button.
We file into the clubhouse, all our other brothers appearing, having answered the call.
“No one say a word. Orthos, sweep for bugs.” Cerberus takes over and we all remain silent, poised on a blade's edge as Orthos does his thing.
“Nothing,” he declares, and I can finally breathe a little. Cujo paces back and forth, like a caged tiger ready to explode.
“Why do you think it’s Calloway?” Cujo demands the second Orthos gives the all-clear. “It could be Pack Mordred.”
“Why would they go through all the trouble to have the Black Plague attempt to kill her just to come in and grab her in person?” Fen shakes his head.
“Maybe they wanted to scare her,” Cujo snaps.
“I’m inclined to agree with Fen. Plus, she had that SOS button on her necklace, in case she ever needed help. Even if they were frustrated that she stayed here, I bet the feds were still willing to step in.” I rub my fingers over my beard.
Cujo digests that, the sound of his boots stomping back and forth echoes around the room.
Half of the brothers jump when he lets out an unearthly roar. “Fuck.”
“Brother. At least they won’t be hurting her,” Lassie tries to calm the rabid beast.
“Yeah. But we also can’t go all outlaw to bring her home,” Grim reminds him, stepping forward.
Cujo growls, still pacing. “I’m gonna kill that fucker,” he mutters. “Gonna kill them all. He would know how much I need my omega back. Why hasn’t he reached out?”
“He didn’t want her to stay with us to begin with, and if she’s hurt… injured… sedated…,” I throw out options, turning Cujo’s face darker and darker with each utterance.
“We need to figure out how to get in touch with him,” Cerberus declares, eyebrows raised at Fen.
“I have his number, if he hasn’t changed it. We served together.” Cujo pulls his phone from his back pocket, then suddenly gasps, clutching at his chest.
“What’s going on, man?” Fen rushes to his side. Cujo’s face becomes ashen, his breathing labored. Panic makes my hands sweat.
“Is it the bond? Is she awake?” My eyes narrow, watching Cujo come back to himself.
“Fuck. I think so. There was a sudden burst of pain and anger. It’s settling down now. I think we’re further apart than before. I can sense strong emotions, but it’s muddled. Kind of fuzzy?” He shakes his head in frustration.
“Brother. At least that means she’s alive.” Cerberus, ever calm and collected, pats his shoulder. “Let’s make the call.”
Cujo’s hands shake as he holds the device. It takes forever for him to sort through and call. After hitting the speaker button, he places it in the center of the table.
An irritating ring peels across the room, and I hold my breath until my lungs burn. Just when it seems like he’ll never pick up, there’s a click.
“Hey, Dean. Everything all right?” Is this fucker really going to pretend he doesn’t have our omega?
“Cut the bullshit. We know you have Willow. How bad is she?” My voice cracks, and I clear it, trying to project Alpha strength when I’m crumbling inside.
He sighs loudly, then refuses to say a word. The urge to reach through the phone and beat him senseless is strong. And honestly, if I could, I would.
“You figured that out fucking fast. Listen. She’s stable, but needs time to heal. The doctors are going to run some tests and make sure we’ve covered all our bases.” The room lets out its breath, hearing that she’s not in critical condition, but it’s not enough.
“Okay. Tell us what hospital, and we’ll be on our way,” Cujo demands, not hiding the deeply desperate plea in his voice.
“No. The asset is staying secure until after the trial. Then maybe we can figure something out. But Malachi needs to be punished.” There’s a shout and scuffle in the background, and my eyes drift to Fen, who’s tapping frantically on his computer.
“She’s not just an asset, you asshole. Return my omega, or I will hunt you down.
” The threat slips past my teeth, impotence sinking in my gut.
They have all the fucking power here. There’s complete silence, then the line cuts out, and Cujo lets out a deafening roar, grabbing a chair and hurling it against the wall so hard that it snaps, breaking into pieces.
Reaching out, I hit redial, but it goes straight to voicemail—repeatedly. Fucking piece of shit.
“Those federal fucks think we can’t do anything. Let them underestimate us. We’ll find them, track them, and bring your ol’ lady home. Nobody follows a scent like a Hound,” Cerberus promises, and I grab onto it with both hands.
“I thought we don’t hurt law enforcement,” Cujo grits out. This seems like a good time to make an exception.
“Not unless they deserve it.” Cerberus speaks before I get a chance to plead my case. “Brothers stand together. And no one fucks with our family.”
“Release the Hounds! Release the Hounds!” The rest of the men shout and stomp in agreement, taking up the familiar chant until it reverberates around the room.
Here we come…