Chapter 66

DEREK

The bastard was fast.

We chased him through the remains of the old rail yard—broken tracks twisted like bones, rusted metal screeching underfoot as we leapt from one abandoned car to the next. He vaulted down from the top of a boxcar and hit the ground running, silver blade glinting in one hand.

“He’s cutting east!” Brock shouted behind me.

I didn’t answer. I shifted just enough to send a jolt of speed through my limbs, then barreled forward. The rogue ducked between two half-crushed freight cars, but I was on him before he could pivot. My shoulder slammed into his ribs, driving him into the gravel with a satisfying crack.

He howled and twisted, wild with adrenaline and the stink of fear. Teeth bared. Eyes bloodshot.

I grabbed his wrist mid-swing and slammed it down. The blade skittered away.

“Got you,” I growled.

He bucked and fought, but Brock was already there, pinning him down while I bound his wrists with silver-threaded cuffs. His skin hissed where the metal touched.

“Careful,” Brock muttered. “This one’s got the look.”

The rogue thrashed once more, then went still. His chest heaved. A sick grin split his face as he stared up at me, breath ragged. “Should’ve killed me,” he rasped.

“We’re not done with you yet.”

I hauled him to his feet, keeping one hand locked around the back of his neck as I steered him through the broken gravel. His boots dragged, resisting every step, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight me off. Not anymore.

We passed a gutted passenger car, its windows shattered, vines curling up its rusted side.

I pushed him forward, past a twisted pile of rail ties and down the incline toward the car where the fire drum sat, still smelling of smoke. Up and in, and then I shoved him down next to it. He slumped to the ground like a teenager caught breaking curfew.

The rest of the unit fell in around us. One man took position near the treeline, eyes scanning the perimeter. Another crouched near the drum, carefully sifting through the ashes with gloved hands, lifting pieces here and there and examining them.

I crouched in front of the rogue. “Name.”

He licked his teeth, lips cracked. Said nothing.

“Who are you working for?”

Still nothing.

I grabbed the front of his filthy shirt. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it my way.”

That finally got a reaction. His smile twitched. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” I leaned in, letting my wolf press just beneath my voice. “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Derek King. Alpha of Silverclaw. I think you and a couple of your friends tried to kill my mate.”

His smile faltered.

“Talk,” I said. “Who’s giving the orders?”

A pause. His eyes flicked to the fire drum, then to Brock, who stood just a little too close.

“Back up,” I said sharply. “Give him some space.”

Brock raised a brow but obeyed, stepping back half a pace.

The rogue swallowed, then muttered, “He’ll kill me.”

“Who? We can protect you.”

His hands clenched. “You can’t protect me. You don’t know what he is.”

I glanced at Brock, then back to the rogue. “Pierce?” I asked him.

The rogue flinched—tiny, almost imperceptible—but it was there. That was answer enough for me.

“Where is he?” I asked. “Where is Pierce?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try again.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not like you. He doesn’t forgive. If he thinks I talked, it’s over. My family—”

“You have family?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He froze.

“Didn’t think rogues cared about anyone but themselves.”

“We don’t. Not until he makes you believe you do.” He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the trick, see. Pierce offers something better. A pack with no rules. No pain. No exile. Just power.”

“And the cost?”

“You’re looking at it.”

I stood, turned to Brock. “Let’s take him back,” I muttered. “He knows enough to be useful.”

“What?” the rogue snapped, twisting in his restraints. “No. No, no, no—you don’t get it. If he finds out—if he even thinks—”

Brock stepped forward. “We’ll give you a nice dark cell, silver bars, round-the-clock guards. You’ll be safe.”

“He’ll skin me alive!”

He started thrashing again. Harder this time.

And then—

His jaw clamped down with a sharp, audible crack.

I surged forward. “What—"

Foam bubbled at his lips. He convulsed, silver-tinged saliva spilling down his chin. His eyes went wide. Terror. Regret.

And then—nothing.

Brock dropped to his knees beside him. “He bit down on something. Shit. Mouth capsule?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, pulse thudding in my ears. I leaned forward, sniffed near the rogue’s mouth.

“Cyanide. Laced with silver.”

Brock leaned back, wiping a hand across his face. “Those aren’t cheap.”

I stared down at the body. “No. They’re not.”

“Someone’s backing this faction,” Brock said grimly. “Someone with money. Access.”

“And discipline,” I added. “He was more afraid of Pierce than of death.”

A gust of wind stirred the ashes near the drum.

I turned toward it, my jaw tight. “Get me everything from that burn barrel. All of it. Every flake of ash, every charred shred.”

Brock motioned to the others. “Bag it up. Handle it like evidence. We take it to the packhouse. Now.”

I stood in the middle of the ruined yard, the rogue’s corpse at my feet, the burned drum to my right, and the wind blowing grit across the tracks.

Pierce was obviously a man we’d need to deal with very, very carefully.

I’d find him. He wasn’t just a ghost anymore.

He had a name. A network. And money.

ELENA

The first thing I noticed was the cold.

My cheek pressed against something firm and scratchy. My limbs were heavy, leaden, tingling with numbness. My head pounded, like something was trying to claw its way out from behind my eyes. My mouth was dry—so dry—and every breath scraped down my throat.

I pushed up slowly, every movement a battle. The room was dim, square, and windowless. The only light came from a flickering fluorescent panel above the door. Bare walls. Metal cot. No windows. No Aiden.

I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision.

“Aiden?” I croaked, but the sound barely left my throat.

Panic stabbed through me. Where was he?

I pushed myself to my knees, bracing against the wall. My pulse thundered. The last thing I remembered was the pool, the too-sweet drink, Aiden pulling on his hoodie—

I swayed and grabbed the cot for balance.

Where was he? Where was my baby?

I opened my mouth to scream his name—but a soft noise stopped me cold.

Clink. Clink. Shhhh.

A whisper, faint and urgent, like breath through a grate.

I looked up.

A square vent cover near the ceiling was loose, just enough to see movement behind it. I stared, frozen, until a small hand gripped the edge.

Then a familiar hoodie appeared.

Aiden.

My eyes flooded with tears, and I pressed a fist to my mouth, catching the name before it escaped.

He crawled out just far enough to peek down at me, dirt-smudged and wild-eyed. Smiling that crooked grin.

He put a finger to his lips. “Mom,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’m okay. I didn’t drink it. I pretended to be asleep too.”

I nodded, my throat thick.

“They put us in here together,” he continued. “I waited ‘til they left, then climbed up. There’s a vent that leads out—at least I think so.”

“How long—?” My voice was raw.

“An hour or two. Maybe? They took your phone. You were out a long time.” He blinked, his voice shaking just a little. “I thought maybe—”

A clatter echoed down the hall.

Aiden went rigid.

Voices.

Footsteps.

My heart lurched as he scrambled back into the vent.

I stood, arms out to help him, but he dropped down beside me just as the lock clicked on the door.

He yanked the vent cover shut behind him with trembling fingers.

We both stared at it, breath held.

The panel didn’t sit quite flush.

Would they notice?

I looked down at him. For some reason, I knew it would be a bad thing if they found us both awake.

“Lay on the cot,” I whispered quickly, as I heard a key being inserted in the door’s lock. “Pretend you’re still asleep.”

He nodded and quickly flopped down.

The door creaked open.