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“More trouble than she’s worth. You assholes should listen to me more often,” the first voice says again.
“Just shut the fuck up and drive.” The words are coming through a tunnel now, echoing and distant. My body jolts as the car takes off, and everything goes black.
Twenty-One
Brooklyn
When my phone goes off,I smile a little to myself, hoping it’s another selfie from Summer. She looked stunning in the first one. So fucking happy that my alpha purred in my chest.
We did that,she seemed to say.
The omega I met that first day in Pen2Paper Press is a whole different person than the one that moved into the pack house; than the one who sent a selfie in the group chat a moment ago. That omega was shy. Quiet. Scared.
This one is flirty and fun. Full of life.
It makes my blood heat that we were able to do that. To help our omega in that way. Bring her out of her shell and make her feel…well,loved.
So I’m smiling ear to ear when I pull out my phone. Only, that smile drops when I see Wells’ name on the screen. Somehow before I pick up, I know something is wrong.
I bark, “What is it?” as I pick up.
“She’s gone. I don’t know how it happened. She’s gone,” Wells is panicking, out of control.
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
It was the middle of the day. She had security with her. Security that is supposed to keep hersafe.
This is a sick joke. “Where are you?” How I manage to keep my voice even, I don’t know.
“RJs. I–” I hang up before he can say anything else and look around the conference room I’m in alone, waiting for my meeting to start with the editors at Punk'd Publishing. We’re supposed to be meeting in five minutes to discuss the rights to one of my clients’ next graphic novel. I’m the first one here, so I don’t even hesitate to get up and run out the door. Shooting a quick text to my client to let her know an emergency came up, and then one more to the group text to meet at RJs–911–I’m barreling out the front door of the publishing house and flagging down the nearest cab.
Please let her be okay. Please.I send up a quick prayer to the Goddess and jump in the cab that screeches to a halt in front of me.
* * *
Wells meets me at the front door when I beat the rest of the pack to the restaurant. Maverick and Hudson are the furthest out since they’re working on the house in Naperville today, but Mason should be right behind me. In the text I sent, I told them all the information I know, which is really nothing, but I’ve ignored all their calls. They’ll have to wait until I can figure out what happened.
Which is what Wells starts in on before I can even ask. “This way,” he says, and I follow him as he relays what happened. “Summer went to the bathroom before we were getting ready to leave. I had a view of the door the whole time. Thewhole time.Then something caught my attention. It was her previous alpha. Jade Monroe. And she was making a beeline right for the bathroom.”
That fuckingbitch.
“So I jumped into her path to stop her from going in there after Summer. She started raising her voice, causing a scene. I had the manager make sure she left out the front door. Then I went straight to the bathroom to get Summer. But she wasn’t there. I looked everywhere. There’s a door to an alley at the end of the hall, and I looked all over outside, too. Nothing. She’s gone.”
“Did anyone else see anything? Are there cameras?” I can feel the panic start to overwhelm me, the blood long since drained from my face.
“They’re pulling the tapes now,” he says grimly. And that’s when I realize it’s where Wells has led us. We’re in the manager’s office where the beta at the computer has several screens pulled up. Half a dozen camera angles visible.
“Did you find anything?” I bark, and by the grim look he gives me, I know he has. And it’s not good news.
“There’s a video of her coming out the back alley. She looks intoxicated. Like she can’t walk. And then two guys come into the frame, one picks her up, puts her in a car, and they drive off. That’s all we have. No license plate. We do have a shot of the guys, but they keep their heads down, so it’s not really clear.”
He plays back the video, and Wells and I watch Summer stumble outside. The manager was right, she does look drunk. Or drugged…
The growl that slips out of me when she faceplants onto the concrete in the alley, and then just lays there until that piece of shit drags her away, promises violence.
“What about inside? Do you have that video?” Wells asks the manager, who has started to wring his hands and shake his head.
