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“Where’s my phone?” I huff, and turn to see Connor leave the bedroom before coming back a moment later with my phone in hand.
Opening it up, I type in the number I don’t dare save as a contact. A few rings later, Kyle Ellis’s nasally voice comes down the line. “What?” he growls.
“Is that any way to talk to a paying customer?” I answer in a falsely sweet voice.
There are a few beats of silence before he answers. “How did you get this number?”
The burner phone he uses and only hands out to his scientists and precious few he trusts to distribute the drug. Never to customers. We only contact him via email. It was chance, really, that we ran into one of his scientists at another stuffy-ass charity gala. He didn’t outrightsaythat’s what he worked on, but we put two and two together and had our friend in the DA’s office pull his phone records for us.
There was one number that he called religiously. Several times a day foryears.
It was just a guess after that. But I’m glad I was right.
“That’s not important right now. Whatisimportant is this defective ass drug you sold us.”
“Defective how?” he says in a bored voice, and I can practically hear his eyes roll.
“She’s not waking up. We gave her your fucking drug, and she looks dead.” Still, not a twitch of any muscle.
“How long ago was the drug administered?” he says with an air of importance. Like he’s an actual doctor giving out drugs that couldn’t put him behind bars for the rest of his life.
“A few hours ago,” I say after a quick look at the clock. It’s coming up to the end of the workday, and Tatem stuck her right after lunch.
“Shouldn’t be a cause for concern. She’ll wake when her body is ready to.” Then hehangs upbefore I can say anything else. The phone protests under my grip when I squeeze it so I’m not squeezing something else.
Like Summer’s throat.
* * *
Almost eight hours later and she still hasn’t woken up. Connor and Brody are talking about leaving to get something to eat.
Like I said, high-functioning morons.
“You can’t go out to get something to eat. You all saw the omega alert. They know who we are and what we look like by now. We need to lay low,” I say without looking away from Summer, scrutinizing her for the slightest movement.
None of us could believe it when they got the omega alert out that fast. I certainly couldn’t. We’d barely made it back to the house after switching cars in the parking garage.
Average.
That’s what I gleaned from all my research on this pack. A literary agent, a real estate agent, and a glorified construction worker. Oh, and let’s not forget about thephotographer.What a nice little surprise that was. To find out the beta we threw out just before Summer ended up being her fated mate. It isn’t lost on me that–had we just kept him around–we would have had the perfect leverage. The best and most foolproof way of making her stay. Because no omega would willingly leave her fated mate.
That was our mistake. Ours, because we all wanted him gone, and how fuckingfunnythat they ended up in the same pack years later. A fucking useless pack at that.
I’d even go so far as to say the two male alphas are just as stupid as Brody and Connor. I walked right into their house, and neither of them suspected a thing. Didn’t even know who I was. I’d thought they might, honestly. An unnecessary risk, walking through that door, when they very well could have seen my picture. Known who I was. But they didn’t. It was truthfully pretty fucking insulting. But I learned what I needed to know.
Unimpressive.
Small men with small dreams and an unremarkable pack.
No political pull or high-level contacts between them that I could tell. Successful enough, I suppose, but nowhere near Pack Monroe’s net worth. How they have any sway at OPS is beyond me.
The omega alert puts a damper on our travel plans, but not for long. They’ll get tired of combing the streets for her soon enough, then we’ll take her to the house we bought in a rural part of New York. Nothing but acres and acres of land. No neighbors for miles. The perfect place to retrain a disobedient omega.
“Well, we’ll order in then.” I roll my eyes at Brody’s snark.
“No, you’ll go to the kitchen and find something to make here.” There’s a little bite of command in my tone. His lip pulls back at it, but he obeys like the good little dumbass he is.
“I thought that’s what we gotherback for,” he mutters under his breath but does as he’s told. Of the two of them, Brody has been the most vocally opposed to getting her back.
