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I turn back to my screen, staring in disbelief that someone would be able to find that we inserted a tracker and deactivate it without me being notified. Who the hell is this person?
“We shouldn’t look for her yet,” Wes urges.
“You would say that,” I huff, trying to reign in my anger. I know it’s not his fault, but my annoyance with this entire situation has decided he’ll be the target of my frustration.
I watch Wes grind his teeth, working his jaw to calm himself. “I did what I had to do for our friend,” he seethes.
“As you should have,” Sebastian adds. “If you had made any other choice, we wouldn’t have the opportunity to save O and get Ariah back.”
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, picturing Ariah’s smile before she says some slick shit. My chest tightens. My heart rate ticks up at the thought of her absence, but I force myself to take a deep breath before I speak. “It was the only option. I know it’s not you. I just hate how tied our hands feel and not knowing where she is.”
“It’s why we need to focus,” Sebastian instructs. “Once we get Owen, we find Ariah. Then we can explain everything to her.”
Wes paces the room. I can see the gears turning in his head from my seat. “What if it isn’t the Senator? What if it’s been Sam this whole time?” He suggests.
Curling my hand into a fist, I hold the outburst simmering beneath my skin. Fucking Samantha. She’s a constant thorn. This very thought has plagued me since we found out Owen was taken. Shit, even before then. She’s always been a little too smug. My mind plays back every occurrence over the last ten months—each time she said or did something.
“But this has been in the works for generations. Sam’s annoying and vindictive, but do we honestly believe she could orchestrate this?” Sebastian questions.
I mull over his words. The plan to overthrow the Fraternitas has been in motion for ages. Each time, someone different leads the charge. Not to mention the dubbed leader is now dead—double-crossed somehow. So what if the Filiae Bellonae was another misdirect? “I don’t think she’s the mastermind behind all of this, but she sure as fuck is part of it,” I surmise.
Wyatt springs from his chair, knocking it over before stalking toward the bar. “We need to figure out a way to get Jameson and bring him in,” he barks as he grabs a bottle of water. “That slimy weaselly fuck needs to answer for his part in all this!”
Before continuing our discussion, the door opens and the Council walks in, sans Aaron Bradford. We all stay quiet until they take their seats, Wes’s dad motioning for Wyatt and Wes to do the same.
Wyatt is the first to speak. “Have you found anything?”
I watch each Council member’s face intently. They look weary. Owen’s father is the most haggard of them all.
“No,” Wes’s father answers solemnly, scratching his now-bearded face. I’ve never seen Donald Edgewood look so defeated in my life. “Every lead brings us to another dead end, and the ones we know will get answered can’t be utilized without risking Owen’s life, and we refuse to do that,” he explains.
“So, we what? Do nothing? Leave O’s fate to chance?” I ask, feeling helplessness set in, just like before. I have to fight the temptation to curl in on myself. Despair, once a-fucking-gain, gnaws at the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t save Owen the last time, but I’ll be damned if anyone gives up on getting him back.
“Never,” Owen’s father shouts, snapping me from my self-pity. My gaze lands on him, and the veins in his neck protrude so prominently that I swear I see each thump of his pulse from my seat across the table. “We’ll get my son back. Then we’ll eviscerate every goddamn person who played a part in this!”
Mr. Edgewood clears his throat. “That’s not why we’re here. Samantha Davenport is complaining that you all aren’t living up to your part of this,” he states like Samantha’s name is as poisonous as she is.
We should’ve kept a better eye on her. I should’ve done more to prevent this. I could’ve insisted we all get chipped too. Why the fuck didn’t I ever think of doing that before now? We chipped Ariah twice over. And yet she also eludes you. My jaws clench at the reminder of the gigantic fuck up we’re in.
“Who cares what the dusty cunt wants,” Wyatt yells. “Until Owen’s back, all our attention stays on finding him. Fuck her and her complaints—she can eat a bag of oozing sore-covered dicks for all we care.”
They can’t argue with that. Owen’s priority is number one. That bitch can get fucked by a cactus.
Our dads snort before schooling their features. “While we agree with you wholeheartedly, we also can’t chance that any temper tantrum Miss Davenport has will be the cause of something happening to Owen. So, for the time being, you’ll all start to make an effort on that front,” Mr. Edgewood instructs.
“This is bullshit,” Wes spits and his father begins to speak, but the door bursts open, interrupting whatever Mr. Edgewood is about to say.
All of our attention shifts in the direction of the intrusion just as Thomas storms through it. He looks frantic, scanning the room before he bellows, “Owen’s body has been dropped off at the Edgewood town line.”
6
WYATT
The ride to the town line has been filled with simmering silence, everyone in varying stages of rage and worry—no one voicing the fear that we might be too late.
“He has to be okay,” Lev mumbles, breaking the silence. “We can’t—he can’t.” The crack in his usually emotionless demeanor only further contributes to the fraying of my control. Pushing my hand into my pocket, I rub the soft fabric—an attempt to cool my knee-jerk impulse to slaughter everyone responsible.
“O’s a fighter. He’s going to be okay,” Sebastian states, drawing my attention to the determined set of his normally warm blue eyes. The arctic frost promises retribution.
