Page 20 of The Wayward Sons & the Seattle Sirens

“And you left him alone?” she exclaimed, her hand slamming on the table. I beckoned her closer with a sharp gesture. I didn’t need the whole damn diner to hear me. “You used him as bait, Ryder.”

“Listen close, Tess,” I began, my tone dark, “if what I read is right, nothing on God’s green earth will fucking stop him right now. I may be military-trained and a damn good hunter, but Gray is an unstoppable killing machine. If I tried to stop him, he’d kill me before I could get a single fucking word out. The best option is to be out of the motel room when he leaves and then rescue his ass once he’s there safely.”

“Safe is subjective,” she retorted. “You have no idea what the you-know-what will do to him. You’re risking a lot. You’re risking Gray.”

I knew exactly what I was risking.

“I know it won’t kill him right away, and I know that I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to save him. Nothing else matters.”

“You can’t be certain that’ll happen.”

“It already has,” I said. Grabbing my phone, I turned around the video feed I had playing on it. Yeah, I’d put a dash cam on the car to keep an eye on the motel door. I rewound it and showed her the moment I’d been watching out for: Gray hurrying out of the motel so damn fast he left the door open.

She took it from me, rewatching it several times. I could feel the distress rolling off her in waves. Reaching across the table, I covered the screen and forced her to stop watching it.

“I’m going to get them back, Tess.” I made the promise, but I didn’t have a clue how. I just knew that I’d figure out where Gray, Jake, and Mal were, and I’d do whatever the hell it took to get them back.

CHAPTER 16

Hands on my hips, I studied the wide assortment of weapons scattered on the bed. Knives, guns, studded knuckles, and more. All of them were magicked for concealment thanks to a witch Gray picked up in Disney World—she’d magicked our weapons in exchange for park tickets, which somehow turned into an entire vacation endeavor for the three of us. It was one of the weirdest weeks of my life, but May was cool in her dance-naked-in-the-moonlight kind of way.

I couldn’t bring everything with me. The thought of doing so was ridiculous. But what was the best combination? I wanted to steer clear of guns. That was the best course of action, even if I was most comfortable with one in my hand and on my hip. In a club full of people, the last thing I needed was widespread panic from gunfire.

“Okay, look,” Tessa began as she let herself into the motel room, “I need you to know that I got pulled over trying to get this thing.”

My gaze flicked her direction, watching her throw a green duffel bag on the bed for me. My Army bag. Shit, how long had it been since I’d seen that thing. Or even thought about it?

“I didn’t ask you to speed,” I reminded her. “I just asked you to grab my duffel—”

“Jesus Christ, Ryder!” she exclaimed when she looked up. “Put on some pants.”

“I have pants on.”

“At least button your pants.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to knock,” I said but buttoned them anyway. “What happened with the cop?”

“I may have used my power to get his sympathy for the poor mom rushing home to bring her baby formula,” she told me. She did what now?

“Tess!”

“What? I didn’t have time for a speeding ticket.”

“Jesus fuck.” I shook my head. Only Tessa. “Tell me you don’t do shit like that often.”

“I don’t. I promise.” Well, at least there was that. “Why did you need your bag?”

That was a loaded question. Crossing the room, I grabbed my bag and set it on the dresser. The bag was full of shit I didn’t need anymore—memories I wanted nothing to do with. I planned to burn it all as soon as I had the chance. Or maybe I’d have Tessa and Jake do it for me.

However, I couldn’t deny that one thing inside the bag would be useful. My dog tags.

“There’s a pattern,” I said as I took them out. Despite how light I knew the tags were, they were heavy as fuck in my hand. And even heavier around my neck.

“We didn’t find a pattern.”

“Look again,” I said. “All the victims are men under forty. They’re young. They’re virile—”

“God, no.” She visibly shuddered, and her disgust rolled over my skin.

---