Page 120 of Claimed

If this weren’t so open or if it weren’t daytime, we’d probably be in wolf form.

After doing two rotations of the place, spotting a couple trip wires, me, Jase, and Linc have a quick chat and decide to go in at a section in the very back where we’re smelling the least amount of scents. It also happens to be the location with the biggest lock.

Jared wears a toolbelt and passes over clippers when we get to the biggest padlock, a rust-coated one, holding two tarp-wrapped iron gates together.

Luke says we’re just beyond the storage area, which is close to the beta training area, that he describes as having a barracks building and obstacle courses as well as storage buildings.

This checks out against the drawing Stacy drew that’s in my pocket. Two of the nearby locks were extra small, looking like the easiest pickings, but we clocked trip wires by them, which is another illustration of the way Meadows thinks.

When we go in, Jase and Brody will hang back, just outside the gates in case we get into a jam.

Jase isn’t happy about it though, wants to see with his own eyes if his sister is on the premises as soon as possible, but to his credit, he agrees, knowing I want him out there with our link because I need Linc’s extra-strong nose with me.

After triple-checking for additional hazards, I snip the lock and the gate swings in.

Taking in what’s on the other side, my teeth clench. A few paces in, my gut roils.

The stench climbing higher into my senses have my eyes watering. Linc doubles over, heaving hard, nothing coming up. He already emptied his guts.

I turn when I hear Mitch gag. He spits on the ground, holding his gut for a second. Our gazes connect and his lip curls.

Yeah, this is a mishmash of rancid aromas. Rotting meat. Sickness. Feces and urine. Melted plastic. Hot metal. Smoke. Wet wood.

A slope-shouldered, shorter, flabby guy with greasy hair in probably his mid-to-late forties pokes his head out of a single-story concrete block building the size of a double garage and alarm registers on the guy’s face before he slams the door.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Larry,” Luke says. “He cooks for the pack lately. That’s a food storage building.”

I step over the edge of a tire obstacle course near a two-storey climbing wall and pull on the door. It’s locked. I pound my fist on it.

“Open up!”

Nothing.

“Counting to three, then I’m bustin’ this door!” I warn.

The door creaks open slowly and I can taste the rancid fear scent coming off this guy.

“I don’t want no trouble.” He raises his hands up high.

I look past him and see some camping stoves and canisters of propane along with shelving holding bags, boxes, and milk crates filled with supplies. A large pot sits on one stove, simmering with soup. There’s another stove with a smaller pot also containing soup. The place is lit with battery-powered hanging lights.

“These guys are here to help,” Luke says. “Hopefully one of the things they do is get rid of you!” Luke looks to me. “He likes to bully those smaller than him. ‘Specially kids.”

This guy looks weak, non-threatening, but this kid clearly has a problem with him.

“Oh yeah?” I back the guy into the wall. “You pick on kids?”

“Hell yeah he does,” Luke asserts.

I bare my teeth.

“Disciplining isn’t bullying,” Larry stammers, looking anywhere but at me or the alphas at my back. “The whole pack looks after the youngins. I’m often tasked with that. And not just me!”

“Where is everyone?” I demand.

“Our alpha and his team are on a mission.” He shrugs. “I’m just the cook. Making today’s dinner for the pack.”

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