Page 78 of Unbonded
“Message received, Omega.”
“Hmm.” Our bond pulses with a darker emotion. “I want you to use that voice again, but onlyafteryou’ve unleashed terror on those assholes. Bring her back to me, Bram, even if you have to command the entire police force to help you.”
“I will.” He rings off, but Lachlan is still staring at the black screen. “What is it?”
“I should have mentioned it before…” He lifts troubled eyes my way. “A guy commanded me on the street. He pulled up beside Katie and me when we were on our way to meet Dash. He said they had a mutual friend and offered her a ride, even though he was sketchy as hell. When I told him to fuck off, he put me on my knees.” The color drains from his face. “He knew her name, Bram.”
Fury rolls through me, but I try to tamp it down. If Dash can feel me as clearly as I can feel him, he doesn’t need me rage-bombing our bond.
“King still seems like the obvious perpetrator,” I say slowly, but my fingers are flying across the keyboard, accessing a folder on my private server. I open an encrypted document labeled ‘personal tax’ and run my eye down the list of assholes who’ve crossed my radar recently. “But King had partners in the club. Jacobs, Palko, Brennan. Any of those familiar?”
He shakes his head, and I email the list to Curtis to crosscheck the names. Before I can second-guess myself, I pick up my cell and call his contact, Patrick. He doesn’t bother with the phonetag game this time, and I grind out, “The threat was real. Someone’s taken my jewel. Any word on Emerald?”
“Jesus.” He clears his throat, and the background noise disappears behind a closed door. “Quinn’s second cousin moved Stateside six months ago. I wasn’t informed, because he’s lived in England for years, which makes them barely related in my book. He’s a nasty fucker called Joseph Brennan. Still trying to work out his beef with you…”
Brennan.My heart sinks while I feel my beast rise. “Don’t bother. It was financial, but now he’s made it personal.”
“Word is he’s trafficking in omegas.” Disgust coats Patrick’s voice. “That makes it personal to my pack as well.”
Visions of Irish gangs tearing into each other – while Kate is collateral damage – makes rage burn in my throat like a hot coal. “Thanks, but I’ve got this covered.”
There’s a click at the other end and I think he’s hung up on me until I hear the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’ve covered it in gift wrap and tied it with a pretty bow, Webber, my pack’s still coming to the party, Now, do you want the address to their fecking warehouse, or not?”
Convincing Lachlan to stay home is a lost cause, but my heart sinks when Corbus appears in the foyer, dressed in the closest thing to battlewear he has in his closet. I rake my gaze over his leather jacket and tactical pants, both turned on and alarmed by the sight of military boots on his elegant feet. “You’re not coming, Corbus.”
He arches a perfect brow at me. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”
I grind my teeth, because I don’t have any right to deny him, even if every cell in my body is screaming to lock him in thebasement vault. “We follow the plan,” I tell him, resting a hand on Lachlan’s nape. “Anything goes sideways, you cover each other and get the hell out of there.”
They don’t argue with me, but I’m still on edge when we join Curtis and three of his guys in the parking garage. A pair of SUVs are ready and waiting, and he climbs in with us while his men get in the other. He’s all business as his driver exits the garage with the others in close formation. “The warehouse is in Queens. It’s a chop shop for a local gang, but on the weekends Brennan and his associates use the facility to hold omega auctions. That’s good and bad news for us. Good, because it means they have both a format to follow and a clientele to protect, but bad because it probably means your packmate is on the auction block.”
“Curtis,” Corbus says in a soft voice. “Perhaps we should focus on the good news.”
His gaze flickers my way, no doubt taking in the way my jaw is grinding my molars to dust. “Right. Well, Ruiz is ahead of us, liaising with Patrick’s pack. They’ve got eyes on the warehouse, and are fairly certain we’re looking at half a dozen targets and double that for buyers and their protection. They’ve broken up rings like this before and have a tried-and-tested play. One of their guys is posing as a buyer, while the others sweep in and remove the omegas.”
“We’ll be getting Kate out,” I tell him. “They can deal with the buyers, but I want King and Brennan.” I can always circle back to the other assholes at a later date and destroy them financially.
“Well, we can certainly put that on the table.”
I know a brush off when I hear one, but I turn my focus to the window, and a tense silence cocoons us for the rest of the ride to Queens.
We rendezvous with Patrick’s pack in a parking lot a block from the warehouse. It’s after eight, and there’s a light drizzle in the air as we stand between our cars. The shitty street lightswash us in a sickly yellow glow, and I watch their faces as they look us over. There’s a guy with bright red hair and a knife blade of a grin who is clearly Patrick, but my focus shifts to the biggest guy in their pack. He’s dressed like a soldier and has a dominance that brushes up against me like a rusty blade.
“What’s the saying?” Patrick asks, looking between us. “Two ubers are better than one?”
I ignore him, refusing to look away from the other alpha’s judgmental stare. I’m still in my suit, and I’m guessing he’s used to civilians backing down when he flashes his eyeshine at them. “Are you in control?” he demands, his voice as militant as his posture.
“Of what?”
His mouth turns down, and our onlookers shift uneasily on their feet. “That’s a lot of power you’re packing, Webber, and I don’t want it blowing up in our faces.”
Corbus chooses that moment to step out from behind me. “Bram has more control than any man I’ve ever met. But I advise you to stay out of our way. We’re retrieving our mate, and we don’t care who we have to go through to achieve that.”
“A billionaire with a ruthless streak,” Patrick muses, sucking his teeth. “What a novelty.”
“We’re wasting time,” I snap, looking at Curtis. “Do we have a plan here, or are we going in alone?”
“We do this together.” The uber soldier extends a hand in my direction. “I’m Erik Volk.”
