Page 132 of Strays
Family Business
I’m shaking as we walk back to the Bronco. Everything changed so fast, it’s hard to keep up. We were happy and hopeful minutes ago, like we had a real shot at winning this.
And now, out of nowhere, we find out we didn’t just blow our chances at trial; we put Jo on the target list of a criminal network that makes women disappear. That freezes them alive and sells them to brothels. Jo’s on the list of the same man powerful enough to take my mother and walk away untouched.
Our mate. The love of our lives.
I drive the familiar path home without thinking, forgetting Jo’s not there. She’s at the hospital. My brothers must be just as gone, because no one corrects me; I only realize it when I park in front of the house.
We stay in the car. No one moves. No one speaks. The buzz of my phone jolts all of us, ripping through the silence.
It’s Renner. I don’t want to answer. I already know what he’s going to say. But I swipe the screen and lift the phone to my ear. “Yeah.”
“Kory, it’s Thomas. Judge Loyle stepped down this morning. He filed a formal notice citing health concerns.”
I close my eyes.
“MAB already flagged that something is off, but we can’t trace it, and DOJ won’t move unless Loyle speaks on the record, which he won’t,” he continues. “Your case was reassigned thirty minutes later to Judge Charles Gesson. He has a history of favoring prosecution narratives, especially ones that paint aegis as unstable.”
Renner goes silent, waiting for me to speak. I don’t.
Eventually, he adds: “I won’t lie to you; this changes everything. We’ll challenge every move, contest every angle, but the room we had to work with just got a lot smaller.” He sighs. “We still have a path. But it’s narrow and steep. And we’re going to need everything to break our way. But I will fight for your pack, Kory.”
“Thank you,” I say, and hang up. There’s nothing else to say.
I stare out the windshield, everything in me hollow. Then I see it: a torn flap of white sticking out of our mailbox, creased and warped from being forced in. I open the Bronco’s door, cross the yard and pull it out.
It’s not just one piece; it’s five. Each one a photo of the same person — Jo.
One shows her leaving the house. Another, parking the F-150 at the hospital. One inside, talking to a nurse at a distance. Another just outside Fatimah’s, the restaurant she loves. One from behind, crossing the sidewalk by the hospital’s entrance. And another just outside our home, trash bags in her hands.
They’ve been tracking her for days, maybe longer. They’re showing us they can reach her. She’s not safe. Not even inside the hospital.
I bolt back to the Bronco and shove the stack into Shane’s lap as I start the engine.
He lets out a rough growl as he sees them. Jay leans forward from the back, shoulder pressing against Shane’s seat. He reaches over and pulls the photos from Shane’s hands, and I hear the sharp hiss of air between his teeth.
We’re at the hospital in half the time the drive usually takes. I barely throw the Bronco in park before I’m out, striding fast toward the main entrance, Jay and Shane right at my side, the same urgency etched across their faces.
We need her in our sight.Now.
At the reception desk, I flash my badge, voice low but sharp. “Dr. Johane Larsen. We need to speak to her immediately.”
The receptionist looks up, startled. “She’s on shift right now. Is this—?”
“We’re her mates,” I say, then quickly rephrase with something easier for the human understanding. “Her husbands.”
Jay steps up beside me. “This isn’t a request. Call her down. Now.”
The receptionist stares for a beat, then picks up the phone.
We wait less than five minutes, and then Jo is there.
As soon as we tell her she’s in danger, her face goes still. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t hesitate. “I need a minute to grab my things,” she says, serious and focused.
I nod and let her go, but we follow her all the way. We pass through doors marked Authorized Personnel Only, but no one tries to stop us.
She grabs her purse, her laptop, and follows us back out. It’s a good thing she sold the Corolla and kept the truck: none of us would’ve been able to drive the Corolla, and there’s no way we’d let her be alone right now.
