Page 163 of Pack Frenzy
Three rows back, Blake’s father’s jaw snaps tight. His fingers curl on the armrest, knuckles whitening—not outrage at the crime, but at being exposed. For the first time all trial, he looks rattled. But Blake moves—barely—a flinch, a twitch of his jaw.
Delgado clicks to a slide on the screen. “Detective, confirm these transfers.”
Garcia nods. “We just got confirmation. Each payment corresponds to a missing Omega or an assault complaint involving Mr. Callighan.”
Mom’s hand slides into mine, trembling. I squeeze back and give her a small smile. She holds on like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“And the attack on Jessica Mancini?” Delgado asks.
Garcia glances at me, apology flickering in his eyes. “Ms. Mancini was en route to Nexus when her transport crashed. Security footage and recovered comms show Vincent Torrance attempted to subdue her with a taser, acting on direct orders from Mr. Callighan.”
My pulse hammers in my ears. The rain. The smell of burning metal. Blake wanted me gone, too. Just like Sabrina. But I got lucky because Eli and I had a connection when we first met, and he got me on the trial with him, Cassian, and Rowan before I’d even been at Nexus two full days. He saved me. They all did. I blink back tears, wishing someone had been able to save my sister.
“What happened next?” Delgado asks.
“Ms. Mancini was transported to Nexus after the crash,” Garcia says. “Shortly after, she was reassigned from general intake to a closed compatibility 90-day trial under Beta, Eli Mercado’s supervision. Based on the intercepted communications we recovered, that reassignment likely saved her life. Callighan and Torrance were already arranging to have her transferred off-site.”
If Torrance had gotten me off-site with that diluted suppressant running through me… I would have gone into heat in the hands of the last man I ever wanted touching me.
And it wasn’t random. Blake had already been trying to pull strings.
I see it now—the counselor at the Nexus banquet, the one who kept pressing about my “placement.” The way she’d smiled when she mentioned a single-Alpha pack, someone “more traditional.” She’d never said his name until I did, but now I hearit—threaded through every question she asked me. The way she pushed the “transfer option.” The way she lit up at the idea of a single-Alpha pack. The way she kept circling “structure” and “clarity,” like she was reading from someone else’s script.
God. She wasn’t evaluating me. She was grooming me for him. Testing to see if I’d break the right way.
Blake was behind all of it, testing the line, seeing if I’d take the bait.
Rowan shifts behind me. I feel him there, close enough to touch.
Delgado thanks the detective and sits.
“Detective Garcia.” The defense attorney stands smoothly, smug, voice dipped in money. “Much of this so-called evidence was obtained through unauthorized digital channels, wasn’t it? Mr. Mercado used a backdoor hack to access corporate data. Would you call that admissible?”
Garcia doesn’t blink. “Mr. Mercado’s discovery of the tampered files led to the court-approved warrants thatareadmissible. Without him, we wouldn’t know half of what these men did. I’ll take justice over etiquette any day.”
The courtroom ripples with quiet approval.
“We have witness statements, financial trails, and digital communications linking Mr. Callighan directly to Torrance. We have cruise footage. We have the pattern,” Garcia’s tone rises.
The defense team’s table looks like a luxury-brand parade—three attorneys, two paralegals, and a consultant whispering behind a glossy tablet. They’ve objected to everything short of gravity this week. But even they’re running out of air.
The lawyer pauses, letting silence build. Then he delivers it with surgical precision: "But you have no body, Detective. No remains.” He glances at the jury, holding out his palms. “Isn’t that the cornerstone of reasonable doubt?”
The words detonate in the quiet courtroom. A hush rolls across the jurors, a mix of disgust and dread tightening the air.
Mom makes a strangled sound—raw and animal. Dad's hand clamps on my knee hard enough to bruise, the only thing keeping him in his seat. Behind me, Rowan shifts forward, and I feel Cassian's hand on my shoulder, grounding me.
Garcia doesn't flinch. When he speaks, his voice could freeze blood. "No body, Counselor, because your client had five days at sea and an entire ocean to hide what he did. We have surveillance footage of Ms. Mancini boarding. We have her bracelet in the ship's lost and found. We have witnesses who saw her with your client. And we have eight other women who vanished using the exact same pattern." He leans forward slightly. "The absence of remains isn't reasonable doubt. It's evidence of premeditation."
The judge’s voice cuts through before the lawyer can recover. “Enough. Step down.”
Garcia nods and leaves the stand.
And then Blake turns his head. Slowly. Deliberately.
His eyes find mine across the courtroom.
No smirk. No charm. No mask. Just cold, flat emptiness—the void where a conscience should be. The same look he probably gave Sabrina before she disappeared under the waves. The look that says I'm not done with you.
