Nothing stood out. When I listened for the telltale sounds of rustling clothes or quiet footsteps, I only heard the distant sound of cars, the hum of buildings, scurrying rats, and the intermittent sounds of a city that was still asleep.
I didn’t run when I left the alley, but I moved with purpose and long strides. Without the cacophony of my pack’s distress battering me, I could keep my attention outward.
Relief filled me.No tail.
The manufacturing plant stood up ahead, brown and imposing. A glow shone from the high windows—Janice was already in, setting the place up for the day as her workers began to arrive. We paid a piddling amount of cash monthly to the elderly beta woman, and in return, we got a shitty one-bedroom apartment.
There was no way the suite was legal, and I doubted any sane person could stand to live there—the banging and squeaking andcreaking from conveyor belts and old equipment and employees started up at four in the morning. Didn’t really stop until seven at night, either.
Probably wasn’t legal for her to be running the place for that many hours. But Janice didn’t ask us why we rented and never came by, so we didn’t question her shady business practices.
The hidden metal back door didn’t look like it was the entrance to a residence. My key turned in the sticky lock. A cat darted out from behind a dumpster when the hinges screeched horrendously in protest of movement, but I got it open.
Up a steep set of metal stairs was another door, locked again, and then the apartment.
I discarded the crate of ammo on the scratched-up dining table and stalked to the kitchen. We were pretty sure Janice had furnished this place by grabbing shit from the dump, but there was a working fridge and stove, not that it mattered much for us. I yanked open a cupboard and fished around at the back.
The fake back toppled over when I hit it, and I closed my fist around one of our go-bags. “Fucking finally,” I muttered.
I stabbed Talia’s number into the burner phone, waiting for her to pick up. I needed to hear her voice, to know my packmates hadn’t hurt her.
No answer.
I tried Mercer next. Conrad. Talia again. Not a single person I called answered theirgoddamnphone.
Rubbing a hand over my head, I glared at the wood crate. It had to go and fuck a whole lot of stuff up, didn’t it?
We didn’t know who could have decided it was a good idea to manufacture ammo that would turn alphas feral—because Grave sure as fuck wasn’t the brains behind the operation—but I wanted to murder them.
Another call went to voicemail.
I had to stash the goods and get over to the hospital. If my packmates had been able to answer, they would have. Talia might not—maybe she was avoiding the unknown number. Plenty of people did.
The pit in my stomach was bubbling with doubt. I wasn’t betting on the answer being as simple as that.
As I stormed into the bedroom and shoved the dresser away from its place against the wall, I called Gears. She needed to keep an eye and ear out for us while we figured out what the hell we were going to do about Grave.
“What do you want?”
I’d expected a half-asleep grumble. Her tone was an alert bark instead.
That was a bad sign, considering the hour.
I yanked out a pre-cut square of drywall with one hand, revealing the large safe behind it.
“Eyes and ears,” I said.
“How about you tell me what you know about selling to the O’Connors?”
Freezing, I cursed. “Did the Windsors find out? Are they making an example of someone? I thought we would have more time to fix Grave’s fucking mess.”
She didn’t answer right away, and I kicked myself back into gear. I unlocked the safe, shoved a new gun and some ammo into my pockets, and grabbed the crate from the dining room. It was locked up and I was pushing the drywall back into place before Gears said anything.
“You,” she said.
My eyebrows drew together. “What?”
“They’re making an example out of you. Grave let all the Alpha Chariots know that you’ve been supplying someone in Medley Island behind his back. Everyone who believes him is gunning for you three.”
