"My pack is none of your business," I say flatly, moving to put more distance between us and Harrison.
But the damage is already done. I can feel the stares now, the whispered conversations as people recognize me and try to figure out what I'm doing here with Luther Keller and his notorious pack. The gossip network among the wealthy is faster than any news service, and I know our presence here will be dissected and analyzed within hours.
Luther is across the room making polite conversation with a group of investors, his Alpha presence commanding attention even in this crowd of powerful people. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes keep scanning the room for potential threats.
What's interesting is how people are reacting to him. There's uncertainty, sure, but not the outright hostility I expected. Some people seem genuinely unsure about his role in all this, especially given that he now has Hudson's former Omega. Icatch fragments of whispered conversations as I move through the crowd.
"...heard he was always the intended buyer through Hearthstone..."
"...makes sense, really, rich Alpha like that..."
"...Hudson was just the middleman..."
Some of these people actually believe Luther was the mysterious buyer all along, that Luca was always meant for him. It's a convenient fiction that allows them to feel comfortable about the whole situation, to pretend there's nothing wrong with the system they've been supporting.
My attention diverts to the walls, taking in the architecture of this place, when something strikes me as odd. This isn't just an extravagant mansion. It's built like a fortress. The windows are reinforced, there are multiple layers of security I can see from here, and the layout has the kind of strategic design I recognize from Grayson's family home, but amplified to an almost military degree.
"Excuse me," I say to one of the city officials I recognize from various legal proceedings. "Is the owner of this house in the military?"
He laughs, shaking his head. "No, they just come from a long line of cops. Every single one of the men in the family has worked for the police in some capacity. Generational law enforcement, you might say."
A family of cops with this level of wealth and security? That doesn't add up. Police salaries don't buy houses like this, not unless there's significant money coming from somewhere else. Dread coils in my gut as a thought settles in the back of my mind about justwhocould have that kind of wealth. I really fucking hope it’s not him but stranger things have happened.
"Hey, I'm going to find the bathroom," I tell Blake, needing space to process this information.
Blake hums around a stuffed mushroom before making his way across the room. Luther immediately wraps an arm around him when he arrives, pressing a quick kiss to Blake's temple that assures me he’s safe. Only then do I head for the bathroom, a corner of space down a marble-lined hallway, grateful for a moment of solitude away from the oppressive crowd. The space is as luxurious as the rest of the house, with gold fixtures and mirrors that probably cost more than my old apartment's rent.
I splash some water on my face, trying to cool the anxiety that's been building since we arrived. Something about this whole event feels wrong, but I can't put my finger on exactly what.
When I turn around, I notice something odd about the wall behind me. There's a small door, almost hidden in the elaborate details, and when I press against it experimentally, it gives way to reveal a tiny space behind the wall.
It's just large enough for someone small - an Omega, perhaps - to be pushed inside and trapped until someone comes to let them out. There's a locking mechanism that can only be operated from the outside and I can only imagine that the walls are soundproofed in here would mean that this is a cage.
This isn't a house feature. This is a prison cell disguised as architecture.
My hands shake as I close the hidden door and start searching through the bathroom cabinets to see if I can find something else. Most are filled with the usual expensive toiletries one would expect, but one cabinet is locked.
I break the lock without hesitation, and what I find inside makes my stomach turn. Bottles and bottles of medication - sedatives, tranquilizers, drugs that would render someone helpless and compliant. They're all from different doctors, prescribed to different names, but gathered here in quantities that could supply a small hospital.
I need to get the fuck out of here.This whole place is wrong, designed for purposes that have nothing to do with celebrating the closure of Hearthstone and everything to do with continuing whatever sick operation has been running behind the scenes.
As I'm about to leave, something in the wastebasket catches my eye. It's a torn letter, partially crumpled but still readable. I smooth it out with trembling fingers, and the address at the top confirms we're at the right location.837 Helsave Way.
But it's the name at the bottom that makes my world tilt on its axis.
Elliott Ward.
"No fucking way," I whisper to the empty bathroom. "Absolutely not."
Detective Ward, the man who's supposed to be investigating Hudson and helping our pack, owns this house. This fortress designed to trap and control Omegas. This pharmacy of sedatives. This whole elaborate setup.
Ward isn't investigating the trafficking ring. He's running it.
I rush out of the bathroom and make a beeline for Luther and Blake, my heart pounding so hard I'm surprised it doesn't burst from my chest. They're still in the same spot, Luther's hand resting protectively on Blake's lower back as they make polite conversation with someone I don't recognize.
"We need to go," I whisper, though my words come out in a growl as I grab Luther's arm. "Right now."
"What are you talking about?" Luther asks, but I can see in his eyes that he recognizes the urgency in my voice.
