Page 75 of A Second Chance for the Beta

“How do you know about that?” He frowns.

“I saw the photos on your Insta. There was a link to the exhibit. You are good.”

Richie blinks. “You think so? It’s just a hobby, but it gives me peace to do art.”

“I get what you mean,” Dave says. “I like to journal to relax and calm down. And I have a whole silly collection of washi tapes and pens and stickers.”

“I don’t find that silly at all,” Richie says. “I do fantasy photography. I take pictures of nature and animals, and then work on them, edit them and twist them to a fantasy setting.”

“Because real life sometimes sucks,” Dave says.

Richie looks down at his fingers. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“I get it. I was disowned when I was just a teen,” Dave says and shrugs.

Richie looks at him for a long while without saying anything before changing the subject. “What is this place?”

“This here?” Dave asks. “That’s the packhouse. You are on pack lands.”

“A pack?” Richie asks. “Like a wolf pack?”

“Pretty much,” Dave answers. “Haven’t you seen one yet?”

“No, Imogen always invited me to a storage unit,” he says. “They lived there.”

Liam turns away from the screen. “Imogen,” he says to Portia. “This has to be his girlfriend’s name. It’s not a name that is too common nowadays.”

“I will see what I can find,” she says before leaving the room.

We turn our attention back to Dave and Richie. “Richard,” Dave says seriously. “Did you know that Imogen is part of a group of hitmen?”

“What!?” he screeches.

“Did you know that they are out to either abduct or kill an innocent fifteen-year-old girl?” he continues.

“No way!” Richie blurts out. “That’s a lie! They would never… I mean, Imogen would never. She said she loved me.”

“Oh, honey.” Dave sighs. “You slept with a werewolf, and now you think they are devoted to you. I have experience with fucking wolves, and I reassure you it’s not working like that. As long as they don’t pop out the magical four letters—MATE—then it’s just what it is: popping.” He pauses. “Are you Imogen’s mate?”

“I… she never called me that,” he admits. “Does it work like in the movies?”

Dave turns his neck for Richie to see it. “That’s my mark,” he says. “This is where my mate marked me and made me his. They are all about their fated mates. And while some may choose their own mates, we as humans will never make the cut for them just like that. A lot of packs don’t even allow humans on their grounds.”

Dave opens the folder and turns it for Richie to look through it. There are pictures and information we gathered with the council’s help. It’s not much, but there is a picture of Clyde Gracia, the man who followed us in England. He is the one the Council was able to identify. And he does have a huge criminal record, ranging from theft to sexual assault to murder.

“I know him,” Richie says, staring at the picture. “He is Imogen’s brother. He—” He scans the whole criminal record, halting at the point where it says that the douche has no known sibling. He is silent for a long time. “She has no brother,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotions.

“Well, we don’t know that for certain,” Dave answers honestly. “But this guy certainly isn’t her brother.” He hands him a photo of Charlie. “That’s the girl they want to kill. And the man there,” he gestures at Dante. “Is her uncle.”

Richie turns around to stare at Dante before going back to looking at the picture of Charlie.

“Her parents were killed,” Dave continues. “She grew up in foster care until we found her.” When Richie stays quiet, Dave pushes further. “I’m not sure you understand,” Dave says. “But you could have been the reason for her to get killed. You are a human; that’s why they chose you. You aren’t going to attract any attention, and you don’t have a criminal record yet.” He grabs the photo of Clyde again and shows it to Richie. “He does, and I assume everyone in their group does too.” He points at a particular part of the file. “Do you see what it says here?”

“Homicide,” Richie says before jumping up all of a sudden. “Fuck, fuck,” he blurts out, pacing around the room. “I feel sick, I feel sick.”

Dave leans forward to look at Dante. “I think he is serious.”

“No way,” Dante mutters, standing up and grabbing Richie by his arm to pull him out of the room. A few minutes later they return. Richie looks as white as a sheet. “Please don’t kill me,” he begs. “I didn’t know any of that.”