Page 32 of All That We Keep (Always Yours #3)
Maceo
The gala is extravagant in a way that makes my skin crawl.
Crystal chandeliers and marble floors speak of the filthy rich, and everywhere I look there are people dressed in designer clothes worth more than most people's cars.
The kind of wealth on display here isn't just money - it's generational power, the type that buys silence and influence in equal measure.
I recognize far too many faces in the crowd, people I've worked for as their lawyer over the years.
Entitled pricks who treated me like expensive furniture, there to be used when needed and ignored otherwise.
People who paid me well to clean up their messes and never once treated me like a human being.
"Maceo, haven't seen you in a while," comes a voice from behind me, and I turn to see Harrison Blackwell approaching with that fake smile I remember all too well.
He's a real estate mogul who once had came to me to cover up a sexual harassment scandal that should have destroyed his career. I turned down the case but shuffled him off to a contact who ended up getting it thrown out. In Harrison’s book, that meant I was a valuable asset.
"Harrison," I reply, my jaw already clenching with tension.
"Heard you got yourself packed up," he continues with that condescending tone that always made me want to punch him. "Good for you. Though I have to say, interesting choice of company tonight."
His eyes drift meaningfully toward Blake, who's attached to my side and nervously picking at the appetizers on his plate.
My Delta mate has been on edge since we arrived, his scent sharp with anxiety despite the calm facade he's maintaining.
It kind of makes me want to call all of this off and drag him home and wrap him up in that colorful nest but I keep my composure.
"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.
I catch 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 just who could 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.
"This was a fucking setup," I hiss, pulling out my phone to call Grayson and Luca.
"We need to get home immediately." The call goes straight to voicemail.
I try again with the same result. "They're not answering," I say, panic starting to claw at my throat.
"Luther, we have to go. This whole thing is a trap. "
Luther's expression shifts as he processes what I'm telling him, and then his face goes white. I almost ask him what’s wrong when I feel a surge of fear through the bond, emotions mixed with pain and pure terror, Blake’s eyes widening as he clutches my hand.
Tears fill his eyes as he looks up at me.
“What is wrong with my Omega? Why does he feel like that? Grayson !”
This is so fucking bad.
Luther weaves us through the crowds and I all but pick Blake up as we hurry toward the car. “I found a fucking trap door in the bathroom but the letter in the trash had Ward’s name on it. He owns the fucking house, Luther.”
Anger surges through the bond, overshadowing the fear and pain I’m getting from Luca and Grayson. “Call again, Maceo. Keep fucking calling.”