Page 171 of Broken Bonds

She offers Todd a smile and a hug, and he accepts, and she whispers something to him, too. His smile beams as she pats his back the way she did Mal.

When she slips her sandals back on I notice every toenail is painted a completely different color. Then she returns to us. “Okay. I’m good. Let’s go.”

She heads toward the truck. Morning gives me a silent shrug before following.

I walk over to Todd and Mal. “Is everything okay?”

They’re both smiling. “Yeah,” Todd says. “Everything’s perfect. We can talk later when we don’t have Typhoon Iris underfoot.”

I give them hugs, duck inside to quickly say hi to Caleb and Iris—because I would receive a ration of shit from her if I didn’t since she’s basically a bonus mom to me, meaning I’d also receive a ration of shit from Dad and Pops because she’d yell at them to yell at me for not saying hi—and return to the truck.

Alizée now wears a dark pair of sunglasses that completely conceal her eyes.

“Was that…good?” I ask.

She nods. “He’s fine. Not a hint. But let me tell you something.”

She looks at me and her tone chills me—literally—to the bone. “You let anything happen to that kid and I will personally make what I did to the fucker who killed my parents look like a toddler’s birthday party.”

In the backseat, Morning chuckles. “Oooh, the kid just landed himself a fairy godmother.”

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Jax

Surprise!

Our next stop is the main guard house, where I talk with Kennedy and introduce him to Morning and Alizée. He gets their information and gives Morning a sticker for his car so he won’t have to stop for the gate. As more outsiders arrive to help guard the refugees, they’ll also receive stickers and be entered into our system.

Chaz is at the community center with several volunteers, and they’re working on an action plan. Morning and Alizée spend a few minutes talking with him, and I sense she’s satisfied with him and his team just from her body language.

I walk them through the building and even turn out the lights so she can see how we’ve light-proofed it. I also point out how we’ve set up PVC frames to cover with tarps and place cots inside of, as an added layer of safety while they’re sleeping.

“What about the entryways?” she asks.

“For the front we’ll set up a large curtained area, so we can load in supplies more easily.” I point it out, the tape on the floor. “And a second layer of curtains here. We’ll conduct daylight tests before they arrive. Those should be up by tomorrow night.”

“And the other entrances?” she asks.

I walk her around and show her on my phone the plywood “booths” already being built off-site to transport there and create safe, curtained foyers. “But no one should be using those exits unless it’s an emergency,” I add. “Entry will be controlled through the front door.”

She nods. “I feel really good about this,” she says to Morning. Then she unshoulders her backpack, which I figured was her purse, and she begins removing items.

“She’ll place some preliminary wards,” Morning explains. “Won’t take her long. A crew will arrive before the first load of refugees to lay down more wards not only here, but around the entire perimeter of the compound. Let’s talk outside.”

I follow, and we step away from the others to talk. “I want you to know,” Morning whispers, “that everyone is being told how extraordinary your pack is for undertaking this.”

“We’re not doing this for fame or credit. I prefer we stay under everyone’s radar.”

“I meant your rep among the other organizers. It’s no exaggeration to say you’ve earned the respect of dozens of people who’ve never met you. If your pack ever needs help, all you need to do is ask, and you’ll have more than you can handle.”

It’s hot out here, even in the shade, and sweat trickles down the back of my neck. “Helping is the right thing to do,” I say. “This isn’t a few hundred years ago, when we avoided each other. Survival means working together.”

“Absolutely correct.” He looks around. “Your father picked good land. Once it’s safe for the refugees to leave, we may ask him to help them find a new location for their nest. The Chicago nest might, too.”

“They won’t return to their old nests?”

The normally placid man looks grim. “Security, for starters. In Memphis, the children especially were too traumatized by what happened. Many of them lost at least one parent, and several of them lost both.”