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15

WREN

I paced back and forth in my tiny apartment. I’d taken the world’s quickest shower in case I needed to run. That’s what I should do: run fast and far. But thinking about that had my heart clenching.

Somehow, the people of Crescent Creek had wormed their way into my heart in only a month. Clyde, with his gruff, grandfatherly affection and expert fight training. Dina, with her no-bullshit help and way of making me feel a part of something. Even Franco and Juan at the gym. It was more belonging than I’d had in a long time.

I worried the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out the best path forward. As much as The Diablos had a ruthless reputation, I knew they also used it for good. They’d been the ones to rescue Hayden when she was in a bad situation all those years ago, stepping in to help when no one else could.

That was a mark in the stay column. Another was that running would only prove I had something to hide, and with hunters like these men, that was never a good idea.

I crossed to my secret floorboard and pried it up, pulling out my shoebox. I didn’t reach for the cash or the IDs—none of my typical self-soothing methods. Instead, I pulled out the tablet and powered it on.

It had been set up by a hacker I’d had to pay far too much money and had things like firewalls, false IP addresses, and other technical stuff I didn’t have the first clue about. But the woman had assured me that no one could trace the activity on it. And that was exactly what I needed right now.

My fingers drummed on my thigh as I waited for the thing to boot up. It was several years old, and I knew I’d have to replace it soon, which would cut into my cash reserves.

Yet another reason to stay. The steal I was getting on this apartment and the fair wages Dina paid made for an ideal setup. As long as I could convince the five nosy wolves in Crescent Creek that I was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

The tablet finally struggled to life, and I tapped on the internet browser icon. That was slow, too, taking its sweet time to load. Finally, I was able to type in the address of my old pack’s domain.

The thing about being a submissive, especially one regularly used as a punching bag, was that you got good at being quiet. Between that and the fact that people had rarely noticed me, I saw things they didn’t want me to.

And I stashed those little nuggets of information away, holding them close. Things like the head enforcer’s login and password to the system housing the pack’s movements. My father collected wolves like trophies. His most prized possessions were those with the most unique gifts.

Yet another reason it had been so important for me to hide my empathic gift from him. If he’d known about it, he would’ve bled me dry in a matter of months.

But Bastian also collected wolves—for sheer numbers alone—just to exert his dominance. But the size of his pack meant it was difficult to keep track of the members and their assignments.

He’d thought he was so smart devising a system like this one. He even forced his wolves to be implanted with GPS trackers so he could track their movements. But what he didn’t realize was that he’d also given me what I needed to stay safe.

I clicked on the tab that read Pack Leadership . Of course, my father didn’t have himself chipped; that was too beneath him as the alpha. But I knew he never traveled alone. With his power, he’d gotten lazy. His brutal vindictiveness had protected him, but he wasn’t actually strong. So, he always took at least four of his top enforcers with him, and usually his beta, as well.

I went through each of them, systematically checking their current location and movements for the past week. It took forever, but I breathed a little easier each time I saw they were nowhere near Crescent Creek, Colorado.

Finally, I clicked on the beta. A man possibly more evil than Bastian. Marcelle and my father spurred on each other’s enjoyment of cruelty and suffering. Honestly, I wasn’t sure who terrified me more.

Just tapping my finger on his name had my hand trembling, memories rising of the pain he’d inflicted on me in my father’s quest to make me stronger and more dominant. Marcelle wasn’t outside New Orleans like the rest of the pack. He was in New York. The Lower East Side specifically.

That knowledge had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. He was in a place I’d lived six years ago. I tried my best to keep my breathing even, not to spiral into a panic. New York was the largest city in the world. There could be countless reasons Marcelle was there.

But fear still dug in its icy claws. I dropped the tablet to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest. I’d done so much to battle back the fear and equip myself in case Bastian and his men ever found me. But it wasn’t enough.

Because to have a prayer of escaping my father’s clutches, I’d need an army at my back. And despite my flickers of belonging in Crescent Creek, these people didn’t know me. Not really.

I was still totally and completely alone.