Page 25 of Snag (Conduit #2)

I have a hazy recollection of already proving my diplomatic immunity to some Authority agent in the last seventy-two hours, so these two shouldn’t be attempting to approach me at all.

But then, they shouldn’t have been parked on the edge of my estate either.

Based on Rought’s reaction, I have Reck to thank for that illegal surveillance.

“Ms. Gage?” Wilson loosely clasps her hands in front of her. It’s combat mage shorthand for ‘I come in peace’— as if I didn’t already know she keeps her wand, through which she channels essence, up her sleeve. “We’d appreciate a moment of your time.”

Shaw, shoulder to shoulder with his partner, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, rucking up his suit jacket and slumping slightly to seem more casual, more approachable. As if he didn’t try to shoot me and the teens under my protection last night.

I have the weirdest urge to put both of them in their place.

It’s completely childish of me because I don’t wield power like that. It’s not my place to punish people for sheer stupidity. I simply step in when the universe directs me to do so.

Unless I’m rescuing a pastel-rainbow-haired young awry from asshole bikers. Then I apparently do a bit of fate-twisting all on my own. And pay for it.

“Yeah,” Shaw says, grinning widely and laying on some accent— New England, maybe— that I didn’t catch before. Presumably because I’ve simply ignored him every other time he’s spoken. “We can be friends, right?”

Energy shifts behind me, and though I’m expecting Rought and maybe Reck, it’s Cayley and Doc Z who step around the building, moving with that almost lazy shifter swiftness until they’re flanking me.

Doc Z is in her full Outcast cut. Strawberry-blond hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, generous curves swathed in leather.

Cayley’s wearing her envy-inducing leather jacket with all its kinky merit badges.

I catch sight of the large badge on her shoulder, taking a moment to discern the intricate text-based design.

Fuck the Authority . It looks brand new.

I wouldn’t mind that printed on an oversized hoodie, and I never wear printed clothing. I’m also supposed to maintain a certain level of neutrality, so …

“Ugh,” Cay says, curling her lip at the Authority agents. “There goes my appetite.”

Shaw narrows his eyes, shoulders tensing. “This has nothing to do with you, kitsune.” He uses Cay’s beast designation like it’s an insult. Which is an odd take for another canine shifter.

Cay huffs, then makes a show of angling her body toward me — thereby dismissing the agents. “We’ve been tasked to pick up dinner.”

“And me?” I ask, slightly amused. Grinder, or maybe Rath, assigned Cay to watch over me.

Though it’s possible that’s more for the Outcast MC’s safety than my own.

I’m still not certain that Cay is officially patched to the club, as she doesn’t wear the cut.

Though the Outcast is her pack alpha, maybe the kitsune is more valuable to the Outcast as a freelancer.

“Any time, any place,” Cay all but purrs. “Just give me a wink, and I’ll make it worth your while. Or, more accurately, worth your wild. Emphasis on the wild.”

“I’m completely certain I couldn’t handle you, Cay,” I say, laughing at her wordplay.

Doc Z breaks her stoic silence, though not her focus on the Authority agents, to murmur to me, “The Outcast has called a meeting with his lieutenants. Rath pulled me off patrol, so I circled around to meet up with you.”

Rought, Rath, and Grinder are all Outcast lieutenants, but I don’t know how many others there might be.

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Rought.

Got called in. Surprised it took this long. I’ll meet you back at the estate? Text me if you need anything.

“We discussed me not needing a bodyguard, right?” I ask rhetorically.

Cay and Doc Z both ignore me.

As expected.

Not bothering to argue my point, since getting back to the estate to check on Precious and waiting for the next Bellamy sighting is where I should be focused, I start toward Rought’s truck.

“We would all benefit from a conversation,” Wilson says. Her hands are no longer folded in front of her, but she hasn’t pulled her wand yet. Her gaze flicks between me and the two Outcast shifters. “All of us. ”

“Is that a threat?” Cay asks, almost jovially. “Because I’d love a reason to kick your ass over the border.”

“You don’t have that kind of authorization, bitch.” Shaw’s already ruddy cheeks flush. “Just because you occasionally ride Guerra’s dick doesn’t mean —”

“That’s not a thing,” Cay says quickly, glancing at me.

“None of my business,” I say steadily, though I’m not sure which Guerra is being referred to. Reck, most likely, since Shaw is his agent.

Wilson throws Shaw a quelling look. Her gaze is still cold, deadened, but apparently she’s not so willing to ignore what little bit of policy the Authority actually follows.

Specifically, that its agents can’t operate in claimed territory — in this case, Outcast territory — without oversight by the local powers.

Cay might not be patched into the Club, but Doc Z is.

It’s an easy guess that the agents are using Reck’s familial connections to the Outcast as a loophole and following his orders to surveil me.

“Ms. Gage.” Wilson tries again as I reach for the driver’s-side door handle of the truck.

Energy shifts around me. I pause, just for a moment, to look around the parking lot.

Strands of life force are suddenly woven all around me, threading through and around Cay and Doc Z, then to a lesser degree around Wilson and Shaw.

I focus on the Authority agents.

They instantly scramble back from me, reaching for weapons. Their lines of fate are blunted. Sickly, even. And short —

Cay steps in front of me, yanking the truck door open, then practically picking me up and tossing me into the cab. She climbs into the truck after me, forcing me farther over on the seat and wedging me against Doc Z, who has somehow already entered on the passenger side.

Shifters just move that fast, especially while I’m distracted.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my sight, but the lines of Cay’s and Doc Z’s life force are abundant, distractingly filling the cab of the truck.

“Don’t test me, assholes,” Cay snarls out the door right before she slams it shut and presses the start button. The keys must be somewhere in the console.

Wilson has her phone to her ear. Her deadened gaze is riveted to us as Cay hits the accelerator and peels out of the parking lot.

Doc Z throws her arm across my chest. “Slow the fuck down, Cay!”

“I’m ready to tear their throats out,” Cay seethes, clenching the steering wheel as she speeds up the main road away from the motel. “Would you prefer that?”

“That would be … messy,” Doc Z says cautiously, lowering her arm. Her gaze is fixed to the side-view mirror.

“Exactly!” Cay snaps.

Silence falls in the cab. I should probably be angry at being moved without permission, but I’m still a little discombobulated.

Plus, I’m used to being suddenly moved, to a certain extent. Though usually it’s the universe doing the moving. The energy roiling off Cay gradually quiets. Doc Z is as steady as ever, though she shifts her attention from the side mirror to the back window.

I blink away the last of the steadily fading threads twined around us. I experienced a similar visual overlay, for lack of a better way to put it, when walking through Cannon Beach with Grinder. I’m not certain that it means anything at all. Other than how much I need a good nap.

“So we aren’t picking up dinner?” I ask.

“Fuck!” Cay shouts.

“We’ll get it delivered,” Doc Z says mildly.

“It’ll be cold,” Cay grumbles.

“They aren’t following us.” Doc Z shifts, facing forward again.

I laugh. “They know where I live.”

Neither of the shifters finds me amusing.

I remember to send a text back to Rought, recognizing that checking in, that communication, is something regular people do when in a relationship. As new as all of this is for me, if not for him.

Heading back to the estate.

Then I text Coda. Bellamy?

Coda sends me a series of icons that I can’t decipher except that I think it might be the hacker’s version of, I’m on it, fuck the fuck off .

Cay glances down at my phone, then up at the road, worrying her lip. “So … it’s not a thing?” she asks tentatively. “That I used to fuck Reck? On occasion.”

“It’s not a thing,” I say, ignoring a pinch of something in my gut. I’m probably just hungry. Breakfast might have turned into early lunch, but getting antsy partway through meant I missed out on most of it.

“But all three of the brothers …” Doc Z murmurs quietly. “All three are your mates?”

I let that question linger between us for a moment, but not because I’m uncomfortable or upset. I’m not certain what claims might be pending or what expectations come with —

“Because …” Doc Z rushes to fill the silence. “I’m … I’ve fucked Rath. And I thought … I thought …”

“Okay.” My stomach really sours now. I’m an adult. I’m not possessive. Or jealous. Though I’ve never had a committed relationship, or any sort of relationship, for that matter. “That’s not my business either.”

“So … you’re not claiming them?” Cay asks. “You’d be fine with Rath fucking Zephyr?”

“Hey,” Doc Z huffs. “Don’t put yourself outside of this, Cay.”

The kitsune shifter shrugs. “I didn’t follow Reck across the continent, then pledge the Outcast when I could have become a snooty, rich-as-fuck surgeon —”

“None of this is my business,” I say sharply.

Both Cay and Doc Z flinch away from me. “I’ve had something stolen from me, stripped from me.

And I didn’t even know it. All four of us have.

I don’t … I don’t judge anything that has happened in the in-between.

And I can’t predict what will happen moving forward. ”

Cay shares a glance with Doc Z over my head. Then they let the subject drop.

We drive in silence for easily ten minutes, until the edge of the estate comes into view. I finally turn toward Doc Z, facing the confrontation I’ve managed to avoid all day.

Coward that I am, I never have to deal with the aftermath of my actions. Other than occasionally dying, of course.

“I’m sorry about Kris,” I say, steady and firm. “I should have … I made a choice, and it ended with her death.”

“I got your note,” Doc Z says, swallowing whatever emotion — sadness, anger, grief, disbelief — seems as if it wants to clog her throat. “I didn’t understand it until a few hours ago. ”

It takes me a moment to remember the note I left Doc in the motel. A thank you for the mage energy brews she’d given me, which twisted into a knowing , channeled through me but not for me to necessarily understand.

“ Choice, not fate, not love or devotion, twists the path,” Doc murmurs as she tugs a crumpled piece of paper from her jacket pocket and smooths it over her knee.

“ And not always in the way intended.” Head bowed, she takes a deep, shaky breath.

“You tried to take Kris with you, when you ran with Precious and DeVille. I knew then. I could feel it, instantly. A heavy doom weighted in my heart. I tried to twist the path back, by bringing her to you … but Kris made her own choices.”

“Bellamy made those choices,” I say.

Doc Z nods, then carefully folds the note and tucks it back in her pocket.

Cay pulls onto the estate drive.

We remain quiet all the way into the house, stuck in our own heads. And I don’t think about the oddity, the weird synergy, of being flanked by these two women, and of the three brothers we’re all linked to.

One for each of us … that would be the more generally acceptable sexual pairing.

If all three didn’t belong to me.