Strays

Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

A handful of months had passed since the day I'd sworn I was done following Sebastien's Ryder's orders.

I'd taken off with Theo, putting as much physical distance between us as possible and cutting him out of my life the way a hungry wolf might gnaw off their own leg in the dead of winter rather than risk starvation. And even when every cell in my body revolted at the idea of ditching him, of abandoning the only home – the only family – I'd ever truly had... deep down, I'd known it was something I had to do.

Like he'd always said: survival came first. Survival had to come first.

And yet, here I was: surging to my feet the second he said, "Jump!", the months peeling away until it felt as though I was caught firmly beneath his thumb once more, ready to come to heel.

I swallowed back a mouthful of self-contempt as I reached for one of the sofa cushions, jerking back the zip with one finger and flipping it upside down. Aside from a few flecks of foam, nothing came spilling out. I threw it back down on the sofa with a sigh and reached for the next one.

Come on, Michael, where is it?

I yanked back the zip and flipped it over, and the second I shook it roughly, a small key dropped from the case and clattered across the floor. It was so old now that the metal had begun to rust, glinting red in the moonlight streaming through the window on the ceiling.

Sebastien used to keep it on a chain around his neck, too paranoid to ever risk hiding it away somewhere. But Michael and I had played by different rules. Growing up in a pack full of lycan teenagers with little money or few possessions of their own, thievery had been rampant and finding the most innocuous hiding places had become a game of sorts. Most of the others had found nooks and crannies in whatever room they had for the month; under the floorboards, down the back of a wardrobe, buried in old socks and loose bedding. But I'd always found it easier to hide things in plain sight.

And just look at where that got you with Theo.

I scowled and reached for the key, wincing as the remaining stitches in my back pulled. I could almost hear Michael in the back of my head, growling at me to change, to force my skin to scab over faster, but I ignored him, the knot of contempt in my stomach growing with each step I took toward the filing cabinet.

Because I knew he'd hate me for this.

I knew it in my bones the way I knew it would kill me if I didn't.

Sliding the key into the lock, I flicked my wrist to the right and the top drawer sprang open. A strange feeling pervaded my chest as I swept a cursory look over the files within; something like sadness. Like pain. I'd half-expected to find them thrown into a haphazard pile like the clothes in our bedroom, but instead I was confronted with something achingly familiar, from the strict alphabetical organisation to the attention to detail on each tab. The only obvious difference was the jerky slant of Michael's handwriting.

Ignoring the haunted feeling that snaked through me, I concentrated on flipping through each file in search of the name I knew I'd find inside.

GALLAGHER, ASH; SW ALPHA

I yanked the file from the drawer, one elbow propped on top of the filing cabinet as I scanned through the surveillance documents inside. Each note was accompanied by photographic evidence, outlining the size and territory of Ash's pack, along with an approximate head count and detailed fact sheets about Ash's key enforcers.

I flicked through each page with a sense of growing unease. There were details about his operations, from where he sourced most of the food he needed to feed his army to the channels he used to gain weapons and top up his argentiserum supply.