Page 126 of Faith and Fury

“Jax—” Caleb puts a hand on my chest. The rest remains unspoken. This is the best we’re going to get.

The two of us are storming out to the car, wanting to return to headquarters and share what we’ve learned, when he grunts, “You did good in there.”

I stop. “What?”

“The deal. The guarded refuge.” He slams his door. “That was smart.”

Pride tingles deep in my stomach—faint, but familiar. Head alpha is pleased with me. The feeling doesn’t last long before I remember the situation we’re in, and the fact that I’m still fucking furious with him, but it’ll hold me over.

At least, long enough for us to find our omega.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Faith

It’s cold. And damp—the air so thick, I feel like I’m drowning. I don’t recognize the sleek, dark tiles beneath me, or the glowing yellow lights overhead.

The only thing I recognize is his voice.

“Faith. Faith—you with me?”

My eyes flutter all the way open. I sit up too quickly, my vision sloshing around, but then I see him. Feel his arms on me.

Fang, I sign.

Weeks of being away from him come rushing back to me at once. All the sleepless nights. The rage. The desperation.

He looks different from how I last saw him. Those dark, deep-set eyes are weighted with exhaustion. He’ll need a haircut soon—shadowy locks falling over his face.

But everything else is the same. The way his hands tighten when I stir, and the way he curls around me, shielding me, as my heart pounds in my chest. Just being in his presence, I’m so overjoyed that I almost wonder why I didn’t get myself kidnapped sooner.

Then it comes back to me.

Kidnapped.

“Your ankle,” Fang growls. “Did they do that to you?”

I tell him, It happened about a week ago. I fell.

He nods, and my body warms, relishing in the feeling of being understood again.

Are you okay? I sign, urgently. Have you been safe?

“I’m fine.” He looks around. There are no metal bars like I remember. Just a room-full of rogues in dirty tank-tops and underwear, locked behind a hefty door. Empty shelves line the walls, as if we’ve been crammed into a big underground pantry. The rogues— about a dozen of them—take notice of me, watching curiously. Or maybe warily.

“Hey,” one of the alphas butts in, “ask her if she knows where we are.”

Fang snarls. “Give her a minute.”

“A minute?” The alpha seethes. “We’ve been stuck down here for weeks.”

I frown. What about rec time?

Fang sighs. “He’s right—none of us have seen the surface in, well … since you left.”

I don’t know what to say. Rec time, along with showers and regular meals, is critical. The ringleaders need us healthy. They need us alive.

Maybe this is my fault. I’ve spent so much time helping the RDF think of ways to corner the ringleaders—not stopping to consider how that might impact on their prisoners.

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