Page 133 of Faith and Fury

Even as Fang takes me into his arms, rubbing himself in my scent, I can’t help but send out a silent plea to Caleb, Jaxon, and Micah. Hell, even to Maverick. I know they’re out there, looking for me—the old alpha confirmed it.

So find me, I urge. Please.

Before it’s too late.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Caleb

Sirena narrows our list of suspects to about forty alphas. Granted, she doesn’t have much to go on—white, male, probably early seventies, with a bank statement somewhere in the millions, and carrying a gold-tipped cane.

“They don’t have a checkbox for ‘gold canes’ in the official records,” she mutters.

I do my best to be patient. We’re asking a lot, and not giving her much time.

But every second Faith is away from us, my alpha becomes a little more unstable.

Thanks to the entire RDF pulling an all-nighter, Jaxon, Delia, and I are knocking on doors by first light.

It’s very rare the white, early-seventies alpha actually answers the door. Normally we’re greeted by a housekeeper, just clocking in for the day. All of whom are shrewd enough not to let us inside without their boss’s permission.

That’s Sirena’s next big task, I think to myself. Search warrants.

My phone has been buzzing incessantly since before we started. It chimes again as we walk away from our third dead-end.

MAVERICK

Anything?

The text thread is filled with the same question about ten times. Every time my answer has been the same. Not yet.

“They’re gonna have a hard time keeping him in that hospital bed,” Jaxon mutters, reading over my shoulder.

“Too bad,” I grunt back. “He’s not cleared for active duty.”

Jaxon just grunts.

Two broken ribs and a monstrous concussion—Maverick would be lucky to get back to work in the next fortnight. Forget the next twenty-four hours.

“You mad at him?” Jaxon asks suddenly.

I scowl. “What?”

“He took her out in public. I know he wasn’t expecting anyone from the ring to have their eye on the suburbs, but obviously … he was wrong.”

To my surprise, it’s Delia who answers, walking behind us. “He got hit by a truck,” she reminds him, blandly. “A truck.”

My packmate pulls away. “I know, it’s just—”

“He also took a bullet for her. In case you’d forgotten.”

It makes sense that she’d defend him—they worked together quite closely, before I roped Maverick into bigger and bigger jobs. And she makes a fair point. If anyone should be proving their commitment to Faith’s safety, it’s not Maverick.

It’s me.

***

I’m surprised to find Micah at headquarters when we get back from our first round of door duty. It was by some miracle I managed to convince him to go home last night to sleep, and yet, judging by his eye bags, he hasn’t gotten a wink.

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