Page 82 of Faith and Fury

I’m surprised by how quickly he softens, staring at my hands like he’s hypnotized.

“I mean it,” he says, hoarsely. “I’ll kill him.”

I sign again, Jaxon.

He growls, a hint of arousal pushing out of his scent. My inner omega delights at his reaction, making a mental note: alpha likes it when I say his name.

“You, uh—” Micah clears his throat. “You mentioned the ringleaders took stimulants. Were the guards the same?”

I shake my head no. HAD TO STAY SHARP.

Jaxon smirks. “You guys keep them on their toes?”

PROS, NO. ROOKIES, YES.

Neither of them need to ask why this is the case. I’ve already explained: the longer you’re in the ring, the clearer it becomes there’s only one way out—and that’s to win.

WITH AXE GONE, I try to explain, THE R’LEADERS WILL STRUGGLE. THEY CAN’T DO SHIT WITHOUT THE GUARDS. I glance up meaningfully. AXE CONTROLLED THE GUARDS.

Jaxon’s brow furrows. “What’re you saying, omega?”

“They’re vulnerable,” Micah realizes. “Not only have we captured half of their guards, plus their lower-ranking leaders, but now we have the guard. The one the ringleaders rely on.”

I nod. EITHER THEY HIRE MORE GUARDS, OR—

“Or they get their hands dirty,” Jaxon says. “For once.”

DESPERATE TIMES.

“Desperate measures.” Jaxon stands, getting excited. “You’re right—we gotta hit them hard. And soon. It has to be soon, while they’re scrambling.”

That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to Caleb. A single scouting party isn’t nearly enough. We need the entire NCPD flooding the tunnels. Raids on every abandoned property with a cellar or basement in the city limits. No-one is getting away this time.

Least of all my mate.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Micah says, shooting me an apologetic look when I snarl. “The RDF already knows the arena’s in shambles. Putting extra pressure on could be dangerous, especially if the ringleaders feel they’re losing control of the rogues.”

Jaxon scowls. “What, you think they’ll hurt the rogues?”

NO, I write. My inner omega is defiant. FANG WOULD NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN.

Jaxon and Micah share a nervous look. They always get a little touchy when Fang comes up, like they’re not sure what to say. Or maybe they’re just scared of setting me off.

Micah rubs my thigh. “What you’ve told us is great. Really great. I’m sure Jaxon will pass it on to HQ first thing tomorrow.” He looks at Jax, who nods affirmatively. “Now, I really need you to take your meds. Can you do that for me?”

Somehow I feel exhausted, as if I’ve been talking for hours, and yet I’ve barely touched the surface of what I want to say. I scowl. THERE’S MORE.

“And we’re here to listen,” Micah assures me. “But first …” He plucks the pill bottle off the coffee table. “Please?”

I want to insist. Bare my teeth if I have to. And maybe they’d oblige … but is that really how I want to win this? By fighting them?

Only a couple weeks ago, the answer to that would’ve been why the fuck not?

Yet, now, I find myself accepting the pills and swallowing them down. Micah smiles. Jaxon pulls me into his lap, purring. He hands me a sandwich, “Eat this. Don’t want you getting sick.” He smirks. “Can’t fight if you’re sick.”

Alpha makes a good point, my inner omega comments.

I keep writing between bites—giving them specifics on when the guards changed shifts, how they chose the matchups, protocols for when rogues got sick, or hurt, or worse. So much information that my palm gets smudged with ink, and by the end of it, I’m running out of paper.

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