“They'll keep their mouths shut if they want to avoid lawsuits for interfering with an open case.”
And they would. I'd already had multiple run-ins with Mark Tackle, the editor of The Beacon, for instigating the horrific events that happened over Mabon and Samhain just over four months ago. By releasing pertinent information about the Movement cases we were dealing with last year, when local girls were going missing left and right, they essentially fed every advantage we had to the leader, Rayner, and kept us one step behind.
My hands were tied in this situation. Mayor Douglas made it a daily task to remind me not to share the most recent events with anyone who didn't absolutely have to know about them.
I had suspicions that Stewart was involved with Rayner's plans from the start, but couldn't call him out on it without hard proof. Which, of course, I didn't have. The Movement Members kept their mouths sewn shut about it all, and aside from the few I'd seen participating in their sick ritual with the Graves girl, there weren't many others that I could pin down and hold accountable.
Storie Graves had only been here for a couple of months when it happened and was hardly a good resource to use for identifying those who took part. She'd been preoccupied with other things—like recovering from almost being burned alive. Nearly every person she named had a solid alibi when they were brought into the station and questioned, so I had no choice but to let them go.
The day I found her little sedan winding through the singular road that led to Beacon's Grove, I thought I'd somehow traveled through time. She was nearly identical to her aunt—and my first love—Asher Graves. Once I got over the initial shock, I realized that her presence in our town meant the worst had happened.
I implored her to leave. To turn her car around and drive away before anyone knew she'd come so close to the very people her family gave their lives to protect her from. These people weren't anyone she wanted to mess with. But a quick dip into her mind—a small gift I’d been given from the gods for some reason—proved she wouldn't listen, so I gave her a warning and sent her to the only people I knew would take care of her.
Storie's parents, Mason and Bonnie, had been my best friends growing up. I was closer to them and Asher, Mason's little sister, than I was to my own family at the time. Born on the wrong side of town to an abusive, alcoholic father and a mother who couldn't even protect herself, let alone her kids, I was willing to do anything to find a way out. Fate put the Graves in my path, and by some miracle, they were willing to see past my address and family's status and accepted me as their own.
Well, I thought they had.
Until Storie was born, and they had to do what was right for their family—their blood family.
I wasn't jealous of Storie, though. In fact, I understood. As soon as we found out Bonnie was pregnant, I felt a protective connection to her. I even tried to help them. Practically begged Asher to let me get in the car when they packed their bags and loaded it up. Emotions were running high, and we were all still in shock over Bonnie's death at Rayner's hands hours before. Our own friend had betrayed us beyond belief, and we were left reeling.
When I couldn't convince them to let me go with them, I promised I'd be close behind. That was the only way they were able to get rid of me that day and I think even then, I knew it was a lie.
Asher and Mason had to do what was best for Storie, and that meant cutting off all ties to Beacon Grove.
Which was why seeing her face had my heart ripping apart into a million pieces. It was like I had lost Asher all over again. Even through all the years of no contact after she left, and the miles I drove to find her, I still held onto hope that we would find our way back to one another in the end. But then Storie confirmed her death, and I had no idea what to do.
All I knew was that I had to make their deaths mean something, and that masculine urge to protect flared up again. I watched her from afar, keeping tabs on everything Rayner and the Movement did. But he knew I'd be watching. He threw distractions at me from every angle until I couldn't make any sense of what his next move might be.
The missing girls.
The political rallying.
The black magic.
It was all a way to turn the town against the Quarters—and to stop me from protecting Storie. He had grown a sick obsession with my best friend's daughter, pouring every ounce of hatred and blame for any negative thing that had happened to him into her. And he knew I wasn't going to sit back and watch as he destroyed the last piece of my chosen family.
On the night he tried to kill her, he set up a trap for me. Little breadcrumbs that led to where he was taking all the local girls were left around for me to find, until he left a note on my desk that explained it all. I was given a choice that night; to save Storie, or save the girls. He promised they were all still alive, waiting to be rescued. I had underestimated the power of a Counter, though, and I made the choice that led to the slaughter of innocent lives to save a girl who had the ability to save herself. Now, he was torturing me with the remains of those who didn't, leaving behind gruesome scenes of animal carcasses wearing his victims’ clothing all around town for me to find.
And guaranteeing a long, painful death for himself.