Page 71 of Pack Obsession

"Motherfuckers," Logan snarls as we watch them haul her outside. The exterior camera catches them tossing her into a black van. No plates, no identifying marks. His fist slams down toward my desk and I barely snatch my laptop out of the way.

"Watch the hardware, you animal. Can't find her with a broken computer."

"We need to—" Logan cuts off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "That van could be anywhere by now."

"Maybe." I pull up another program, fingers dancing across the keys. "But I've got something better than traffic cameras." Multiple windows pop up as I access my tracking system. A map grid of the city materializes, glowing blue in the dim room.

"Remember that shopping trip last week? All those clothes we bought Casey?" I hit the activation sequence, watching data streams flow. "I may have added some insurance. Tiny trackers, waterproof, sewn into the hems and collars. Set and forget until we need them."

Logan stares at me for a long moment before breaking into a fierce grin that transforms his whole face. “You brilliant, paranoid bastard.” He actually hugs me, which is so out of character, I almost laugh despite everything. “Got her location?”

I zoom in on the signal, cross-referencing with city planning maps. “Edge of the city. Looks like an abandoned neighborhood near the old high school. Two, maybe three hours, depending on traffic.” I glance up with what I hope is an innocent expression. “So... wrong time to mention I put trackers in all your clothes, too?”

Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. “All of them?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was for your own good?”

“I’d believe you’re exactly the kind of methodical bastard I want on my team.” He shakes his head, but there’s something like respect in his eyes. Maybe even pride. “We need to move. Now.”

“What about our sleeping giant?”

We both look at Axel, who’s starting to show signs of life—twitching fingers and rapid eye movement. A string of mumbled curses in what might be Ukrainian.

“The antidote’s working, but it’ll take time for his system to fully clear,” Logan says, checking his pupils. “We can’t leave him here, though. He’ll either follow us half-conscious or tear the place apart trying.”

“Back seat it is.” I headed to the basement to gather weapons, Logan on my heels. He pulls out a duffel and begins filling it. “Those are new... actual grenades?”

He doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Never know when you might need some extra persuasion.”

That makes me pause in the middle of assessing a clip.

Ice slides down my spine as I think of Casey in Julian’s hands.

We load Axel into the back of Logan’s SUV like he’s a very large, occasionally mumbling sack of potatoes. His eyes flutter open briefly, unfocused but filled with rage, even through the drugs.

“C’sey?”

“We’re going to get her,” I tell him, buckling him in. “Just try not to puke in Logan’s car.”

“F’ck the car,” Axel slurs, trying to sit up and failing. “Kill’m all.”

“That’s the spirit.” I pat his shoulder. “Just sleep it off first.”

The weapons get stowed under the seats and in hidden compartments—Logan’s vehicle is more heavily modified than mine. As we peel out onto the road, I drive up the heat in the car for Axel as tranquillizers can lower the body temperature, then pull up the tracking program on my tablet, watching Casey’s signal. Still steady. Still in the same location.

“Stay still,” I mutter. “We’re coming.”

Logan’s hands are tight on the steering wheel, a muscle in his jaw jumping. I know he’s blaming himself, thinking of all the ways we could have prevented this.

“Stop it,” I tell him quietly.

“Stop what?”

“The guilt spiral. I can smell it on you. This isn’t on you.”

He barks out a harsh laugh. “Should have known he’d try something like this.”

“We’ll deal with the fallout later.” I check the map again. “Right now, we have a rescue to plan. And if that sadistic fuck has hurt her...”

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