Page 112 of Beautifully Wounded

“Are you sure you’re not child number nine?” I ask, trying to cover up my swift mood change at the thought of my Angel being attracted to my mate. “Who was born first? You or Fallon?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I was born before my twin sister, so that makes me child number fucking eight.”

I snicker,already knowing it pisses him off when there’s any mention that his twin sister, Fallon, is older than him.

“Sarg. Comms cupboard seems okay, and the cameras are intact.” Murf advises as he nears, and I glance at Patrick.

He was right. The problem isn’t here, it’s online.

“So that means someone else has control over our system?” Kendrick asks Patrick, coming to the same conclusion as me, and Patrick shrugs.

“Maybe. I’m not IT, so I have no idea about that.”

“You have Lewy working on it?” Conrad asks me and I nod.

“If there’s something to be found, then he’ll find it.”

“Would whatever it is be blocking our phone signals as well?” Scooter asks and I frown.

“I have no fucking idea.”

All of a sudden, my phone starts ringing, scaring the fuck out of most of us since we were just speaking of the lack of signal.

“Speak,” I bark, already knowing it’s Lewy and putting him on speaker.

“Sarg, I’ve got control back, and everything looks fine at all warehouses except for one.”

My eyes dart to JD and he instantly stiffens.

“Which one?” I snap.

“Warehouse four. I have access again, but the cameras are showing as offline, which means they’ve been disconnected on location.”

“Fuck,” Conrad mutters, taking his phone out before texting someone.

Fuck is right. Warehouse four is where the bulk of our medical supplies are kept.

“Thanks Lewy. I want a report on what happened and a contingency plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” I order.

“Yes, Sarg,” he says warily, knowing this breach reflects on him and his team as the ones to set up our online security.

As soon as I hang up, I try to conference call all leaders from each van, to give them a quick rundown on what’s happened here, but one van won’t respond.

Van five.

To the other responding vans, I give them the details we know, only to find out that they had similar experiences at their locations, too. The real concern is that van five, the one that was tasked to check warehouse four, isn’t responding.

“Everyone rendezvous at warehouse four. Stay on high alert and approach with caution,” I order, and after agreeing, all locations disconnect except for van one.

“Ringo, am I on speaker?” Smitty asks.

“No,” I say, stepping away from the others, like that will somehow ensure no one can hear, even though he’s not on speaker.

“How do you read Kendrick?” Smitty asks, and I sigh, turning to face the Marx men, a couple on their phones barking orders, while the others talk in hushed tones.

“He was alright until we found out warehouse four is still unreachable.”

“Dammit. Why do I get the feeling we have been sent on a wild goose chase?” Smitty asks.

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