Page 14 of Jasper

7

JASPER

Dinner with my family is always a mix of chaos and comfort. When we were recruited to The Elite Team, we moved up to this mountain and made this place our home. Our guardian and handler, Deke Black, set dinner time at six o’clock every single night and made it clear that we were expected to be at the table on time, no excuses. The only time one of us didn’t make it to dinner was if we were gone from The Ranch on a mission. And it’s been like that ever since. It’s time for bonding while also experiencing something traditional families often take for granted.

The enormous table groans under the weight of plates piled high with meat, potatoes, vegetables, and fresh-baked bread. The smell of grilled steak mingles with the sweet scent of steamed carrots, and yet despite it being my favorite meal, I couldn’t care less about the food in front of me.

I’m beyond exhausted. I haven’t seen Ariana in days, and I haven’t slept a wink because of it. Ever since the barista told me she thinks Ariana is homeless, I’ve been worrying. And I’m nearly on the verge of snapping. Thankfully, my family is pretty muchly ignoring me and my foul mood. The perks of all of us being a bit fucked up. We all deal with each other’s issues and still love one another.

Ember is perched on Cage’s lap, and the bastard’s feeding her bite by bite, wiping sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. She’s all soft smiles and flushed cheeks with a pacifier hanging from a clip attached to her shirt that has a damn dragon printed on it. She’s completely oblivious to the way Cage’s free hand rests on her thigh, possessive as hell. The asshole is obsessed. If it were anyone else, I’d say it’s unhealthy, but Cage wouldn’t settle for anything less than pure, unhealthy, red-flag obsession. And honestly, fucking same.

Across the table, Rowie pokes at her carrots, making a face, while Theo mutters something low and encouraging, nudging her fork with his pinky. She wrinkles her nose but relents, finally taking a bite with a huff. When Theo whispers something only she can hear, she beams and takes another bite. I don’t know how he does it, but out of all of us brothers, he can get Rowie to eat her vegetables nine times out of ten. If it were any of us others, she’d probably tell us to buzz off or be having a full-on meltdown right now.

Cassian and Ghost are debating something about gun calibers while Dom nods along. Gunner and Koda discuss the latest on the group of terrorists they’ve been watching. Elias leans back in his chair, cradling a beer.

“So, I was riding my quad out on the trails today,” Elias says to no one in particular.

Some of the chatter dies down as several of us turn their attention toward him.

“Was out around the West side of the property. Spotted an old camper tucked in the woods, just at the perimeter. Right outside our surveillance range. Real classy setup too—curtains are pink. And the car hitched to it has a bumper sticker that says, ‘Pink Hair, Don’t Care.’” Elias chuckles, shaking his head.

My stomach tightens, and every muscle in my body tightens to the point of pain. I sit up straighter.

Fuck.

Ariana.

“Give me the coordinates,” I demand, voice flat, eyes locked on Elias as I rise to my feet, suddenly as alert as ever.

It doesn’t matter how tired I am; when it comes to a job, I can go weeks without sleep and still function perfectly fine. And while Ariana isn’t a job, this is just as important. Maybe even more. Because it’s goddamn twenty-eight degrees out tonight and no one should be living in a camper in that kind of temperature.

He doesn’t even blink. We all know each other well enough that they can tell that now isn’t the time for questions. Elias pulls out his phone and rattles off the numbers. I’m out of my seat before he’s finished, grabbing my jacket off the chair.

“Need backup?” Theo calls after me.

“Not yet. I’ll let you know,” I yell back.

I don’t bother explaining myself as I barrel out the door, keys in hand. The drive down the mountain is hell, mud splattering up the sides of the truck as I cut through one of the dense, man-made trails. My headlights carve through the darkness, but it’s the coordinates replaying in my mind that keep me pushing forward.

Finally, I spot it. A beat-up camper half-concealed by overgrown brush is literallyyardsoutside of our surveillance perimeter. If she had parked it any closer, we would have seen it the second she pulled up. I would have gotten her out of the fucking cold instead of her staying out here for God only knows how long.

My knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, I’m surprised it’s still attached to my truck. As I slow, I stare at the shitty camper, my anger rising by the second.

I finally brake and kill the engine, then grab my flashlight. The thing looks like it’s been dragged out of a 1970s nightmare movie. The paint’s peeling, the tires are mismatched, and the whole setup leans to one side like it’s given up on life. And the car it’s attached to. I don’t even want to look at that wreck for too long because I might end up setting it on fire to get rid of it.

Rage coils tight in my chest. What the fuck is she thinking, living in this piece of shit? I yank the door open without hesitation, stepping inside. It’s colder than I expected, like the heater gave out ages ago. I sweep the flashlight over the space—tiny, cluttered, and too damn quiet. My pulse hammers in my ears as I realize she’s not here.

Something nudges my boot, and I glance down to see her cat—a scruffy little thing with barely any fur—pawing at a bin. The poor animal looks like it went through a shredder and barely made it out alive. Is this thing her pet? Because I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s rabid.

When it rubs against the bin again, I squat down and pull it out, flipping the lid. Plastic ponies. A whole bin full of them. I let out a rough curse, shoving the lid back on and setting it aside.

Fuck.

I rise and look at the lumpy bed, taking in the layers of thin blankets. A thing that looks like a stuffed toy is set on the pillow with definite care. It looks like a cross between a tiny blanket and a stuffie. I think Rowie has one of those; she calls it her Lovey.

I take a step back and lean against the doorway, staring at the toy. I cross my arms as my skin prickles with irritation, jaw clenched. Where the hell is she? And why the fuck is she living in this death trap? I’m not leaving until I get answers. For now, I go outside to wait, sitting on one of the cold metal steps, eyes fixed on the dark path before me.

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