Page 77 of Bound By Pain
“Thanks.”
He scurries away, leaving me to head upstairs to see what the director of the FCDA needs. Hopefully, he has a new lead on Marcus’ whereabouts. After he left that threat on Bea’s porch, Creed and I tore all of his hideouts apart, but, like the rat he is, he evaded us.
Without knocking, I push open Porter’s door. Creed is already inside, as are Donovan and Dromir. I greet the former with a polite nod, then glare at the latter. I still haven’t forgiven him for convincing my former charge, Omen, to face her father when she was already on death’s doorstep.
“Porter.”
“Ah, Ferguson. Good. Let’s dive in. We received word from the Stoneward Detention Center that Peter Harrison was found dead in his holding cell at one o’clock this morning. Early reports are claiming natural causes, but we won’t know more until the coroner has finished their examination.”
“Motherfucker,” I curse. There is no way that coward took his own life. He valued his well-being above almost everything else.
“Who do we suspect was actually behind his death?” Creed asks, fists clenched, where his arms crossed over his chest.
Harrison was a healthy, middle-aged Beta who knew too much about the anti-designation and breeding rings plaguing our country not to have a target on his back. The question now is who would have him taken out, and what they were preventing him from revealing?
“Creed, I know you’re on desk and training duty, but I would like to pull you in on this. You and Ferguson can head up to Stoneward today and put boots on the ground. Someone at that facility knows something. Find them and uncover the truth before it gets buried any further.”
We both nod and head out, stopping by the bunk room to grab gear. “I guess I’m stuck with your grumpy ass again,” Creed jokes as he straps his gun to his belt.
I grunt in response, scowling when he bursts into laughter. His hand is heavy when it slaps against my shoulder. “I’ll drive.”
Of course, he will. Like he would ever pass up an opportunity to take his car out on the highway. We’ll be lucky if we get to Stoneward without being pulled over for speeding. If the ride weren’t so smooth in the sleek car, I would make him take my Jeep instead.
“So,” he steers us onto the highway, headed south toward New Jersey, where the detention center is located. “Heard you finally pulled your head out of your ass.”
Glaring at the side of his big head, I don’t respond. He doesn’t care that I’m ignoring him; he barrels forward.
“It’s about damn time. She needs you, and I think you need her more.” Our speed picks up when he hits a stretch with less traffic, weaving between cars with practiced ease. “The way her pussy feels when she’s coming on your knot… Fucking rapturous. If anything can cure your assholism, it’s her.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble, trying not to think about knotting Bea. I do not need to have a hard-on for the three-hour drive.
Creed laughs again, the sound loud in the small space. “Seriously, though,” he sobers, “we’re all glad you’re trying to fix this. Fate put you in my kitten’s life for a reason.”
Rolling my eyes, I stare out the window and watch the world fly by. Fate doesn’t always lay our paths with good intentions. If they did, nasty shit wouldn’t tear packs apart.
Thick black plastic lines the inside of the barbed wire-topped fences running the length of the perimeter of the detention center, preventing passersby from seeing the inmates within. Creed does all the talking as we gain access to the building, meeting with the center’s warden, who leads us to Harrison’s cell.
My eyes track everyone we pass. Memorizing their faces and watching their reactions to our presence. The inmates understandably aren’t thrilled to see us, but none of them have outwardly violent reactions to us, either.
It’s the staff who hold my attention. With the strict protocols surrounding Harrison’s detainment, it is incredibly unlikely that another prisoner is responsible for his death. None of them had access to his cell, and if they did, a guard or other staff member would have had to help them.
At the gate to the cell block where Harrison was being kept, a scowling Beta guard buzzes us through. His dark eyes track our every step, hands twitching where they sit on his desk. Like the rest of the center’s employees, he’s nervous but trying to hide it. Being under scrutiny has that effect.
Inside the cell, we find nothing. No signs the space was even occupied, let alone evidence of Harrison’s demise. From the report Porter gave us, guards discovered the doctor unresponsive during their rounds at three o’clock this morning. No life-saving measures were taken as he had been dead for several hours. Likely dying shortly after lights out at nine pm.
“We would like to see the security footage,” Creed tells the warden, who quickly agrees and leads us from the room. Wary eyes follow us as we leave. The other inmates here won’t speak. Not when they could become the next target, and not without incentive.
The security room is dull. Just a square space with dozens of small monitors showing feeds from around the building. Three chairs are lined before them, but only one is currently occupied. Leaving the other two guards to walk the halls for their rounds.
“Jenkins. Show these gentlemen the footage from block C, starting just before lights out last night.” The guard complies, using a blank screen to bring up the surprisingly clear picture of both Harrison’s cell and the hallway outside.
The video footage reveals nothing to corroborate our theory that Harrison’s death was unnatural. After filling Porter in on our find, we leave the detention center. Now we wait for the coroner’s report. If it were natural causes… Fate sure has shitty timing.
“I’m fucking starving,” Creed complains as soon as we climb into his car. The behemoth of a man loves to eat. Even in the service, he was always waiting for mealtime. If I didn’t know his body needed calories to function, I’d question how he stores it all.
“The Cellar?”
He grins, shifts into gear, and peels out of the lot. “Hell fuckin’ yeah!”
