Page 66 of Into the Fire: After
And Heston Callaway himself. The man, the myth, the lynchpin in our plan to nail Wainwright’s ass to the wall.
He was smaller than I imagined, especially for an alpha. Slight of build, with narrow gray eyes and a sharp beak of a nose. Some may’ve called his hair salt and pepper, though it was more like fucking zebra to me—jet black with wild streaks of silver and white. It was cut short, but unruly still. Maybe he used his fingers as a hairbrush.
What struck me hardest, though, was his face. Guy couldn’t be older than mid-fifties, but his face was a worn roadmap of lines. They fascinated me. What stories lay behind those wrinkles? What struggles were they proof of?
Over the course of an hour, I laid out the whole goddamned tale—that Taryn’s mother had been part of the drug trials he’dworked over; Taryn’s late Registration to the Census; the chase and the capture and the escape. Our goal to tie it all back to Wainwright and hold them to account for all they’d done.
To Taryn. To Nova. To us.
Heston listened intently, tracing the woodgrain of the table.
My throat ached, I’d talked so long. Finally, I slid the copy of the ProGenE memo toward him. “We know Wainwright is still at the helm of this project. But we can't prove it. Every other avenue has come up short,” I said. “We’re hoping we’re finally on the right road.”
He glanced at the memo then away again, his fingers never stopping their oblong path.
“You think if I had any power to cripple Wainwright,” he said finally, voice gruff, “that I wouldn’t have done it already?”
“If you hadnopower over them,” I snapped, “they’d have crushed you by now.”
He laughed. “Some days I feel mighty crushed.”
Nielson and Patrick exchanged looks over Heston’s head. “You don’t owe these people anything,” Patrick said carefully.
“The fuck you don’t,” I growled, leaning forward. “If you had any part of this bullshit, then you owe us.”
Patrick and Saul puffed up, low warning rumbles in their throats.
“Stop all that posturing, you three,” Heston said with an annoyed swat of his hand. “My word, next thing we know you’ll be pulling out tape measures.”
His packmates rolled their eyes, while Nielson bit down on a grin.
They were cute enough I almost let my anger slip. I held onto it. I needed it. Heston was going to help us, if I had to tie him up and throw him in the back of my car to make it happen.
Fuck, how was he so calm? Not only had I just told him that his former pet project was still actively harming omegas, but he was off the alpha meds. Just likeIwas off the alpha meds.
Why wasn’t he going apeshit at a stranger inside his territory?
“You were in the Rem City facility, you say?” Heston sighed as he sat back, resting his folded hands on his crossed knee. “Means you’ve met the incomparable Dr. Hilt, then?”
The growl that rolled up my throat was wholly involuntary. “Friend of yours?”
“Oh, hardly,” Heston said with a dismissive wave. “Pompous prick. The best part about getting fired and blackballed was knowing I’d never have to share oxygen with him again.”
The other Callaways tensed, but my mouth tipped up in a grin. “The one time I met the man, he threatened to have my dick cut off if my omega resisted his commands. So. You’re not missing anything.”
Heston's index finger tapped against his folded hands. "What would be justice, to you?"
Zero hesitation. Zero doubt. "My omega lived through six days of unassisted heat. I'd make sure he and every other soulless bastard who brought her there felt every second of it."
"Including me?"
Pack Callaway stilled, barely even breathing.
"Depends on the amends you're willing to make," I answered.
Heston met my gaze and held it. Steady, unyielding. Surprising, considering his position on my shit list was TBD. He looked as if he were trying to read my mind, and the uncomfortable hum beneath my skin made me question if he actually was.
Minutes passed. Finally, he stood, crossing the small kitchen to an old beat-up hutch in the corner.
