Despicable by Rory Miles
DAX
There are two guards on this boat, and I’m relieved to see neither is the douche who came the other two times. I scream at them and wave my arms, drawing their attention. One grabs his gun out of his holster, and the one driving turns the boat and slows it, heading toward the dock.
Trix’s breath is accelerated, and her heart is racing. I reach for her hand and pull her to my side, hoping my touch will help her relax. When the guards tie their boat to the post, they hop out and glance around, checking for signs of an ambush before they finally look at me.
“Someone has been murdered.”
“Where?” the one who was driving asks.
“Over here.” I turn and lead them to where we found Chad, holding Trix’s hand the entire way.
“Shit,” the other guy mutters. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah.” I swallow, avoiding the severed penis. “Are you guys ever going to help us investigate these or does the High Pack really not give a shit?”
“These? There’s been more than one?” The driver squints at me, trying to suss out if I’m lying to him.
“Are you new? We’ve reported the other two. This is the third.” I gesture to Chad. “Whoever is doing this needs to be taken care of.”
Trix squeezes my hand and shifts closer. I breathe her in, trying to get a handle on my irritation. I’m still pissed the High Pack is so nonchalant about the deaths. I knew they looked down on us, maybe even pitied us, but for them to not give a damn that shifters are dying under their thumb is another level of coldhearted.
“I’m not new,” the guy mumbles, studying Chad’s body with a closer eye. “Who did you tell?”
“Dean, or whatever the fuck his name is. The High Pack hasn’t sent anyone to help because of your fucked-up priorities,” I say.
The guards share a look, brows furrowing. The driver shakes his head.
“There’s not a Dean on the guard that we know of.”
“Whatever, maybe that wasn't his name, but he knew and he asked for investigators to come help us.”
Trix scoffs. “He never told anyone.”
We all swing our gazes in her direction, watching as she seethes.
“If you didn’t know about this and the name he gave us isn't actually his name, then he never told anyone.” She searches my face. “The High Pack doesn’t know.”
“I assure you, if someone had told us about murders there would have been an official inquiry. You said there’d been two others?” He and his friend squat down, studying the lacerations. “All the same?”
“Not exactly.” I explain how we’d found the other two men, both killed in different ways. The only thing consistent was the silver nitrate used to make the death permanent.
“Any idea who might have done this?” The guard looks at me then slides his gaze to Trix. “I dropped him off, and his file said this guy’s fated was on this island. Maybe she was pissed and decided to get rid of him for good?”
She bristles at my side. “I was his fated,” she confesses. “I didn’t do this.”
Their gazes drop to our interlocked fingers, and I stiffen. “She was at our house all night.”
“Our house?”
“I live with two friends. Trix was there all night. She didn’t do this.”
One gives me a suspicious once-over. “And what about you?”
“He didn’t do it.” Trix lifts her chin. “We may know who did it, but it’s only a hunch.”
“And who do you think it is?” The driver stands, turning away from the body.
“I think we’ll talk to the investigators, that is if you’re actually going to tell the High Pack and send them.”
Scoffing, he eyes the trees. “Yeah, okay. You can wait for the investigators. Expect someone within the hour. Don’t move the body and don’t touch anything.”
Nodding at his buddy, they head to the boat.
“What the hell?” Trix says under her breath as the boat takes off. “How could they not know?”
“I wonder who that guard is.”
She gives me a look. “A jackass.”
Nodding in agreement, I look toward Harlow’s house. “Should we go find her?”
“I don’t know. We aren’t one-hundred percent sure it was her, and what if we spook her and she runs?”
“She can’t go far.”
“No, but she could swim out to the second buoy and hurt herself.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” I say, pulling my mouth to the side.
“Sometimes running is easier than facing the consequences of your actions, so I think we wait and see what happens.”
Nodding, I tug her toward the house. We need to find Creed and Ronan before the investigators arrive. That is, if they even show up.
For all we know, the guards were lying.
* * *
BELLATRIX
About an hour and a half later, the purring of an engine can be heard near the shops. The guys and I exchange worried glances but decide to stick to the plan. Dax will go with Creed to talk to the investigator, and I’ll stay with Ronan.
Climbing the ladder to the platform, Ronan and I settle in for a shift. Knowing something ten times more exciting is happening not so far away makes focusing hard. Hardly anyone comes to the shops anyway, but Dax is adamant that we need to be here.
It makes sense, I guess; serial killers on the loose could lead to chaos, which could turn into looting and violence from the few shifters left on Wolfsbane Island. When it comes to life or death, people typically think about themselves first. That sort of mentality can be dangerous, especially if panic starts to build. So far, everyone has seemed rather disturbingly calm about what has been going on.
I suspect things are going to change once word gets out about how Chad was murdered. Ronan leans forward, resting his forearms on the railing as two men amble down the road, eyes trained on the road leading to the dock.
“Morning,” Ronan calls.
They stop, hesitating and shooting their gaze up to the guard tower.
“What’s going on?” one asks.
“Another murder.” Ronan clicks his tongue and eyes them. “The High Pack sent an investigator.”
“Investigator?”
“Yeah.” Ronan tips his head to the side. “Worried?”
A tense moment passes. “Let us know if you need anything,” the guy finally says, nudging his friend.
They turn and head back to their house. Ronan sighs and scrubs his scruff, shaking his head.
“You think they did it?”
“No.” He turns to face me. “But better me making them paranoid and keeping them out of the way than them going to see what happened to Chad themselves.”
“Makes sense.”
A few minutes pass in silence.
“What was your childhood like?” I ask, growing tired of the silence because my thoughts keep turning to Chad’s mutilated body.
“My dad wasn’t around much, because he left my mom for another woman and made a new family. I spent a lot of time with my grandma while my mom went on benders, but she was always reading romance books. And while she was nice, I was sort of left to fend for myself.”
“Ah. That explains the hair. Fabio strikes again.”
He scoffs. “Fabio was my hero.”
“Whatever,” I laugh and elbow him.
“I’m serious! My grandma had shelves of books with this beefy, long haired man. She and all her friends fawned over him and how he was a real man.” He shakes his head. “I was young and impressionable, but I can’t say they’re wrong. You should’ve seen how women treated me once I turned eighteen and started getting muscles.”
“Oh, I can imagine. To be fair, your hair is really nice.”
“Thanks.” He grins and reaches back to touch his man bun. “Is it weird that I miss him even though he forgot about me?”
“Of course not,” I say, shaking my head.
His eyes drift off, processing whatever memory popped into his head.
I glance away, thinking about my own family while he loses himself in thoughts of home. I don’t think it’ll ever get easier, but somehow knowing how much he went through with his family makes me appreciate the time I had with my own even more.
Family is everything to me. Or at least, it was.
Someday, I’ll get back to them. I have to believe that will happen, because otherwise, what’s the point?