11
1107 Words
The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone, the metallic hum of fluorescent lights cutting through the quiet. Dax lay restrained on the cot, skin pale beneath the dim glow. His breathing had evened out, but the tension hadn’t.
Dr. LeBlanc moved with tired precision, drawing blood while River stood nearby, arms crossed and watchful. Salem leaned over the monitor, eyes narrowing.
“Cortisol spike’s off the charts,” LeBlanc muttered. “Whatever they gave him pushed his adrenaline through the roof.”
“Look at the neural markers,” Salem said. “That’s not a natural mix—it’s synthetic. Military-grade.”
LeBlanc frowned. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Once,” she said quietly. “Recon units used it to suppress fear and hesitation. The side effect? Logic burns out. You follow orders. Nothing else.”
River’s gaze flicked to her. “So they didn’t just want him angry—they wanted him obedient.”
“Exactly.” Salem tapped the screen, highlighting the chemical signature. “There are only a handful of suppliers who can still get this formula.”
LeBlanc capped the vial and handed it to her. “Can you trace it?”
Salem turned the vial in her fingers, mercury glinting under the light. “Won’t be hard. There aren’t many smugglers reckless enough to sell this to wolves.”
River stepped closer, steady presence beside her. “And you know where to start?”
She smirked faintly. “Let’s just say I’ve dealt with worse suppliers.”
LeBlanc hesitated. “You’re talking about confronting whoever’s distributing it?”
“I’m talking about cutting the chain before it reaches another pack,” Salem said. “You dose wolves like this, you create soldiers who don’t question orders—even if those orders destroy their own.”
River’s jaw tightened. “And they sent one straight into my pack.”
“Which means you’ve got a leak and a buyer close.”
He met her eyes. “We’ll find them.”
She studied him for a beat—the calm under the fury. “Careful, Alpha. That almost sounded like teamwork.”
He gave a dry half-smile. “Almost.”
LeBlanc cleared his throat. “I’ll keep him sedated until we can reverse it.”
Salem pocketed the vial. “Good. Because whoever’s selling this isn’t stopping at one enforcer.”
River followed her out of the infirmary, boots echoing on tile.
“Where to first?” he asked.
“A friend of mine runs intel out of Baton Rouge. If this chemical’s moving through black channels, he’ll know who’s behind it.”
“You trust him?”
She laughed once, low and sharp. “I don’t trust anyone. But I trust his fear of me.”
The drive into Baton Rouge was quiet, thick with things unsaid. The city lights smeared gold across the windshield, neon reflections pulsing in time with the engine’s hum.
“You’ve been here before,” River said.
“Once or twice.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She glanced sideways. “You’re fishing, Alpha. Sure you want the catch?”
“I want the truth—about what we’re walking into, and about you.”
“You think I’m the dangerous one here?”
“I know you are,” he said evenly. “Question is—dangerous to who?”
Salem didn’t answer. Not until she turned down a narrow side street and parked in front of a flickering sign that read R. & R. Tuning.
River frowned. “This your contact?”
“Half of him,” she said, cutting the engine. “The other half’s the reason Rhea’s banned from half the state.”
“Banned?”
Salem smirked. “You’ll see.”
Inside, the air smelled of oil and burnt rubber. A man leaned against a stripped-down motorcycle, wiping grease from his hands. His grin was sharp, too practiced.
“Well, hell,” he drawled. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Red.”
“Don’t call me that,” Salem warned.
“Still mean as ever.” His gaze slid to River. “And you must be the Alpha. Heard you were the calm one.”
River’s brow lifted. “You’ve been keeping tabs?”
“Hard not to when Crescent Moon hires ex–black ops ghosts,” the man said. “What brings you back to my swamp, Salem?”
“Intel,” she replied. “Synthetic compound. Modified cortisol enhancer with neural dampeners. Military grade.”
The man—Knox—whistled. “That’s a nasty mix. You and Rhea still running cleanup gigs?”
“Not anymore,” she said. “We buried that life.”
Knox arched a brow. “Guess it didn’t stay buried.”
Salem stepped closer. “Who’s distributing it?”
Knox hesitated, glancing at River. “You sure you want him hearing this?”
River’s tone was calm steel. “If it affects my pack, I hear it.”
Knox sighed. “Rumor says an ex–R&D contractor’s been pushing it through black channels. Name’s Major Dalton Pryce.”
River’s eyes narrowed. “And who’s he?”
“Our old handler,” Salem said, voice gone cold. “Before this pack, we worked black ops missions—extractions, surveillance, covert takedowns. Off the record, off the books.”
Knox nodded grimly. “Pryce went rogue after the shutdown. Started dealing enhancement serums through hybrid circles—packs wanting soldiers who don’t think, just obey.”
River’s jaw flexed. “And Dax’s blood shows traces of it.”
Knox nodded. “Then he’s tagged. That compound carries a tracking signature. If it’s in his system, Pryce already knows who’s looking.”
Salem’s eyes darkened. “Then he knows I’m looking.”
Knox’s grin faded. “And he won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Silence hung heavy.
“This isn’t just about a chemical breach,” River said finally.
“No,” Salem replied. “It’s about the man who trained us—and who knows every move we’ll make.”
Knox leaned on the counter. “You going after him?”
Salem met his gaze, then River’s. “We don’t have a choice.”
River’s voice was steady. “Then we do it my way—controlled, off the grid.”
She tilted her head, a faint, sharp smile ghosting her lips. “You really think you can out-plan a black ops handler?”
“I don’t have to,” he said quietly. “I just have to keep you both alive.”
For once, Salem didn’t argue.
- Writer
