Chapter 23
1429 Words
Third Person POV
Derrick slipped through the ballroom like a shadow in silk. The crowd shifted with him, masks hiding agendas, laughter curving around lies. He was used to courts like this—golden poison, fluted glasses full of venom, alphas measuring each other with eyes and ego. But tonight, the stakes were heavier. Gwen was the center of the spectacle.
The girl they were all pretending was happy.
His wolf growled low as he passed a cluster of visiting Alphas gossiping about Karl’s "shrewd" match. They didn’t know. They couldn’t see the way Gwen’s smile strained like a crack in glass. Or they didn't care.
He found Terrance near the edge of the ballroom, partially hidden behind a column and nursing a drink. The Beta’s mask was simple—polished grey, no embellishments. Still, it didn’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes.
Derrick approached, cool and casual. “She looks like she can’t breathe.”
Terrance flinched slightly. “She’s doing what she must.”
“You mean what Karl demands.”
Terrance gave him a look. “And you are?”
“Derrick. Cain’s second.” He paused. “What's going on here, Terrance. You and I both know nothing in this pack is what it seems.”
Terrance’s shoulders tensed. “You shouldn’t say things like that out loud.”
Derrick smiled faintly. “I didn’t come here to trade threats. I came to ask if you’re really going to let Karl sacrifice your daughter.”
The drink in Terrance’s hand trembled before he brought it to his lips. “What choice do you think I have?”
“There’s always a choice. But I get it—some men trade their souls for hope.”
Terrance exhaled slowly. “Is that what you think I did?”
Derrick didn’t answer immediately. He studied the Beta’s profile, the weary strength beneath his mask. “I think you’re a man with too many secrets and one threadbare tether keeping him alive.”
Terrance’s jaw worked silently.
Derrick tilted his head. “Was it a promise? A deal with Karl? Something he took… someone?”
Terrance looked away, and in that moment, Derrick saw the crack. Not weakness—pain.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Terrance muttered. “What he did to her.”
“Her?” Derrick pressed gently. “Gwen’s mother?”
A bitter smile touched Terrance’s lips. “He erased her. I don’t even know where she is. Don’t know if she’s alive. And I’ve done everything he’s asked, everything he’s demanded, hoping someday he’ll tell me. But he never does.”
Derrick’s stomach turned cold. “You’ve been protecting Gwen all this time. Doing what he says to keep her out of his line of fire.”
Terrance nodded, voice low. “I thought if I kept her safe, if I just followed orders long enough, maybe he’d give her back. Maybe I could have my family again.”
“She’s not safe,” Derrick said. “Not like this. Not after what Justin did. Not with a forced mating in front of the whole damn room.”
Terrance’s hand clenched around the glass.
Derrick leaned in. “Help me protect her. Help us bring Karl down.”
Terrance’s eyes snapped to his. “You have no idea how deep Karl’s roots go.”
“Maybe not. But we have resources. Allies. Evidence. And we have Cain.”
Terrance hesitated. “He’s hiding something.”
“So are you.”
They stood there for a long moment, the orchestra swelling behind them, the crowd still celebrating the engagement like it was a fairy tale. But Gwen stood like a statue on that dance floor. Beautiful. Caged.
“Think about where your line in the sand is, Terrance,” Derrick said, voice firm now. “Because the moment Karl tries to cross it again—we may not be able to pull her back.”
Terrance nodded once. Grim. Resigned.
And for the first time all night, Derrick allowed himself a flicker of hope.
Third Person POV
The fire in the old stone hearth cracked, but it did little to warm the tension in the air. Cain leaned over the worn cabin table, hands braced on either side of a map strewn with scribbled notes and creased satellite images. Derrick paced behind him, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
Cole’s voice came through the speakerphone, flat and tinny. “We’ve been running facial matches from the brothel staff lists. Still too many blind spots. We need another angle.”
Cash chimed in. “Or a direct one. We find another brothel and get someone inside.”
Cain rubbed his jaw. “That’s assuming we can find one that hasn’t already gone dark.”
Derrick suddenly stopped pacing. “Wait.”
Cain turned. “You remember something?”
Derrick nodded slowly. “Something Olivia said. When she was talking about her escape. She kept describing this mark—like a brand carved into the stone wall above the bed. Said it looked like a serpent. She said it burned into her mind because it was the last thing she saw every time they locked her in.”
Cain straightened. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Derrick said, frowning. “But now…”
Cole’s voice sharpened through the phone. “Say that again. A serpent doing what?”
“Yeah. A serpent eating it's own tail, I think. She said it was crudely etched. Looked like it had been scratched into the stone years ago.”
Cain heard keys clattering through the line. Then a beat of silence.
“Got it,” Cash said.
“What?” Cain stepped closer to the phone.
“There’s a site,” Cash explained, voice dark. “An encrypted underground listing used by ‘special interest’ buyers. They use iconography instead of names—don’t want anything traceable. I just cross-searched the image database we pulled last month with that serpent description. There's one with a match.”
A file loaded onto the shared drive, an image opening on the cracked tablet screen. It was grainy, clearly a screenshot from a hidden camera, but in the background, carved above a stained mattress—
A serpent eating its own tail.
“That’s it,” Derrick said. “That’s the room.”
Cole’s voice came back. “It’s labeled The Crimson Den. Located in the western stretch of Red River territory, just outside their pack lines. Hidden behind a falsified medical facility license. Same shell structure we’ve seen before.”
Cain’s stomach twisted. “You think it’s still active?”
“Only one way to find out,” Cole said. “But we can’t risk sending Cain in there. If someone recognizes him, it’ll blow the whole operation.”
“Then who?” Cain asked.
Derrick’s gaze slid sideways. “Jacob.”
Their Gamma.
Cain nodded. “He’s good with roles. And he’s not as high-profile as we are. He could pass as a traveling Alpha looking to buy.”
“We’ll need a fake identity,” Cole said. “Cash, can you build it?”
“Already on it,” Cash replied. “He’ll need a fake pack history, financial records, the works. I’ll model it after the ones in the chatroom so he blends in.”
Cain looked toward Derrick. “Can Jacob handle this?”
Derrick nodded once. “He’s been waiting for us to use him. And he’s got the right kind of anger to play the role without losing himself in it.”
Cain’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the table. “Once we have visual confirmation, we burn them. All of them. No more waiting.”
“We’ll need a backup team ready to extract him,” Cole added. “No way he gets out clean if it’s a trap.”
Cain met Derrick’s eyes. “I want eyes on Gwen while this is happening. If Karl even suspects we’re moving against him, she’s the first one he’ll tighten the leash on.”
Derrick nodded grimly. “I’ll take that shift myself.”
Cash spoke again. “You’ll have Jacob’s alias and tracker implant by tomorrow. Let’s say we send him in three days. Long enough to plant intel, short enough to keep the cover alive.”
Cain’s wolf stirred just under his skin, restless and hot with rage.
“Three days,” he said. “Then we bring down The Crimson Den.”
- Writer
