“You would know what a detonation sequence looks like?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Siren shoots me a mischievous grin, and I feel the corners of my mouth lift a little in reply.
“I’ve made a few electronic detonators for Joker before, so yeah. But I didn’t think there was anything like that in there. Even with the gaps in your memories, that sort of device would require surgery and you definitely would have noticed that sort of lump long before now. Honestly, it just looks like the type of chip you’d get from a vet.”
I hum a little at that, my brow furrowing. Something in the back of my mind is trying to give me a signal, but it’s hard to discern exactly what my instincts are trying to tell me. It’s not panic, that’s for sure. More like…I’ve forgotten something but I can’t remember what. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I used to get it all the time during therapy sessions when the facility staff were trying to make me remember things. But none of those attempts made my instincts bristle in warning like this.
“If I’m reading this correctly, there’s a registration number along with location pinging data. If this is the manufacturer, then I should be able…”
Siren trails off again as they start typing on a different screen. A clinical-looking website with stock images of dogs and cats appears, Siren bypassing the security measures without even batting an eye. They copy and paste the number from the source code, and after a second, a profile appears. And it only takes a glance for my stomach to drop and my blood to turn to ice.
“What the fuck…” Siren trails off, disgust painted heavily over the words.
I stare at the picture on one side of the screen, a candid shot taken of me right when I joined my pack. It was only a few years ago, but I look nearly two decades younger and happier. My name, birthday, a description of all my scars and birthmarks, even my scent are written out beside the photo.
“Who’s Tyler Dunne?” Siren asks, tripping over the last name, overpronouncing the first vowel.
“Dunne. Like bun. Tyler Dunne,” I rasp, eyes going wide.
I shove back roughly from the computer station, heartbeat in my ears. That name. His name.
Conjured from my memories, his face flashes across my vision every time I blink. His scent—burnt dragon blood incense, bay leaves, smoke—fills my nose, as if he were standing right in front of me. Without thinking, I’m on my feet, staggering away from the computer and the door. Siren’s voice sounds a thousand yards away, trying to call me back. But I can’t think, can’t process anything around the stomach churning panic coursing through my body.
My shoulder hits the side of the van painfully, giving me enough clarity to find the door to the med bay. My hands shake as I scan my fingerprint and key in the code, slamming the door behind me, engaging the lock before Siren can follow me.
My head pounds as memories flood back, one after another. Years of my life reappearing, shoving their way into the blank spaces in my brain. I drop to my knees and hold my head, tears streaming down my face. I can hear knocking, which only drives me deeper into the room, away from the noise.
I find a cabinet and open the door, shoving the contents aside until I can squeeze inside and close the door, my head buried in my knees and my hood pulled over it. I try to breathe, to do anything except remember, but in the dark of my hiding spot, there’s no escape.
His face, his sinister smile, his too-perfect teeth. The sneering comments about my weight dropped into casual conversation. His iron grip, the smothering hand over my mouth as he took what he wanted. The flash of lightning that illuminated his silhouette in the dark, his face and clothes covered in my alphas’ blood.
Someone is pounding on the door now, hard enough to rattle it in the frame. I muffle my sobs with my hands all too easily, knowing better than to make a sound when there are angry alphas around. I let my instincts come forward, retreating into my head rather than facing what is coming when he finally finds me.
Chapter forty-three
IwatchJokerandCross from the couch as they work to create the list for our next supply run, and I smile behind my mask as they brainstorm things to get Delilah. I still feel like an ass for how we treated her, but I’ve got my own mental list of things I’m going to pick up that should at least start to make up for my behavior.
Cross looks up as his phone pings, frowning at the notification before straightening. His scent shifts slightly, smoke edging forward, and there’s a pulse of worry across our bond.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, gettingto my feet.
“Delilah just unlocked the med bay,” he mutters, already walking toward the back door.
Joker and I follow as Cross pulls open the back door, and right away, my instincts snap into focus as I hear banging from the open doors of the barn. I take off at a jog, leaving the others to catch up, my long strides getting me to the barn in no time. Siren’s panicked voice hits me first, right before the overwhelming scent of black jasmine and chocolate, sticky sweet and floral on my tongue.
“What’s going on?” I ask, rounding the van to where I hear Siren pounding on the med bay door.
“I don’t know! I managed to get access to the chip, and then she just freaked out. She went in here and won’t open the door,” Siren replies, uncharacteristically manic.
Cross shoulders past me toward the door, trying the electronic lock, but letting out a growl when the handle doesn’t budge.
“She’s engaged the manual lock. I have the key somewhere, but—”
I let out a snarl, protective instincts flaring hot in my chest. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but Delilah’s distress is potent enough for me to smell it from outside the door, and it’s only getting worse. I push forward, raising a fist to pound harder on the door.
“Omega, open the door,” I bark loudly.
Several moments pass, but I can’t hear any movement, any signs of life from within the room. Just the scent of her true essence coated in fear in my nose driving me crazy. I bang on the door again, hard enough to rattle it in its frame, but still nothing.