Chapter 157 Bait
Chapter 157 Bait
The trees didn’t get out of his way fast enough.
The black wolf tore through the Black Fang woods like vengeance had grown legs and a bad attitude. Branches whipped his flanks and he didn’t feel them. 300 pounds of muscle, scar tissue, and pure “don’t you dare” propelled him forward.
Three miles.
That’s all it was.
Three miles between him and the Caruso barn.
Three miles between him and the last place anyone had seen his wife and daughter.
He could smell them.
Or he thought he could.
The wind kept lying to him. Bringing him Mia’s shampoo for half a second, then snatching it away and replacing it with pine and rot.
Please,the man part of him begged. Let them be there. Let this be it.
The wolf didn’t pray. The wolf hunted.
He burst through the tree line and skidded to a stop in the clearing.
The Caruso barn.
Rusted roof. Sagging on one side like an old man. The silo half-collapsed from the storm three winters ago. The same door, hanging by one hinge.
Alex shifted.
It hurt. It always hurt. Bones breaking, skin splitting, fur receding. But this time he barely noticed. He was too busy cataloging the air.
Hay. Old.
Rat poop. Old.
Blood. Old. Several years old.
Gun oil. Faint. Maybe a week.
And underneath it all….
Nothing.
No Mia.
No Sara.
No baby soap. No milk. No fear-sweat.
No Ivan.
The wolf made a sound low in its throat. Not a growl. A question.
Alex stepped into the barn anyway. Naked. Barefoot. Blood still drying on the claw marks across his chest.
It was empty.
Of course it was empty.
There was a chair in the corner. Wooden. One leg shorter than the others.
Rope on the floor. New knots. The kind you use when you don’t want someone to slip out.
Hay scattered like someone had been sitting here recently.
And by the small window, a smudge. Lipstick.
Mia’s shade. The red one she wore when she wanted to piss him off at Council meetings.
They’d been here.
But they weren’t here now.
"Fuck," Alex whispered.
Then louder.
"Fuck!"
He kicked the chair. It exploded into kindling.
He drove his fist through the wall. Wood splintered. A second punch took the whole plank off.
He grabbed the rope and tore it apart with his teeth, tasting hemp and fury.
Still nothing.
The wolf was pacing in circles behind his eyes. They moved them. They lied. We’re too late. She’s….
"Shut up," Alex said out loud. His voice echoed. "Shut the fuck up."
He dropped to his knees in the hay.
He dragged in a breath. Then another.
Pain was good. Pain kept him here.
He stood. Walked out of the barn.
And started searching.
Fifty yards from the barn.
Door off its hinges.
Inside: a dead raccoon, a lawnmower that looked like it had survived the Vietnam War, and more dust than oxygen.
Alex tore through it anyway. Flipped the workbench. Kicked the lawnmower until it was modern art.
No scent. No heat. No life.
He left the shed with a cut across his palm he didn’t remember getting.
The Caruso house was worse.
Front door gave on the first kick. Inside it smelled like abandonment and mildew. Cobwebs in the corners. Floorboards that screamed under his weight.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Two bedrooms.
Bathroom with a cracked mirror.
In the kitchen, on the counter: a coffee mug.
Alex picked it up. There were teeth marks on the rim.
Ivan’s.
It was dusty.
"Two days," Alex muttered. "Maybe three."
He crushed the mug in his hand. Ceramic bit into his palm. He let it.
Alex stood in the doorway and stared at it for a long time.
The wolf made that sound again.
He turned and left.
Water.
Wolves track on water. Scent sticks to it.
He followed the Caruso creek west for half a mile. Bare feet in freezing water. Didn’t feel it.
Boot prints on the bank. Men’s. Six distinct pairs.
Leading away from the barn.
Leading away from pack land.
Leading toward the old county road.
Alex followed them.
His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. Too fast. Too hopeful.
Tracks mean they walked. Walking means they’re alive.
The prints ended at dirt.
Tire tracks. Two vehicles.
Fresh. Maybe an hour.
And there, pressed into the dirt between them: the rectangular indent of a car seat base.
Sara’s.
Alex crouched and put his hand in it. The dirt was still cool.
They’d been here.
In a car.
With his daughter.
The tracks split.
North: toward the highway. Toward cities. Toward people.
South: toward the state line. Toward nothing. Toward places you could bury things and no one would find them for fifty years.
Alex stood in the middle of the road.
The wolf was losing it. “Pick. Pick wrong and…”
He didn’t get to finish the thought.
Because he heard it.
Far off. Faint. Carried on the wind.
An engine.
And under it, a sound that cracked his ribs open.
A baby crying.
South.
Alex didn’t think. Thinking was for people who had time.
He ran.
Naked. Bleeding. Through scrub and gravel and Goddess knew what else.
Following the sound.
The sound of his daughter.
He broke out of the tree line and into a parking lot that time forgot.
Two black SUVs.
Six men.
Guns.
And in the back of the second SUV, strapped in:
A car seat.
With a baby in it.
Sara.
Her face was red. She was screaming.
And in the front seat: one of Ivan’s guys. Neck tattoo. Teeth. The one who’d laughed during the challenge.
Alex didn’t stop.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
He hit the first SUV like a freight train.
Metal screamed. Glass went everywhere.
Two men flew. One didn’t get up.
The second SUV peeled out. Tires smoking.
Alex turned.
Locked eyes with the driver.
The guy grinned. And hit the gas.
"NO!"
Alex ran.
He was faster. He had to be faster.
He gained. Ten yards. Five.
He could see Sara’s little fist.
He could see….
Where was Mia?
He lunged. Caught the rear bumper with both hands.
The SUV dragged him. Ten feet. Twenty.
His feet left furrows in the asphalt.
He hauled himself up. One arm. Then the other.
On the roof now. Pounding.
"STOP THE CAR! STOP IT!"
The driver swerved. Hard.
Alex’s grip slipped.
He fell.
Hit the ground. Rolled.
Came up running, blood in his mouth.
The SUV was pulling away.
Forty yards.
Thirty.
He could make it.
The passenger window rolled down.
A gun came out.
BANG.
Dirt kicked up in front of him.
BANG.
Fire in his shoulder.
Alex didn’t slow. Wolves healed. Wolves endured.
BANG.
His leg.
He went down on one knee.
The SUV kept going.
Twenty yards.
Ten.
Taillights.
Dust.
Gone.
Silence.
Alex sat in the middle of the road.
Naked.
Bleeding from his shoulder and his thigh.
Watching the dust settle.
Sara was gone.
Mia wasn’t in the car.
He didn’t know where Mia was.
The wolf went quiet.
Not the angry quiet.
Alex looked at his hands. They were shaking.
Not from the bullets. Those were already working their way out, pushing through skin and falling to the asphalt with soft tinks.
From what came next.
He stood.
Wobbled.
Stood again.
And then he did the thing that scared him most.
He laughed.
It started in his chest. Small.
Then it grew.
Then he was on his knees in an abandoned gas station parking lot, laughing like he’d lost his mind, because maybe he had.
"Okay," he said to the empty air. "Okay. You want to play this game."
He tipped his head back.
The sun was directly overhead. It hurt his eyes.
"Goddess," he said. "Moon Goddess. If you’re listening. Watch what I do next."
Because they’d taken his daughter.
They’d hidden his wife.
They’d shot him and thought that would stop him.
They were wrong.
He dropped to all fours.
Bones reset. Skin knit.
The black wolf rose.
He looked south. Where the SUV went.
He looked north. Where the other tracks went.
Then he turned east.
Back toward the packhouse.
Back toward the five people who had answers.
Back toward Ivan.
They wanted to hide his family?
Fine.
He was done chasing.
He was going to make them bring her back.
The wolf ran.
And the ground shook with him.
Behind him, the empty barn sat in the sun.
Inside it, the rope lay in pieces.
And on the windowsill, Mia’s lipstick smudge waited for someone to notice it was the wrong shade.
It wasn’t hers.