“Same place we’re heading,” Omar says. “Rogue City.”
“So, let’s get there—and fast.”
Back in the car, I put my foot down even though I’m not used to driving this fast. Luckily, Jasper’s car handles the road with ease, and I find myself relaxing into this rocket-speed drive. Rogue City is about six hours from Stony Point on a good day. We need to get there faster.
This time Omar is the quiet one. He’s chewing the skin around his thumbnail, tapping his foot relentlessly.
“Tell me about him,” I say, glancing over, trying to distract him.
Omar removes his thumb from his mouth, glances my way then back at the road.
“He was just a good guy. Let me stay with him for a few nights. Said he’s been living in that shack for like forty years or something, ever since he left his pack.”
We’re not so far from the Elite Pack’s border that I can’t help wondering if maybe Malachi was once one of us.
“Why did he leave? Do you know?”
“He didn’t say. But he did mention having a mate once and losing her. I kind of figured he left because his grief was too big to stay.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, but he made a life for himself out there. It was simple, but he was at peace. He was funny too, told the best stories late at night. The forest was so quiet, but we laughed so loud we probably woke up every sleeping animal.”
He goes silent, chewing his bottom lip, then slams his fist on the dash, hard enough I’m scared he’s going to activate the airbag.
“There are good wolves out here,” he says. “Good wolves, just trying to live their lives and these pack wolves don’t care. They don’t care about anything. They just want to cause pain.”
“I know,” I say, and accelerate a little more.
It’s late afternoon when we arrive at Rogue City. It appears all of a sudden, the towers of the disused silos rising over fields of corn. We’ve made good time, but the day is quickly coming to a close. And while I’ve learned a lot about rogues since the last time I was here, I’m still not keen on hanging around at night.
We park closer to the settlement than the time Jasper and I were here, back when we were trying to hide in case dangerous rogues spotted us.
“How long did you live here for?” I ask as we wander toward the big warehouse where I once saw the tents and squalid living conditions of the rogues holed up inside. “Back then?”
I gulp and Omar narrows his eyes at me. Maybe I shouldn’t be bringing up Omar’s history with the rogues who attacked us, who bear the tattoo of a wolf and lightning bolt. But then he quirks his mouth to the side, like he’s thinking.
“A year, maybe two. Time sort of didn’t really exist then. It wasn’t until we were made to ... well, you know, invade your alpha’s summer home that I could get away.”
“I’m sorry.”
We wander farther into what must have once been a functioning farm. The warehouse off to one side has most of its windows smashed in, but that’s no different than the last time I was here.
“If this place was run by the rogues who were in Walter’s pocket, why do you think there’ll be anyone here who can help us? Wouldn’t they still work for him?”
“From what I heard, after the attack on your pack, the rogues in charge were captured and they lost control of their gang. I came back here on my way to the Sanc and it was different. A proper settlement. We’d made this place a home.”
We stop just outside the warehouse, on the concrete slab separating it from the silos. Smeared on the largest tower is a ghastly black smudge. The last time I was here it was painted with the rogues’ logo, the wolf and the lightning. Those who lived here after the attack must have tried to clean it away. Further proof that one type of rogue doesn’t speak for the whole.
Farther on sits the building where Aisha was held captive. It’s hard for me to think of this as anything but a barely held together shantytown. That’s when I realize something.
“If rogues made this place a real settlement,” I begin, “where are they all?”
Omar and I turn in circles, surveying the entire facility, I even extend my consciousness trying to find another wolf, but come up short.
We both take off running, first visiting the warehouse, which is a mess. The shredded remains of tents are piled in a blackened heap along with bedding and clothes.
“They burned it all,” I say, hoping that’s all they burned.
