Wicked (A Wicked Saga #1)(38)
Author: J. Lynn

Code Red.

"Oh no," I whispered, looking up at Ren. A somber, hard expression had seeped into his features.

Code red could mean only one thing. A member of the Order had been killed.

Chapter Eleven

The ride back to St. Philip was tense. As soon as I got the message, I tried calling Val. When there had been no answer, my stomach twisted into messy knots. As terrible as it sounded, the only thing I could think on the way to headquarters was for it not to be her. I didn’t want it to be anyone, but I couldn’t bear it if it was Val.

Ren and I didn’t talk as we climbed the stairs and waited to be let in. It was Harris who opened the door¸ and honestly, I’d wanted to punch him in the face since I found out that he ran his mouth, but right then I didn’t care.

"They’re in the back room," he said, stepping aside.

I almost asked who it was, but I wasn’t ready. Nodding at Harris, I crossed the room. There were several doors, and most led to training rooms, but the one all the way to the left led to David’s office. We headed for the double doors.

The room was packed with about twenty of the forty-something members that were currently stationed in New Orleans. My gaze scanned the room, desperately searching for a splash of flamboyant color. When I didn’t see her, pressure clamped down on my chest. Panic threatened to take root, and I pulled out my phone, checking it again and finding no response. I tried to prepare myself if it turned out to be her. I’d been down this road before, but I could already feel the bitter bite of pain in the back of my throat. My fingers opened and closed sporadically, and I wanted to be anywhere but where I was in that moment. I knew it was pathetic, but I didn’t want to be here if Val didn’t walk through that door.

"Not everyone is here yet." Ren placed his hand on my lower back, and my wide gaze swung to his.

His hand stayed there as I stared at the doors, squeezing my hands so tightly I could feel the nails digging into my skin. Faintly, I was aware that other members were doing the same thing, except Jackie Jordan, a tall and sleek woman in her early thirties. She was eyeing Ren with a sense of guardedness I could relate to. When the doors swung open and David strolled in, I almost keeled over from relief. Val was behind him, her gaze searching the room. It took every ounce of control for me to not rush over and squeeze the living daylights out of her. If I did, I knew a lot of the other members would see that as a sign of weakness, even if they were worried it was their friend who wasn’t ever going to walk through the doors again. But to them, I was young, and that was strike one. They also thought I was crazy, so strike two.

I didn’t need a strike three.

Val saw me standing next to Ren, and her expression relaxed. Stepping around David, she hurried to where I stood. Without saying a word, she found my hand and squeezed, and I returned the gesture.

Aware that Ren was watching us closely, I turned my attention to David. Weariness clung to every step he took as he walked to the middle of the room and placed his hands on his hips. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he hung his head.

"We lost Trent tonight," he said, and my mouth dropped open in shock. David lifted his head, his shoulders tensing as he surveyed the room. "He was found just outside of St. Louis Cemetery No 1."

That was the last name I was expecting to hear. Obviously, Trent and I weren’t on friendly terms, but he was one hell of a strong guy, and he had a ton of experience. I could not fathom a normal fae getting an upper hand on him.

"How?" Rachel Adams asked. In her late thirties, she was a tall and slender woman who’d been in the city for the last year.

"His neck was broken." David’s gaze drifted over the group, stopping and lingering on me for what felt like a second too long before moving on. "But that wasn’t all. His arms and legs were also broken, as were his ribs."

"He was tortured," Ren said, his stance tensing, and I immediately thought of the gates. The knowledge of their location would definitely be something the fae would torture for. Val and I exchanged a look.

David nodded. "Appears to be that way."

"He’s the fourth to die in what? Five months?" said Dylan. I didn’t know his last name, but I was sure it was something French sounding. He was born and raised in New Orleans, and like Val, could track his roots way back. "We suffer losses every year, but this close together?"

Something occurred to me as I watched David. "Were the others like Trent? Were they tortured also?" It had never been said that they were.

As David turned back to me, someone in the back of the group muttered "Crazy" under their breath, and I felt Ren turn, searching out the source, but I ignored it.

"No," David answered.

Standing by the door, Harris rubbed his hand down his face, and instantly, I didn’t believe David. I couldn’t explain it, but I didn’t believe him.

"I’m implementing some changes effective immediately," David continued, pacing. "From now until further notified, you all will be working in groups of two. No one hunts alone."

There were some grumbles from the loners, those who didn’t play well with others, but they were quickly silenced by David. He began to team people up. Val was paired with Dylan, and I was left with Ren, which I was sort of expecting. There was a pall over the group as the meeting wrapped up, a heavy somberness that I knew from past experience—too many experiences—would linger for days. It didn’t matter how close any of us were to each other. We were family nonetheless, and any loss was a shattering blow, a painful reminder that tomorrow was never promised.

I started to walk out with Val, Ren and Dylan behind us, when David called out my name. "I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?"

I headed over to where David stood with another Order member—Miles Daily. Miles was virtually second in command. Though it wasn’t entirely official, if something happened to David, Miles would take over until meetings could be held and another leader voted in to cover the sect.

I didn’t know Miles very well. He was older than me, possibly in his mid-thirties, and he was quiet, almost aloof. While David looked angry half the time, Miles’ expressions were always unreadable. As I approached the men, he looked bored to the untrained eye, but his gaze was sharp. The man missed nothing.

I thought about what we’d seen today behind the club called Flux. I knew I was required to report it to David, but something held me back. It was more than just his dismissal of what I’d experienced last week. Ren hadn’t asked me to keep our activities tonight quiet, so it was my choice. I wasn’t ready to say anything until I had enough evidence to back me up.