“How did you—”
“Your niece cares deeply for you,” answered Orson before Flynn could even finish asking her question. “Lauren worries about you. She did some digging and some eavesdropping, I would expect. You know how she is. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t trust me or the rest of our family to assist you in this project.”
“Well, Orson, you are the established leader of the Raptors,” said Flynn. His presence seemed to throw her off balance. To Wes, she looked shorter somehow and less sure of herself. “I must admit I doubted your dedication to covering up such questionable acts.”
“We lead the Raptors as equals, Catherine,” Orson declared, squeezing Flynn’s shoulder. “Your mistakes are all of our mistakes, and we clean up those mistakes together. As one. However, before we do that, you must forgive yourself for actions you committed at such a young age. Anthony Costello did you a great disservice, and it was only natural for you to become emotionally compromised afterward.”
Flynn stayed quiet, her expression impassive.
“This society only functions successfully as long as we share everything with one another,” continued Orson. He glanced across the warehouse at Wes, who still lay beneath Brooks’s steady, watchful gaze. “Promise me, Cat. Promise me that you won’t branch out on your own again. We are better and safer together. Whatever you need, we can find. Our first order of business is to locate these missing tapes, is it not?”
Flynn inclined her head in affirmation. “Or perhaps, our first order of business is to locate Nicole Costello. After all this trouble, I’d like to have her in hand again. Her mother started all of this. It must finish with Nicole.”
“I must admit Miss Costello has caused the Raptors far too much trouble,” agreed Orson. “We can’t allow her to wander for much longer. I’ll gather the boys and get them working on her location. Do you have anyone you wish to assign to the case?”
“Brooks.”
Brooks looked up from Wes at the mention of his name.
“Brooks, kindly drive the Morrigan back to campus,” Orson instructed, leaving Flynn’s side to approach Wes again. He shook Brooks’s hand. “Then locate Wickes, Hastings, and Buchanan. Meet at the clubhouse. We need Nicole Costello in Raptor custody as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what about the boy?” questioned Flynn as she donned her furry winter coat once more.
Orson looked down at Wes, his benevolent gaze once again contradicting his intentions. “Leave Officer McAllen to me. I’ll make sure he’s seen to. Brooks, before you go, would you be so kind as to escort the officer to my car?”
Brooks rolled his eyes but knelt down to take Wes beneath each armpit and heave him off the floor. Wes had no strength to fight him off. Between the lingering head injury and near suffocation, his energy was all but spent. Orson opened the warehouse door and together, Flynn, Orson, Brooks, and Wes emerged into the icy windblown climate outside. Brooks hauled Wes along, approaching Orson’s SUV, identical to the one parked beside it.
“In the passenger seat, if you don’t mind, Brooks,” called Orson over the rush of the wind. As Brooks maneuvered Wes into place, Orson pulled Flynn into a light hug. She did not wrap her arms around him. “Go home,” said Orson. “I’ll be back soon.”
With that, Orson released his sister and climbed into the driver’s seat of the black SUV. Wes watched through the passenger window as Flynn and Brooks retreated to their own vehicle, listening as the engines of both cars rumbled to life.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Wes, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
“If you want to live, you’ll pretend to be unconscious until we get there,” replied Orson smoothly. He put the SUV in drive, and as they drew level with Flynn’s vehicle, Orson waved. However, when he piloted the car out onto the roadway, he turned in the opposite direction of Waverly University.
There was no need for Wes to pretend. The vibrations of the dirt road beneath the SUV’s tires lulled Wes into oblivion, and as the darkness swept him into its embrace, Wes tried not to think about how Orson Lockwood would kill him.
“McAllen, wake up.”
A hand shook Wes’s shoulder, and he blearily opened his eyes. Streetlights illuminated the inside of the SUV as Orson drove through the dark city. Wes glanced over at his chauffeur.
“What are we doing?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, and he wondered if Flynn had permanently damaged his vocal chords with her attempted murder.
“You are about to fall to your knees and thank me,” said Orson. He kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, but there was a strange look on his face that Wes could almost mistake for… sympathy?
“Where are we?”
“Listen to me, McAllen,” Orson said, ignoring Wes’s question. “I don’t owe you anything. Understood? Do not waste this opportunity. Do not squander what little advantage this jaunt may afford you. Do you understand?”
“No.”
Orson sighed but made no comment. Ahead, a vandalized parking garage loomed over the road. Graffiti decorated its outer walls, and the streetlights seemed to illuminate the artwork as if it were meant to be hung in the Louvre instead. Orson steered the SUV into the garage, taking the ramp up to the second floor and then the third. When they rounded a corner, Wes caught sight of a hooded figure leaning against a sleek, expensive sedan, and his pulse quickened. Was this yet another BRS member to torture him? Orson pulled the SUV up next to the sedan and threw the vehicle in park. As soon as the SUV came to a halt, the hooded figure rushed to the passenger-side door, pressing his or her palms to the window. Wes reluctantly glanced through the glass, expecting unfamiliar features, but when he saw the warm,
