Bayou Blues by Sierra Dean Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t know his name or face. It also didn’t escape my attention he’d said leader and not any traditional religious title.
    “I have no doubt you’ve heard what my group has had to say, and I know we have not been the first. You and your army of abominations cannot be allowed to live amongst us unchecked any longer. I fear my threats may fall on deaf ears because of my less motivated predecessors. I know you may have ignored my earlier message, but let me assure you I mean to do precisely what I’ve promised.”
    The whole time he spoke he continued to smile, making him appear more and more like a sociopath with each passing second.
    “To prove to you I am a man of my word, I have brought a member of your pack to my compound.” The camera shifted, and instead of focusing on a plain white wall there was a row of squat metal cages, though the bars were much thicker than one would expect on a kennel.
    My breath came up short, like my lungs were being squeezed by a vise and getting air in and out was a Herculean effort. I’d never been caged, but I had seen the outcome of captivity and what it did to animals and humans alike. No one deserved to be locked up in a cage that size. Or any size.
    Shaky camera work made the scene jerk and become unfocused as we followed Timothy across the space. Briefly we were shown nothing but a concrete floor, and just as suddenly the camera panned back up and focused on one cage close up, Timothy squatting in front of it, out of arms reach.
    It took me a minute to realize what we were looking at, but Wilder got there first.
    “Son of a bitch.”
    Dirty and disheveled was nothing new for Hank Shaw. In my few personal interactions with him—none of which I remembered fondly—he had smelled as bad as he looked. But once I understood I was seeing a man I knew crammed inside one of those too-small cages, I resisted the natural reaction to vomit all over the laptop.
    Fighting a wave of bile in my throat before I was able to speak, I muttered, “Oh my God.” It was the only thing I could think to add to the conversation. No words of comfort sprang to mind.
    He was more unshaven than usual, with perhaps a week’s worth of beard on his face. Aging facial hair on a werewolf was difficult because they could often grow hair much faster than the average man. But I had a good sense of Hank’s standard appearance, and he was hairier and rougher than was his norm.
    Callum was as impassive as ever, and Ben seemed only casually interested, the way someone might be if they were driving past a car accident. I knew no one liked Hank, myself included, but their lack of empathy surprised me. I could write it off in Callum’s case since he’d already watched the video and there were no surprises here for him, but Ben should have shown at least some emotion. I couldn’t decide if I was more stunned or disappointed by the lack.
    Timothy must have been allowing a dramatic pause for reaction because he hadn’t spoken the entire time we drank in the scene. This guy was a born showman, making me wonder why the Church wasn’t using him on a more regular basis. He had the kind of inoffensive handsomeness that lured people in en masse and invited trust where none was deserved.
    Kind of like Ted Bundy.
    I chewed my thumbnail and waited to see what he’d say.
    “I would have preferred someone with a more camera-ready face to show how easily you monsters blend in, but we took what we could get.” He gave a shrug and smiled. A chill ran through me as I recalled the car that had attempted to drive me off the road only hours earlier. I’d suspected it might be the Church, and now I wondered how close I’d come to being in the cage next to Hank. I was already a public face for the pack. Werewolf Princess Goes to College was the most prominent headline that came to mind. Was kidnapping me another part of the Church’s plan? I’d thought they wanted to hurt me, but I was starting to think they wanted something