91 Mr Jones
Mara
Lucian’s trust humbled me-and electrified something deep in me. He didn’t just see me as his wife. He saw me as a partner. An equal. Someone capable of standing beside him, not behind.
Darian and Lucian seemed more at ease today, less strained than before. Maybe the conversation by the lake had done something. Maybe Darian was finally letting go. I hoped he was. For his sake, and for Tiffany’s. She deserved better than being second choice. And selfishly, I missed the friend Darian used to be. Maybe we could get back there someday.
But now-Jones Danewood,
I pulled a chair across the floor and sat in front of him, crossing my legs slowly, deliberately. Darian and Rowan had left their mark-bruises, a swollen lip, a deep gash just under his eye. Their style was familiar. Precision laced with rage. I knew it well.
I smiled faintly. “Mr. Danewood. So… we finally meet.”
My voice was calm. Low. Almost teasing-just enough to throw him off. Let him think I was the soft one.
“We all know why you’re here, so let’s save ourselves the time and start talking”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he spat in my direction.
Charming.
“Men couldn’t break me,” he snarled. “You think you’ll do better, Nighthorn b***h?”
I tilted my head, amused by his bravado. How predictable.
I leaned forward and grabbed his chin between my fingers-firm but not rough. I wanted to see his eyes. To let him see
mine.
“I was going to be nice,” I said softly. “But you just made a mistake.”
I turned to Darian. “Did you bring my gear?”
He grinned. Rowan grinned wider. Rowan headed to the back and rolled out a large black box, clicking it open to reveal a neatly arranged set of tools-psychological, chemical, physical. Not crude. Not savage. Just effective.
Lucian linked me, confusion brushing against my thoughts.
“Mara…?”
“Not everyone responds to kindness, Lucian. Some men need pain to remember the truth. Danewood’s one of them.”
I felt him walk toward me.
“Let me do it,” he offered, his Alpha instincts flaring.
But I shook my head.
“No. They taught us at the academy-let the Betas, Gammas, and Deltas do the dirty work so the Alpha stays clean. I might be your Luna, Lucian, but I still have the mind of a soldier.”
I turned my head slightly and met his eyes.
“Trust me. Watch Rowan and me break him.”
Lucian stepped back.
He didn’t protest.
He just watched-knowing I was about to burn this man down.
And bring us the truth buried beneath his bravado.
Rowan and I got to work-clinical, efficient, relentless.
We stripped Jones bare, broke him down methodically, never once laying a permanent mark. We were careful but merciless. We knew what we were doing. The body was predictable. It was like working in a biology lab-applying just enough pressure, manipulating nerves, using discomfort as leverage without causing lasting damage.
What finally broke him?
Let’s just say there are certain pressure points no man wants tampered with-especially not when he’s still aroused from adrenaline and fear. It was twisted, yes, but effective. And by the time we were done, his pride and resistance were both crushed.
“You are a stone-cold, heartless b***h,” he spat, eyes blazing through the tears.
I smiled coldly. “Tell me something I don’t know, Danewood.”
And then, finally, he began to talk.
“I met a guy at the Northwood Casino,” he said through ragged breaths. “Said his name was Chase, but I didn’t buy it. He didn’t look like a Chase.”
He paused, mouth dry. “Water?”
I handed him a bottle and watched him drink, every second spent regrouping
“I used to gamble. A lot. I owed heavy money at Northwood. They were circling, threatening me. Then this Chase guy shows up-like he knew everything. My debt, my desperation. He offered me a deal: gather a team, make sure none of it could be traced back to me, and help wipe out the Nighthorns.”
My stomach turned.
“He was very specific,” Jones went on. “Start with the eldest, leave Alpha Vander for last. I asked why. Told him I wouldn’t
move unless I had a reason.”
“And what did he say?” I asked.
Jones looked up, dark circles under his eyes. “Said Vander took something from him. Something precious. When he had n othing. And now he’s gonna make him pay.”
My skin chilled. For months, we thought it was Martha-twisted, bitter, dangerous. But this wasn’t her. This wasn’t about
internal politics or resentment.
This was personal.
From someone else.
“So where is this ‘Chase’ now?” I asked.
Jones laughed bitterly. “You don’t find Chase. He finds you. He’s a ghost, little Luna. A whisper. A shadow.”
I hated the dead-end feel creeping into the room.
“Don’t think this is over because I’m in chains,” he coughed. “He’s been trying to get even with Alpha Vander for a long time. He’s patient. Focused. And you? You’re just in the way.”
I leaned in. “Did he tell you what Vander took from him?”
91 Mr Jones
He shook his head, slow and weak. “Didn’t ask. I just needed the money.”
I exhaled sharply. “Can you at least describe him? We’ll get a sketch artist.”
“If a version with sunglasses helps, sure.” He smirked. “That’s all I ever saw.”
My chest sank.
“You don’t know what he really looks like?”
+8 Points >
Jones shook his head again. “Sunglasses. Always. And the beard-he changed it constantly. He disguises himself. A lot.”
My brain was spinning. I couldn’t leave empty-handed.
“His scent?” I asked, desperation laced in my voice now. “Did he smell like anything?”
He paused. That question struck something.
“You’re clever,” he muttered. “That was one thing that didn’t change. Musky… with a tinge of sandalwood.”
I nodded, latching onto it.
“Good. I still want you to sit with our sketch artist. Describe everything you can. Anything might help.”
Because ghosts can be hunted.
Even the ones wearing other people’s faces.
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92 Chase Who?
