Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 225

Chapter 225: Chapter 225

Jacob’s Perspective

The red Mustang was a sweet ride, but it was a beacon. We got off the main highway as fast as possible, twisting and turning into the grimy streets of a neighborhood that practically screamed "unfriendly." Graffiti, a broken basketball hoop, and a few kids in baggy clothes leaning against walls, their eyes tracking us with wary suspicion. Classic local gang turf.

"Wait here," I told Celena, pushing the car door open. For situations like this, a werewolf’s direct approach worked better than anything. I didn’t waste time. I walked straight up to the one who looked like the leader. A combination of cash and some "gentle" physical persuasion—like casually bending a discarded fire hydrant out of shape—quickly secured us an older, unremarkable-looking Chevy sedan. Its engine sounded solid. Gray, utterly forgettable. Perfect.

Back on the road, we headed for the neighboring state. As the miles stretched out, the tension in my shoulders eased a fraction, but that damn license plate number was a thorn in my mind. We couldn’t just keep running blind.

I finally called Lily, putting the phone on speaker in its holder.

"Hey there, lovebirds on the lam," Lily’s voice was amused, but I knew she was monitoring our situation closely.

"Lily, need a favor. Run a plate." I recited the number. "We think it’s connected to Brett’s disappearance. Probably what moved him from our territory to the next state over."

"Easy. On it." The rapid clatter of a keyboard came through the line immediately. "Give me a minute... Hmm, got it. Registered to a ’Midwest Prime Meat Packing Company.’ Main business, transporting cattle and sheep. Address is..." She clearly recited a detailed location in a remote area on the edge of the neighboring state.

A slaughterhouse? Transporting livestock? It sounded... so normal. Suspiciously normal. But the timing and location of that truck were all wrong.

"Thanks, Lily."

"Be careful, Jacob. This feels bigger than it looks."

"I know."

A day later, following Lily’s directions, Celena and I parked the Chevy behind a small ridge a few hundred meters from the target. We lay prone in the tall grass, binoculars trained on the so-called "slaughterhouse."

Hell. If this was just a regular slaughterhouse, I’d eat my own tail.

The complex in the distance was surrounded by a high fence topped with vicious-looking razor wire. The walls looked newly reinforced, the concrete a dull, grim grey. The entrance wasn’t some rickety gate with a bloody sign; it was a guarded checkpoint with a booth. Two bulky guards in matching black uniforms stood post, batons and radios on their belts, their eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp intensity. And that wasn’t all—a few heavily muscled, mean-looking Rottweilers patrolled the perimeter, tongues lolling, occasionally letting out low, rumbling barks.

The place was fortified like a military base, or... a prison. The air didn’t carry the thick stench of blood and manure you’d expect. Instead, there was a weird, metallic tang mixed with antiseptic.

"Damn it," I cursed under my breath, lowering the binoculars and rubbing the bridge of my nose. "A fly couldn’t get in there without an ID."

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