Chapter 54: Pack Bolyen
Torin Pov | 2 Months Later
I have the most useless private investigator in the world. How this man is supposedly the best in his field, I cannot comprehend.
My upper lip twitches with irritation as I watch him sitting on my table, hood pulled low, hands shoved deep into his pockets as though he owns the place. He looks nothing like a professional, more like a gangster, covered in tattoos crawling up his arms and peeking out from beneath the fabric, his posture loose and insolent.
The only reason I am even associating myself with the likes of him is because I was promised he was the best, the one man who could find my omega, the omega I know Arabella kidnapped.
I was ready to file an official police report rather than deal with men like him, but there is no proof. The CCTV shows Arabella at the ball the entire time, never once approaching us. I would think I was losing my mind if my pack hadn’t verified that Arabella and Vanya did, in fact, speak to Lorali that night. And the most shocking part? According to both the party’s footage and the penthouse building’s cameras, we returned with Lorali. That is complete bullshit. Yet because of those recordings, the police are breathing down my neck, convinced I did something to her.
"Relax, I’m going to find her," Tobey says, his voice smooth, casual, as if this entire nightmare is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I don’t even know if Tobey is his real name, and how lazily he speaks to me makes me want to rip the hood off his head and demand answers.
My eyes widen at his audacity. "That’s what you said last time, and yet you return to me empty‑handed." My voice seethes with rage as I shove the glass vase beside me off the table. It shatters into a thousand glittering shards at my feet, sharp edges catching the light, but the destruction does nothing to ease the fire in my chest.
I hate myself for this lack of foresight. Not only have I lost Lorali, but I’ve endangered Spade Industries. Sleep is impossible; every night my mind is filled with her face, with the fear that I will wake to find my pack plastered across the news, every crime they’ve committed dragged into the light, every horror inflicted on her exposed. That would not only kill us—it would ruin us. My chest tightens, my breath shortens, and I feel the weight of paranoia pressing down on me like a stone.
"Ow, that vase had to have been worth a million or more," Tobey chuckles, staring at the broken glass as if it’s a joke. His grin spreads wider, his eyes gleaming with amusement. This fucking useless piece of gum stuck beneath my shoe is laughing.
"This is all funny to you, isn’t it? I’m just one big cash grab for your scum‑ridden ass!" I shout, dragging my hand through my hair, my chest heaving, my voice raw with fury.
Tobey laughs again, this time genuinely entertained, as though he’s watching a film unfold before his eyes. That laugh—that sound—pushes me over the edge.
"I am going to kill you," I hiss, and for a moment I mean it. My mind races with the thought. I doubt anyone would care if he vanished. No one would mourn him, no one would even look for him. He would disappear like smoke, forgotten and erased.
"Chill, man. Why are you so pressed all the time? You gotta learn to chill." His voice is smooth, his smile infuriatingly bright, his tone dripping with mockery.
I freeze, staring at that smile. It looks familiar. Too familiar. My gut twists as recognition teases the edge of my memory. I know I’ve seen it before. I know I’ve met the person who wears that smile. I just don’t know who. My mind claws at the memory, desperate to place it, desperate to understand why this useless investigator feels like a ghost from my past and someone that shouldn’t be trusted.
"Here, take this." He throws the small black plastic bag he has been clutching since he entered the office straight at me. "I did not find her, but I found the dress she wore that night. It looks the same as what you described."
I catch the bag with one hand, the weight of it heavier than expected, and rip it open. Inside lies the deep crimson with a high‑neckline gown; it’s the dress Lorali wore before she disappeared.
My stomach twists violently. The fabric is drenched in blood, the odor pungent mingling with her scent until it attacks my nostrils. My throat goes dry, my chest constricts, and I slam the bag shut as panic claws at me.
Why is it bloody? Did something happen to her? Is... is she dead? No. That cannot be possible. If she were gone, Oracle would have felt it, and he would have told me.
"To—" I begin, but when I look up, Tobey is no longer perched on my table. He is already at the door, hood pulled low over his buzzed head. I didn’t hear him move. I didn’t hear a single step.
"Trust me. I’ma find your girl," he says, voice smooth, almost mocking, as he pulls the hood tighter and yanks the door open.
The door swings wide, revealing Oracle, who stumbles forward, caught in the act of eavesdropping. He struggles to keep his balance, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"If you’re going to spy, cover your scent," Tobey chuckles, brushing past him without so much as a goodbye. Not that I wanted one.
"Why are you here, Oracle?" I demand, sinking heavily into my chair, the black plastic bag resting like a curse on my lap.
Oracle strides into the room with confidence. It’s almost amusing, when his face was bruised and swollen, he walked with his head bowed, shame dripping from his posture. Now that his wounds have healed, he carries himself with his head high, shoulders squared, as if he fears nothing.
"Is it news about Lorali?" I press. I had tasked him with hiding certain truths about her after Tobey’s endless failures. I told him not to appear in this office unless he had something worth saying.
"You know you really care about her," Oracle says, his tone steady, his stance perfectly matching his words. "Her disappearance bothers you so much because you feel something for her."
I roll my eyes, groaning with irritation. Oracle is always pushing this narrative, always insisting I am falling for Lorali. "I don’t love her. I love Spade. That is why I am trying to find her."
"So, you sleeping in her guest room is also about protecting Spade? Not because you miss her? And along the lines of your acting over those two weeks you were together, the great Torin fell for Lorali."
My patience snaps. "If you are here to spread some agenda in my mind, get out. If not, say what you came to say and then get out."
Oracle’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping like a stone. "Erin Bolyen’s pack is dead."
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence. My body goes numb, my mind echoing with his words.
"I thought you’d want to know about your friend’s pack," Oracle continues, his tone weighted with grim certainty. "Erin is the only remaining member. The rest died in a plane crash, a plane Erin himself was supposed to be on. He survived only because of a sudden meeting that kept him behind."
The words crash into me, each one heavier than the last. My chest tightens, my breath falters.
"When did this happen?" I manage to croak, my voice breaking under the weight of disbelief.
"Last night," Oracle answers, his voice steady and much calmer than mine. "But the news is only coming out this morning."
"Thank you for telling me. You may go now," I say, with my voice, and Oracle nods before closing the door behind him as he leaves.
The moment I am alone, I drag my hand down my face, the stress pressing into my skin. It’s unbelievable. How did this happen? One member dying, maybe I could understand, but three in one day, on one flight—that is insane. I need to contact Erin. I need to make sure he is alright.
I reach for my phone on the table, fingers trembling, and dial his number. Of course I know it by heart, he’s my best friend. The line rings three times before he answers.
"Hello, Torin," he greets, his voice drained by the hollowness of death.
"I’m sorry for your loss, man. I just heard what happened. They were good men," I say, and I mean it. This pain is real. Erin’s pack wasn’t just his family, they were part of mine too, the closest thing I would ever get to a normal pack. Most of the time when I was with him, they were there. I never thought death would bother me, not after I stood dry‑eyed at my grandfather’s funeral. But this... this hurts.
"Thanks. Guess news travels fast now that you’ve heard of it." He chuckles, but it’s not light. It’s the kind of laugh people force out to keep themselves from breaking down. "I can come over and help with the funeral," I offer, though I’ve never planned one before. I honestly just want to help.
"No, everything is sorted. But your presence at the funeral would be much appreciated."
I nod even though he can’t see me. "I’ll be there." There’s a pause and I swallow hard. "Erin, I know this is a very bad time to ask, but I need to know..."
He cuts me off, his voice dull but firm. "No. They were not involved. The Masintosh’s have nothing to do with this. They gave me their word, and the main Alpha doesn’t play about his word. There was no foul play. The weather was just really bad. Even the pilot told my second not to fly that day, but he didn’t listen. Lightning struck the jet, set it ablaze, and it crashed into the ocean."
His words fall heavy, but the weight in my gut lifts. I had been convinced the Masintosh’s were involved. It didn’t make sense for a pack to die in a plane crash. But now, hearing the details, it feels less suspicious and more tragically inevitable.
"Torin, you seriously have to come, or else I’ll have no one on my side," Erin says, and only then does it hit me. The last of what Erin had as family, not including me, had all perished in that plane, he was already an orphan since his parents and grandparents died and like me he didn’t have siblings. He is the last remaining Bolyen.
"I’ll be there,"
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