Torren frowned at the package in the middle of the back-porch table. It was addressed to the Remainder of the Sons of Beasts Crew but had no return address.

The handwriting was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Here,” Nox announced, plopping a plate of bratwursts on the table, “snack time.”

Candace giggled clear as a bell beside him and cuddled deeper into the blanket she’d thrown around her shoulders when Torren had called the early-morning crew meeting. She was sitting in her favorite duct-taped pink plastic chair right next to him. “I meant breakfast food or fruit or something,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, you’re going to have to clarify next time,” Nox said, biting into a cooked sausage. Around the giant bite of food, he explained, “I don’t get hints, and mind-reading is Vyr’s gig.”

“I like sausage,” Nevada said helpfully as she reached for one.

Nox nodded proudly. “You gonna get stuffed with a ten-inch sausage when we get through this boring-ass meeting and go back to bed.”

Nox used to be so annoying, but lately Torren didn’t mind him as much. Maybe he was just getting used to him, or maybe he appreciated that the idiot was just about the most loyal person in the whole world and had stepped up as Second in the crew when Vyr had left. This group of friends shouldn’t work…but they did. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs most days, and if HavoK didn’t fight Nox’s grizzly every other day, it was a slow week, but Torren knew from experience that if push came to shove, his mate, Nox, and Nevada would have his back no matter what.

They’d gone and made a family group after all.

Only thing missing? Vyr.

Torren ripped into the package and pulled out a thick book. The cover and spine were a deep burgundy color with a dragon drawn onto the cover with gold filigree. Fancy.

He opened it. Inside, the blank pages had been cut away to make space for a small, handheld video device.

“Whoa,” Nox murmured, standing to lock his arms on the table like Torren and look at the book. The brat in his hand was making a grease stain on the old table, but it would just add more character to it, so Torren didn’t care. Vyr would probably shit a brick when he saw it, though. That dragon was a neat freak.

Candace cuddled against Torren’s side and pushed a small green button that said play. God, she smelled good. Shampoo and sleep, and his mate was going to get sausage too, when they were done here. He grinned wickedly just thinking about it. They were trying for a baby now and having a helluva lot of fun practicing.

The blank screen morphed to a scene that stopped Torren’s heart. It was a massive room with concrete walls and closed hanger doors along the back. There was a red light flashing over one of them, and the walls were charred and almost black from the scorch marks. There was a bed, no sheets, just a metal frame and a mattress, and on it sat a ghost. At least that’s what Torren thought at first.

“Oh, my gosh,” Candace whispered as Vyr lifted his shaved head and stared directly into the camera. One of his eyes was human blue, but one was the silver of his dragon. Fuck. He looked exhausted, pale, and his fists were clenched on his knees like he was pissed.

“I said I don’t want to do interviews,” he growled in a voice that echoed around the room with power.

“Your father has requested this,” a woman’s voice sounded from behind the camera.

Vyr’s hands clenched even tighter, and his face twisted in rage.

“What are your feelings after being here for six months?”

“I don’t have feelings. Never did.”

There was a scribbling noise as the interviewer jotted down notes. “I’ve read your file and am aware you have had some issues with authority. What can this facility do to make this experience easier on you?”

“You mean what can they do to control me better?”

“Sure.”

Vyr ripped his gaze away from her and didn’t answer.

She tried again. “If you could have one thing here, for comfort, what would it be?”

His voice cracked on the answer. “My crew.”

Those two words gutted Torren. Vyr looked like shit, like he’d been going through literal hell, and he was admitting he needed them. He’d never admitted to needing anyone. This was really bad.

The interviewer’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “They’re trying to take your dragon. If you want to say something, request something, ask for help…do it now.”

When Vyr slid his half-human, half-dragon gaze to the woman, his mask of rage had fallen. He swallowed hard and said, “Breaking and entering.”

“What?”

“Vandalism. Illegal fights.”

Vyr blinked slowly and locked that fiery gaze on the camera. There was power in his voice as he ordered, “Come. Here.”

The camera clicked to black.

“Holy shit,” Nox murmured.

“What does this mean?” Nevada asked in a small, scared voice.

The handwriting on the address suddenly clicked into place. It belonged to Damon Daye. He’d helped put Vyr in that awful place, and now he was trying to help his son? Torren needed to figure out what Damon’s end game was before they did this, for the protection of his crew.

Candace was staring up at Torren with a grim set to her mouth, as if she already knew where he was going to go with this.

“Seriously, what did he mean?” Nevada asked louder.

Torren pulled Candace tighter against his ribs and sighed. “He just listed things that would get us minimal time in shifter prison.”

“Meaning?” Candace asked, but her voice was full of steel like she already knew. She already looked on board with this.

“Meaning, we can’t break into that facility and get him out. But our alpha just ordered us to come save his dragon.”

“We’re getting arrested?” Nox asked a little too excitedly. “I’m in!”

Nevada looked nervous as hell, but she lifted two fingers in the air. “It’s Vyr. He looks bad. He’s ours. I’m in.”

Candace gently clenched her teeth onto Torren’s bicep. She eased back and then shook her head at him with a small grin on her lips. “Well, if we’re goin’ to Hell, we might as well do it thoroughly. I’m in.”

“Yeaaah!” Nox crowed. “Let’s go fuck some shit up! I’ve got, like, thirty ideas already. We need to find a swan-sitter for Mr. Diddles.”

Torren chuckled and roughly ran his hands through his hair. God, they couldn’t just be well-behaved for any amount of time before they found trouble.

But then again? That’s what they’d signed up for the day they made this crew. This was the motherfuckin’ Z-Team. Total screw-ups and proud. They weren’t built to be a quiet crew.

“All right,” Torren murmured, allowing a slow, wicked smile as he looked around at his people, his friends, his family group…his mate. “Let’s go save the Red Dragon.”