Chapter 44: Tornado Behind Their Car

Chapter 44: Chapter 44: Tornado Behind Their Car

Caesar sat in brooding silence, his massive frame wedged into the leather seat like a grumpy bear who’d been told the honey supply was cut off. His gaze remained fixed on the window, watching the city blur past, but his mind was still stuck in that hotel lobby.

Caelian, ever the menace, leaned forward with a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"What’s got you so quiet, brother? Still thinking about that person in the lobby?"

Caesar’s jaw tightened. "I wasn’t thinking about anything."

"Liar."

Caelus, seated across from them with a stack of documents that could rival a small tree in height, didn’t even look up. His pen scratched across the paper with mechanical precision.

"Who is Caelian referring to? Was there someone of interest at the hotel? Another pack’s spy?"

Caesar hesitated. The words felt ridiculous even inside his own head. But if he was right—if that really was her—then keeping quiet would be a mistake he couldn’t afford.

"I... I think I saw that crazy woman. The... meat bun woman. She was running behind us in the lobby."

Both twins reacted simultaneously.

Caelus’s pen froze mid-stroke. Caelian dropped his phone mid-text—likely leaving some poor woman hanging with a half-written "can’t wait to see you later ;)"—and stared at Caesar like he’d just announced the apocalypse.

"WHAT?! That woman was at THAT hotel?!"

"Are you certain?! Why didn’t you say something sooner?!"

"I’m not a hundred percent sure," Caesar growled, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears were turning red—not from embarrassment, but from sheer irritation at the memory. "The silhouette in the mirror reflection looked exactly like her. Same build. Same features. But when I turned to get a better look, some alpha stepped in front of her and blocked my view."

"Oh, don’t tell me you mean that couple?"

Caelian had also glanced back when Caesar turned. He’d seen the man’s broad shoulders block the view. The possessive stance. The territorial energy.

"If it really is that woman..." Caelian’s voice dropped, his usual flirty tone replaced by something more calculating. "Doesn’t that mean the man is Adrian Quinn? Her pack’s new alpha? We’ve only ever met his father, but I could tell even from behind—that alpha’s build was almost identical to the former Crimson Crest Alpha."

Caelus’s eyes narrowed.

"The new alpha of Crimson Crest Pack... I read the investigation report briefly. It said they were dating. Which means..."

"Which means there’s a high chance it was actually her," Caelian finished. "Unless he’s dating her clone. Which would be weird, but honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t rule anything out."

Caelus sighed a bone-deep, world-weary sigh that carried the weight of a thousand paperwork-induced migraines. Without a word, he initiated a mind-link with one of the pack guards still stationed at the hotel, requesting the lobby footage from roughly twenty to thirty minutes ago.

’Footage. Lobby. Twenty to thirty minutes ago. Send it to my tablet. Now.’

The car then fell into a tense silence. Even Oliver had decided that this was not a conversation he wanted to be part of.

Caelian, sensing that no one else was going to break the silence, turned his attention back to Caesar. His brother still looked troubled, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line—like he was trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

And Caelian, being Caelian, could not resist.

"Caesar~" he sing-songed, leaning closer. "Don’t think too much about it. Maybe what you saw wasn’t really her."

Caesar’s eye twitched.

"Or maybe..." He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a mock-sympathetic purr. "Maybe you’re just traumatized. Or worse—maybe you miss her meat buns so much that you’re hallucinating her face on every woman you see. I mean, come ON brother. You’re a virgin who got suffocated by bare boobs for the first time in your life. That kind of experience leaves a mark. Her image is probably burned into your brain like a brand. Of course you see her everywhere! You’re haunted by the ghost of Boobs Past!"

Caesar shot him a death glare.

"I will throw you out of this moving car."

"You wouldn’t."

"I would. And I wouldn’t even slow down."

Caelus, still not looking up from his documents, spoke with the cold finality of a judge delivering a verdict.

"Both of you. Shut up. We’ll know soon enough."

Caesar clicked his tongue and turned away, deciding that silence was the better part of valor. He slumped back into his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child who’d been told he couldn’t have dessert, and fixed his gaze out the window.

And then he nearly choked on his own saliva.

In the side-view mirror.

Behind their car was Kyler’s vehicle—a sleek black beast of an SUV that looked like it could survive a missile strike.

And behind Kyler’s car?

A delivery scooter.

A delivery scooter that looked like it was held together by prayers, rust, and the ghost of a mechanic who’d died mid-repair. It was zigzagging at a speed that should have been physically impossible for such a decrepit machine, swerving wildly between lanes like a drunk bumblebee on a sugar high.

And on that scooter?

Two women.

One was hunched in front of the driver, tiny body curled into a ball, screaming at a pitch that could shatter glass.

The other was gripping the handlebars with the desperate intensity of a soldier crawling through a warzone—her hair whipping wildly in the wind, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

It was her.

The meat bun woman.

Caesar’s brain short-circuited.

He rubbed his eyes violently.He looked again.

Still there.

He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars.

Looked again.

Gone.

The scooter had vanished—swallowed by traffic like a ghost that had fulfilled its haunting quota for the day.

Caesar sat frozen, his hands gripping the armrest so tightly the leather creaked in protest. A cold sweat trickled down his spine.

Am I... going crazy?

Did Caelian’s stupid joke actually manifest into reality?

Am I hallucinating her now? On a DELIVERY SCOOTER? Behind our car? In the middle of traffic?

That’s insane. That’s beyond insane. That’s... that’s...

It must be a hallucination.

IT HAS TO BE A HALLUCINATION.

---

Meanwhile, approximately two hundred meters behind them, Azura Luo was fighting for her life. She was discovering that delivery scooters were, in fact, not bicycles, not motorcycles, and definitely not vehicles designed for someone who had never driven anything in her life except a shopping cart.

The wind was slapping her face so hard she was pretty sure her cheeks were rearranging themselves. The scooter vibrated beneath her like a dying blender. She had no idea which button did what—she was pretty sure she’d accidentally activated the windshield wipers at some point, despite there being no windshield.

"AAAAAAAHHH!!" screamed Karina Grey, aka LunaInTraining, from the tiny space between Azura’s arms. Her legs were curled up like a frightened spider. "WHY DID YOU HONK THE HORN?!"

"I DIDN’T MEAN TO!!"

"DON’T PRESS THAT—AAAAHHHH!! WE’RE FLYING!! WE’RE GONNA CRASH INTO THE ALPHA KYLER’S CAR!! I’M GONNA DIE AND MY LEEK WON’T EVEN KNOW I EXIST!!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T BE THROWING THE KEYS TO SOMEONE WHO HAS NEVER RIDDEN A SCOOTER BEFORE!!"

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU KNEW HOW TO RIDE!"

"I SAID I’D FIGURE IT OUT!! THERE’S A DIFFERENCE!!"

"THAT’S NOT A DIFFERENCE!! THAT’S A LIE!!"

"FORGET ABOUT YOUR LEEK!! START REMEMBERING COFFIN SIZES!! BECAUSE WE’RE GONNA NEED THEM!!"

The scooter swerved dangerously close to Kyler’s bumper, missing it by what could generously be called a prayer and a miracle. Karina’s scream reached a pitch that could summon stray dogs from three blocks away.

"LEFT!! GO LEFT!! NO, NOT THAT LEFT—THAT’S A BUS—WE’RE GOING TO DIE—"

"I DON’T KNOW WHICH LEFT IS LEFT ANYMORE!! I’M RUNNING ON PURE TERROR AND INSANITY!!"

The scooter wobbled, corrected itself, and then proceeded to mount the sidewalk, nearly taking out a streetlamp, a mailbox, and a man walking his poodle.

The poodle was fine.

The man was not.

The man was now questioning every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

---

Inside the sleek black SUV, the atmosphere was as calm as a monastery library. Kyler sat in the back seat, tablet in hand, his sharp features illuminated by the pale blue glow of the screen as he reviewed documents with the mechanical precision of a man who had long since forgotten what "rest" meant. His fingers moved across the screen in smooth, efficient strokes—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Just pure, cold productivity.

Wilson, seated in the front passenger seat, was the picture of composed professionalism. He held a small container of mixed nuts in one hand, occasionally tossing a cashew into his mouth while scrolling through a logistics report on his own device. His posture was relaxed but alert—a beta’s instinct, honed over years of serving an Alpha who attracted trouble like honey attracted bears.

Every few seconds, his gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. A habit. A survival instinct.

And that’s when he saw it.

His hand froze mid-reach, a single almond pinched between his fingers, hovering uselessly in the air.

Behind their car, a delivery scooter—one that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrapyard, painted over with optimism, and then cursed by a shaman—was weaving through traffic like a caffeinated weasel on roller skates.

It was swerving. No. It was possessed. It zigzagged from the road to the sidewalk, back to the road, then nearly kissed their rear bumper. Then it swerved again—missing a guardrail by centimeters—then a lamppost—then a pedestrian carrying grocery bags full of canned goods.

The pedestrian did not survive the encounter unscathed. He was now rolling down the sidewalk like a human bowling ball, cans scattering everywhere, taking out two other pedestrians in a glorious, domino-effect catastrophe.

The scooter then narrowly avoided a poodle—a poodle that stopped, turned its head, and gave the scooter a look of profound, almost philosophical disappointment, as if it had seen the afterlife and decided it wasn’t worth the detour.

And it swerved again to dodge a bus, causing the bus to swerve so violently it looked like it was attempting an interpretive dance number titled "Avoiding Litigation."

As Wilson had to blink to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating—the scooter almost entered a bank—

A BANK.

Through the front entrance.

At full speed.

As if the driver thought, "You know what, I think I’ll deposit my life insurance policy in person. At 120 kilometers an hour."

—before swerving away at the last possible second.

Inside the bank, a teller had already pressed the panic button, her soul briefly leaving her body.

Wilson blinked. The scooter swerved again, barely avoiding a head-on collision with a fire hydrant.

He blinked again.

The almond in his fingers trembled.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the back seat, where Kyler was still tapping away at his tablet, utterly oblivious to the vehicular apocalypse unfolding behind them.

"Alpha..." Wilson’s voice came out strangled, like he was trying to suppress a laugh, a scream, and a prayer all at once. "I think you need to see the tornado that’s currently having a personal crisis behind our car."

Kyler didn’t look up. "Not interested."

"No, I really think you—"

Before he could finish the sentence—before Kyler could even raise an eyebrow—a loud CRASH echoed from behind them.