It’s Beau and Willa. Willa in Beau’s arms, their mouths fused together. The way she’s moving against him, the way his face is buried in her neck—it’s intimate and private and never meant to be seen by anyone else.
Someone filmed them. Someone violated that moment and sent it to APBRA.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“That’s in thirty minutes,” Beau says, his voice tight. “I know. I just turned my phone back on.”
My mind is already racing, calculating. Willa’s in trouble. Beau’s in trouble. The contract—there’s something in their contracts about fraternization and professional conduct. I remember Beau talking about it when he got in all that trouble last year.
“We need to go. Now.” I’m moving before I finish speaking. It takes me no time to grab the first things I see and throw them on before I’m back downstairs and heading out to Beau’s truck.
The drive to APBRA headquarters is a blur of adrenaline and worst-case scenarios. Beau’s driving too fast, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Jake’s in the back seat, jaw clenched, staring out the window. None of us speaks.
What happens if they fire her? What happens if they ban Beau from competing? What happens if this ruins everything before we even have a chance?
My Alpha is snarling, demanding I fix this, protect what’s ours. But I don’t know how to fix something I don’t fully understand yet.
We pull into the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Marshal’s truck is already there, along with a handful of other vehicles I recognize. My stomach tightens.
“We go in together,” I say as we climb out. “As a pack.”
Beau nods, some of the emotion in his eyes easing slightly. Jake falls into step beside us, and we walk through the front doors as a united front.
The receptionist barely looks up. “Conference room. They’re waiting.”
APBRA headquarters takes up half a city block, with their corporate offices taking up the main building—the tallest building in Muddy Creek.
We all get in the elevator, and I look over at Jake, who has been silent this entire time.
“Hey, we got this,” I say.
He only nods in acknowledgment. I move next to him and wrap a hand around his shoulder, giving him a little shake until he looks up at me.
“Jake, we got this.” Even though I don’t really know what “this” is, one thing is for sure—whatever she needs, we do.
“Mmhmm,” he says.
The conference room is exactly as intimidating as I expected. About twenty chairs circle the long table. Marshal Lane sits at the head of the table, his expression tense. On one side, there are two others—I get lawyer vibes—both looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.
And on his other side, sitting ramrod straight in a chair, is Willa.
She looks small and young, and freaked the fuck out. Her face is pale, her hands fidgeting with a small paper cup in front of her. Josie Lane is sitting next to her, her hand on Willa’s arm.
A sudden look of shock crosses her face when we enter, but she doesn’t acknowledge our presence any more than that—not until she gets to Beau, and a mottled flush creeps up her chest and neck. She doesn’t make any more eye contact after that.
She just keeps staring at some point on the wall like an anchor. But underneath the obvious tension is steel. Watching her try to keep her composure makes me want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and give her a place to be soft.
Something in my chest cracks.
“Gentlemen,” Marshal says, his voice carefully neutral. “Please, sit.”
We sit, but I position myself so I can see Willa in my peripheral vision. Beau’s doing the same, and Jake’s practically vibrating with the need to go to her.
“As I was saying before you arrived,” Marshal continues, glancing at Willa, “we have a situation. Someone sent this video to the entire APBRA board late last night, along with allegations that Miss James has violated the professional conduct clause of her contract.”
A low, barely audible growl rumbles from Beau’s chest.
“In addition to you, Beau,” Lane says, shifting his focus toward where we sit.
