The fight drains out of them, replaced by a dawning, miserable understanding. I’m right. Coming at her with brute force and alpha intensity is what got us into this mess.
A prickle starts at the base of my skull. A faint, familiar buzz. The static. It’s returning, a slow tide of noise seeping back into the blissful silence she left behind.
“Dane can find her address,” I say, my voice tight as the buzzing grows louder. “She’s not gone for good. She’s just... gone for now.”
Diego looks utterly devastated. “So what do we do?”
I turn and look back down the street to the rising tower of our penthouse in the distance. The scene of the crime.
“We go back,” I say, the noise in my head making it hard to think. “And we make a goddamn plan.”
But as we turn and start walking back, the image of Zoe’s face is seared into my mind. Not the panic I would have expected. But the pure, unflinching annoyance in her eyes when she saw us. We didn't just claim her. We didn't just terrify her.
We have become an inconvenience.
And somehow, that feels infinitely worse.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zoe
“Where to, miss?”
The cab driver’s cheerful voice snaps me from my panic as I slam the door behind me, heart racing like I’ve just outrun a pack of, well, alphas. My actual alphas, if biology has anything to say about it.
“Just drive,” I gasp, sliding down in the seat. “Anywhere that’s not here.”
He chuckles, pulling into traffic. “That’s not exactly a destination I can punch into the GPS.”
My eyes dart to the rearview mirror, searching for signs of pursuit. Four tall, gorgeous men running down the street after me like the final chase scene in an action movie would be hard to miss. But the traffic behind us flows normally.
“Sorry,” I say, gathering my wits as I give him my address.
“Running from someone?” He glances at me in the mirror, taking in my disheveled appearance and—oh god—the marks on my neck. His eyes widen slightly. “Or several someones, by thelook of it.”
I yank at my dress collar, a futile attempt to hide the evidence. “Just... a misunderstanding.”
“Must’ve been some misunderstanding.” His tone is light, but not judgmental. “Those are alpha marks if I’ve ever seen them. And I’ve seen plenty in my day.”
Great. Now I’m getting relationship advice from a cab driver. Just what this morning needs.
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, staring out the window as we merge onto the main boulevard. The city is waking up around us. Delivery trucks are double-parked outside bakeries, spilling the warm, sweet scent of fresh bread into the air. A florist sets up buckets of bright, dew-kissed flowers on the sidewalk. It's all so painfully, beautifully normal.
The cab driver follows my gaze, a wry, knowing smile on his face.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Looks peaceful, doesn’t it? All that normal.” He shakes his head slightly. “Always is... right before the alphas get involved. My daughter’s a beta. She dated an alpha last year. Nice enough chap, but lord, the drama.”
As he chatters on about his daughter’s love life, I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The familiar landmarks of Sweetwater slide by. The old clock tower, the sprawling public garden, the historic district with its cobblestone streets…but my mind is stuck in a penthouse fifty floors above the city.
Last night’s gala had been important for the gallery. It was the annual Sweetwater Arts Foundation fundraiser, and this year, we were the primary beneficiary. The city’s elite showed up to pretend they cared about modern art while really just looking for an excuse to wear designer clothes and drink free champagne. As assistant curator, I was the gallery’s point person on the floor, tasked with making sure our patrons felt seen and the new donors felt...inspiredto bid.
And it had been going smoothly. Until the Sterlings arrived.
I’d noticed them immediately. It was impossible not to. Theymoved through the crowd like sharks through water, commanding attention without trying. Rett was wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that made his broad shoulders look even broader, his brown hair expertly styled, his jaw set with an authority that was both intimidating and ridiculously hot. Tristan, all easy charm in midnight blue, a killer smile that showed off a single dimple. Diego, effortlessly elegant in deep burgundy, his warm light-brown eyes seeming to miss nothing. And Dane, intimidating in classic black, his pale blond hair almost white under the chandeliers, his light-blue eyes watchful and intense.
But I hadn’t had time to stare. We’d had a crisis with the silent auction displays, and I was rushing to fix it before anyone noticed.
“Excuse me,” I’d said, brushing past Rett Sterling without a second glance. “Coming through with priceless art.”
