"Did you think I approached you in town by accident?" His eyes found mine, glittering with triumph. "Did you think any of this was chance? I've had my eye on you since the day you arrived at Longhorn. Saw you in town that first week, before you'd even settled in, before they'd even given you a real job. I could smell the potential on you — feral, unbroken, desperate for somewhere to belong." His smile widened, sharp and predatory. "I thought about approaching you then. Making you mine before the Caldwells even knew what they had. But I decided to wait. Let them do the hard work of socializing you, of teaching you to trust. Then I'd take you when you were ready."
"I'll never be ready." I hissed, my nails digging into the brass lamp until my knuckles went white. "I'll never be yours. I'd rather die than let you bond me."
"No, you wouldn't." He said it with infuriating certainty, moving toward the door, keeping his distance but watching me with those cold, calculating eyes. "You're a survivor, Aster. That's what I like about you. You'll fight and snarl and bite — and I'll enjoy every moment of breaking that resistance — but in the end, you'll do whatever it takes to stay alive." He paused at thedoor, one hand on the frame, blood dripping from his bandaged wound onto the expensive carpet. "The question is just how much pain you want to endure before you accept the inevitable."
"They'll find me." I said it like a prayer, like a promise, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. "Reid and Sawyer and Nolan and Kol. They'll tear this place apart to get to me. They'll kill anyone who stands in their way."
"Oh, I'm counting on it." His smile turned vicious, his eyes glittering with dark anticipation. "In fact, I'm hoping they try. It would make everything so much simpler if they gave me a reason to deal with them... permanently."
The word hit me like a blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. He wasn't just planning to keep me. He was planning to kill them. To use me as bait, to lure them in, to destroy everything I loved.
"No." The word came out broken, desperate, the lamp trembling in my grip. "No, please. Whatever you want, whatever you need — I'll do it. Just don't hurt them. Please."
Something shifted in his expression — satisfaction, maybe, or triumph. Like I'd finally said the magic words he'd been waiting for.
"There it is." He said softly, almost gently, like a lover sharing an intimate moment. "That's what I was waiting for. That's how I know I've already won." He opened the door, pausing to look back at me one last time, framed in the doorway like a monster from a nightmare. "Think about what I've said, little Omega. Think about what you're willing to sacrifice to keep your precious pack alive. I'll be back in a few hours, and we can... discuss terms."
The door closed behind him with a heavy click, and I heard the sound of locks engaging — multiple locks, from the sound of it, heavy and industrial, designed to keep someone in rather than keep someone out.
The lamp fell from my nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor.
I slid down the side of the bed, my legs giving out, my whole body shaking with sobs I couldn't suppress. The room was beautiful and terrible, a prison disguised as luxury, and I was trapped inside it with a madman who wanted to destroy everything I loved.
Reid. Nolan. Kol. Sawyer.
Their faces swam behind my closed eyes — Reid's steady dark gaze full of quiet devotion, Nolan's gentle smile and patient hands, Kol's sunshine warmth that made even the darkest days brighter, Sawyer's fierce protection and his understanding of the darkness I carried. They would come for me. I knew they would, as surely as I knew my own name. That was who they were. That was what pack meant.
Easton was expecting that. Counting on it. Planning to use their love against them, to turn their greatest strength into the weapon of their destruction. I had to find a way out. Had to warn them somehow. Had to do something besides sit here and wait for the trap to close around the people I loved most in the world. My ankle was swelling purple and hot, my head was pounding from the blow he'd given me, and every exit was barred or guarded or locked. This room was designed to hold someone, and it was holding me.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, breathing through the panic, trying to think past the fear and the pain and the despair threatening to swallow me whole.
Easton wanted me broken. Wanted me compliant. Wanted me to beg. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not yet. Not ever if I could help it. His words echoed in my mind, poisonous and persistent, burrowing into the soft places where hope still lived: Think about what you're willing to sacrifice to keep your precious pack alive.
Everything, I thought, the word settling into my chest like a stone. I would sacrifice everything.
Even myself.
The thought was cold and heavy and certain. If it came down to my freedom or their lives, there was no question. No hesitation. I would do whatever Easton wanted, become whatever he needed, endure whatever he did to me, if it meant keeping them safe. That was what love meant. That was what pack meant.
I wasn't broken yet. I still had teeth. I still had claws. I still had the feral instincts that had kept me alive for nine years when everyone else had given up on me.
First, I would fight. First, I would snarl and bite and claw and make him earn every inch of ground. And pray that they found me before I had to make the choice that would destroy us all.
The afternoon light crept across the floor in golden bars, marking time in a prison that smelled of wrong and tasted like despair. I stayed huddled against the bed, watching the door, waiting for Easton to return with his terms and his threats and his twisted version of mercy.
Waiting for rescue that might never come.
Waiting to see which would break first — my body or my spirit or my heart.
Outside, somewhere beyond the bars and the guards and the locked doors, the sun was setting over Longhorn Ranch. Over home. Over the four men who were probably tearing the county apart looking for me, who wouldn't stop until they found me or died trying.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SAWYER
Something was wrong. I felt it before I knew it — a crawling sensation beneath my skin, a tightness in my chest, an itch in my hindbrain that wouldn't stop no matter how hard I tried to focus on the fence post in front of me. The hammer felt wrong in my grip, too heavy, too clumsy. The sun felt too bright, searing into my eyes. The air tasted like copper and fear, thick on my tongue.
Aster.
