It's an awkward angle—my head tilted back, his tilted forward, our lips meeting in a way that shouldn't work but somehow does. His mouth is warm and tastes faintly of the protein shake he probably had earlier, and his hands slide from my shoulders to cup my jaw, holding me steady while he takes his time exploring.
When he finally pulls back, I'm slightly breathless. "Are you good?" he asks softly, his eyes searching mine. "Really good? After everything this morning?"
I nod, bringing my head back to a normal position so I can look at both of them properly. "I'm good. Really. I'm not as shaken up as I expected to be, honestly."
Lips press against the front of my throat—Tank, taking advantage of my exposed neck to leave a gentle kiss right over my pulse point. The sensation makes me shiver, heat pooling low in my belly.
"You sure?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against my skin. His hand comes up to grip my chin gently, encouraging me to lower my head so I'm looking directly into his eyes. They're dark and warm and genuinely concerned, all traces of teasing gone. "It's okay to not be okay, Sweetness."
"I know." I reach up to touch his face, my sparkly pink nails a stark contrast against his stubbled jaw. "But I really am okay. I think... I think it's because I actually feel supported. For the first time in my life, something bad happened and I didn't have to handle it alone. Julian took care of everything. You two are here. Ruby distracted me with manicures and mimosas. It's just... different. Good different."
Tank studies my face for a long moment, reading my expression with that intense focus he brings to everything.Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he leans up and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
"That's how it should be," he says when he pulls back. "That's how it should have always been. But it should never have happened to begin with, and we're going to make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Absolutely," Elias agrees, and I feel him lean over to press a kiss to my cheek. "Speaking of which—the camera crew is already on site. Installing new cameras at every angle, inside and out. Tank's connections came through."
"Camera crew?" I twist to look at him, surprised. "Already? It's only been a few hours."
"When you know the right people, things move fast," Tank says with a shrug that somehow manages to convey both modesty and the absolute certainty that he could solve any problem if given sufficient motivation. "I also sent some of my connections to fix the windows."
"Fix the—" I stare at him. "Tank, the window was completely destroyed. That's not a quick fix."
"It is when you have the right contractor on speed dial." His smirk is infuriatingly smug. "New glass is already installed. Bulletproof. Impact-resistant. Pretty much everything-proof, really. Anyone who wants to smash through it again is going to need military-grade equipment."
"Bulletproof," I repeat faintly. "You installed bulletproof glass in a bakery."
"Inyourbakery," Elias corrects. "Or at least the one where you work. And before you say it's too much—it's not. It's the minimum acceptable level of protection for somewhere our Omega spends significant time."
Our Omega. Like it's already decided. Like I'm already theirs, officially and permanently.
I should probably correct him. Remind them that we're still technically in a temporary arrangement, that nothing is official yet, that Valentine's Day is the deadline we agreed on. But the words don't come. Because I don't want to correct him. I don't want to remind them. I want to be theirs. I want it so badly it aches.
"Julian confirmed about ten minutes ago," Tank continues, "that the whole place is sparkly new. You should be able to open back up tomorrow, no problem."
"But—" I'm struggling to process. "Hazel's on maternity leave. She can't deal with this kind of stress. I was going to figure out how to?—"
"We know," Elias interrupts gently. "That's why we handled it. You're not going to carry the stress of fixing this on your own. That's not how this works."
"You just... fixed it. All of it. In a few hours."
"We're efficient," Tank says dryly. "It's one of our many admirable qualities."
I gawk at them both, genuinely speechless. The bakery was destroyed this morning. The window was shattered, the inside was trashed, there was spray paint on the walls. And now, less than half a day later, it's completely restored. New cameras. Bulletproof glass. Ready to open tomorrow.
Who are these men? What kind of connections do they have? And why do I feel like crying again?
"There's more," Elias says, and something in his tone makes me tense. "Julian's been busy."
"More than bulletproof glass?"
"He went over to your apartment," Tank says. "He's arranging to have your stuff moved. All of it. To our place."
I blink. "What?"
"If they targeted your work," Elias explains, "they're almost certainly going to target your home next. It's thelogical escalation. So we're removing the target entirely. Your apartment will be empty by tonight."
"But—" A dozen protests rise to my lips.That's too fast. We haven't discussed this. I don't want to impose. What if?—
