By the time they realize I'm gone—if they even care—it will be too late.
A sob tears out of my throat. Then another. I can't stop them, can't hold back the terror that's been building since the needle slid into my neck. I cry like I haven't cried since I was nine years old, huddled in Linda's basement, learning for the first time what it meant to be an omega in a world that wanted to own me.
I thought I escaped that life. Thought Margot saved me from it.
But here I am. Right back where I started.
Alone. Afraid. And worth nothing more than what my body can provide.
The drugs pull me under again, and the last thing I see before the darkness takes me is the bare bulb flickering overhead—a single point of light in an endless, suffocating black.
Chapter 26
Bane
Ican still feel him.
It's been two hours since we left Max's room, and I can still feel his tongue on my fingers, feel the phantom weight of his wrists pinned beneath my hands, hear the desperate sounds he made around my fingers as he sucked them like they were the only thing keeping him sane. I've showered twice. It doesn't help. He's seeped into my skin, into my blood, into some part of me I didn't know existed until tonight.
The office is quiet. Atlas is at his desk, pretending to look at something on his laptop, but his eyes haven't moved in fifteen minutes. Zero is sprawled on the leather couch, a glass of whiskey balanced on his chest, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him.
None of us are sleeping tonight.
I'm in the armchair by the window, watching the moon through the glass, trying not to think about the sounds Max made when Atlas's fingers were inside him. Trying not to remember the way his body arched, the way he whimpered, the way he looked at me with those desperate, tear-filled eyes while Atlas was the one who got to—
I clench my jaw. Force the thought down.
It should have been me.
The jealousy is ugly. Shameful. Atlas was helping Max, taking care of him, doing what needed to be done. And I was grateful for it—amgrateful for it. But some primal part of me burned the entire time, watching my brother's mouth on Max's body, watching his fingers disappear inside that slick heat, watching Max fall apart under Atlas's touch while all I could do was hold his wrists and give him my fingers to suck.
I wanted to be the one between his legs. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel him clench around me, wanted to find that spot that made him scream, wanted to be the reason his eyes rolled back and his spine arched off the bed.
Instead, I held him down and watched someone else have him.
And I've never wanted anything more in my life.
It's not just the omega pull—though that's there, thrumming under my skin like a second heartbeat. It's something deeper. Something that started the moment Max stumbled into the bachelor suite I was hiding in during the wedding, all nervous energy and guarded eyes and those pouty lips that couldn’t find confident words.
I want to know him. Really know him. I want to understand why he flinches when people get too close. Why he hides his writing like it's something shameful. Why he looks at himself in mirrors like he's cataloging flaws instead of features.
I want to be the one who makes him smile—really smile, not that tight-lipped performance he gives Margot. I want to be the one he trusts with his secrets. I want to peel back every layer he's built around himself and find the person underneath.
And yes,god fucking help me, I want to make him whimper like that again. Want to feel him come apart under my hands. Want to hear my name on his lips when he breaks.
"We need to talk about this."
Atlas's voice cuts through the silence. I look up. He's closed the laptop, his hands folded on the desk, that CEO expression firmly in place. The one that means he's about to say something we won't like.
My older brother has been calling the shots since I was young. It’s his role and he plays it well.
Zero doesn't move. "Talk about what?"
"About Max. About what happened tonight. About what happens next."
I watch Atlas's reflection in the window glass. His shoulders are tight. Coiled. He's been like this since we left Max's room—wound so tight I'm surprised he hasn't shattered.
"What happens next is we help him through his heat." Zero takes a sip of whiskey, the glass catching the lamplight. "It's going to last days. He'll need us again."
