I cross to it. My hands are trembling as I tap the trackpad. The screen flickers to life, harsh and bright in the dim room.
Browser tabs. Half a dozen of them, lined up across the top like accusations.
Black market suppressants no prescription
Omega suppressants buy online
Heat suppressants fast delivery
And in another tab—a forum thread. Replies. Phone numbers. One of them highlighted, copied to the clipboard.
My stomach drops through the floor.
"Bane." Atlas's voice comes from behind me. Close. I didn't hear him follow. "What is it?"
I turn the laptop toward him. Watch his face as he reads. Watch the controlled mask crack and shatter, watch the color drain from his skin until he looks like a ghost.
"He went looking for suppressants." My voice sounds wrong. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else. "In the middle of his heat. Alone."
Behind me, I hear Zero make a choked sound. I turn. He's standing by the chair in the corner, one of Max's jackets pressed to his face, breathing in the lingering scent like a man drowning. When he lowers it, his eyes are wet. Wild.
"Fuck." The word comes out broken. "Fuck, he didn't—"
"He did." I turn back to the laptop, scrolling through the browser history. "There has to be something here—an address, a meeting place—"
"Move." Atlas shoulders me aside, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He pulls up the text messages synced to the laptop, scanning through them. "Here. He was texting someone about suppressants."
I read over his shoulder. The conversation is short. Desperate.
How soon can you meet?
Tonight's tight. Got another pickup at 11.
Any chance you can do tonight? I can pay extra.
Fine. 10:30. Same price. Don't be late.
And then an address. An intersection on the east side.
"I know that area," Zero says, his voice flat. Dead. He's stopped sniffing the jacket, his whole body gone rigid. "That's not a neighborhood. That's trafficking territory. That's where the Kline operation runs their processing."
The word processing hangs in the air like a death knell.
"Why would he do this?" Zero's voice cracks. He throws the jacket down and starts pacing, short angry strides that eat up the small room. His hands keep clenching and unclenching at his sides, knuckles white, tendons straining. "Why would he just leave? We helped him. We took care of him. We—"
"He thought we didn't want him."
The realization hits me like a fist to the chest. Knocks the air right out of my lungs. And then the pieces start clicking together—horrible, devastating pieces that form a picture I can't unsee.
"Think about it from his perspective." I'm pacing now, working through it out loud, my voice rising as the horror builds. "First, Zero corners him in the basement. Assaults him. Shows him exactly what alphas do when they want something—they take it. They don't ask. They don't care if you're scared or if you say no. They hurt you."
Zero flinches. I don't care.
"So Max learns that lesson. He learns that alphas are dangerous. That we'll hurt him if we get the chance. He's been walking around this house for weeks, terrified that one of us is going to—" I have to stop. Breathe. "And then tonight happens. His heat spikes. Three alphas show up in his bedroom. And instead of hurting him..." I look at Atlas. "You were gentle. You took care of him. You made him feel good."
Atlas's face is ashen. He knows where this is going.
"So he lets his guard down. He thinks maybe he was wrong. Maybe we're not all like Zero. Maybe he can trust us." My voice cracks. "And he puts himself out there. He begs you to claim him. He makes himself completely vulnerable—probably for the first time since Zero, maybe ever—and you say no."
