I let him. Atlas lets him. Sometimes violence is the only language Zero speaks, and right now he needs to say something.
I circle to the front of the car while Zero destroys what's left of the windows. The streetlight above is flickering, casting everything in sickly orange light. The hood is cold—the car's been here for a while.
That's when I see it.
A piece of paper, folded neatly, tucked beneath the windshield wiper.
My blood turns to ice.
I pull it free with trembling fingers. Unfold it. The handwriting is crisp. Professional. Not Max's.
To the Graves Brothers—
We have your omega.
Consider this a courtesy notification. The Kline Cartel has been aware of your family's... acquisition for sometime now. An unmated omega with connections to your organization is far too valuable an asset to leave unattended.
We'll be in touch regarding terms.
Regards,
T.K.
T.K.
Talbot Kline.
"Atlas." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "You need to see this."
He crosses to me, takes the note, reads it.
I watch his face transform. First confusion—brow furrowing, eyes scanning the words like they don't make sense. Then understanding, hitting him like a punch to the jaw. His head snaps back. The color drains from his face so fast I think he might pass out. His hands start to shake—not a tremor, but a full-body vibration that makes the paper rattle.
"No." The word comes out strangled. "No, this isn't—they couldn't have—"
He reads it again. And again. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out. I've never seen Atlas speechless. I've never seen him anything less than perfectly composed, even in crisis. But right now he looks like a man watching his world collapse in slow motion.
"Atlas." Zero's voice cuts through. He's stopped destroying the car, standing in a pile of shattered glass, hands dripping blood. "What does it say?"
Atlas just stares at the paper. His jaw works, but no words come.
"Atlas. What the fuck does it say?"
Nothing. Atlas is frozen, trapped in some private horror I can't reach.
Zero crosses the distance in three strides and rips the note from Atlas's hands. His eyes scan the page. I watch hisexpression shift—confusion to disbelief to something I don't have a name for. Something beyond rage. Beyond fear.
"'We have your omega.'" Zero reads it aloud, voice barely above a whisper. "'The Kline Cartel has been aware of your family's... acquisition for some time now.'" His hands are shaking too now, blood smearing across the white paper. "'We'll be in touch regarding terms. T.K.'"
He looks up. Meets my eyes. Then Atlas's.
"They took him." The words come out hollow. Dead. "They fucking took him. This wasn't some random dealer. This was a trap. They were waiting for him."
Atlas finally finds his voice. "Kline." He says the name like a curse. "This wasn't random. They've been watching him. Waiting for an opportunity." His hands curl into fists at his sides. "They used the suppressants as bait. Drew him out. And we—" His voice cracks. "We let him walk right into it."
For a moment, Zero doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. And then—
He kicks in the driver's side door. The metal crumples inward with a shriek. "FUCK!" The word tears out of him, raw and animalistic. "FUCK!"
