The Fallons won’t let her go. Not as long as they are still breathing.
I’m sure they know we are here. I had Thorne pull the car in front of their house. I’m not hiding, and I’m damn sure not waiting. They had to know we’d do anything for Noa, just as they would. Our agendas are different, but the goal is the same. While we want her toflourish, to be loved, to be happy, they want control, possession, power, and that’s not fucking happening.
Her heat sends lingering whips of desperation through our bond, getting stronger with each step I take, empowering every fiber in my body to rip this door off its hinges.
Their beige door, covered in dust and cobwebs, screams neglect. Either they were never the cleanest, or their focus has been getting their hands on my omega for far too long.
I debate for a second, but then I swear I hear Noa whine, and my brain shuts off. Ramming my shoulder into the door, it breaks in two. Rushing inside, I can smell her. Her sour peach scent calls to me, and I see the three fuckers standing in the kitchen across from the front of the house.
Their heads switch to us, and I hope they only just got here. How they are resisting my sweethearts’ heat, her scent luring the alphas in us forward, I’m not sure, but I'm damn glad they are.
“How the fuck did you find us?” Jackson’s voice spits, but everything is in motion. They step back away from the door she must be in, scared, and I think maybe, just maybe, they’ll let her go to us. It makes me hesitate for the slightest moment before I hear Noa pounding on the door.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, storming to them. Mayfield jumps at me first. His fist coming for my face. I turn myhead to lessen the blow as I hook my arms around him and lift. Slamming him down, I stomp on his gut. Mayfield screams, and Derrick is in my face next, waving a gun, trying to take aim it at me. I lunge forward, throwing him off. I’ve got both hands grasping his gun, his momentary shock allowing me to yank the gun from him and empty the chamber. Taking the gun apart, I throw the pieces to different sides of the house except for the butt and slam it down on Derrick’s head, making him drop to the floor.
Stepping away from him, I see the target I want the most.
Jackson. He stares. Maybe he hadn’t done his homework. Maybe thought that Noa's scent matched prissy hockey players with an oddball who couldn’t handle his weight in a fight. I don’t know.
All I know is he was dead wrong. And this mistake is going to cost him dearly. Anyone with a brain cell could tell Thorne has aggression problems. A fighter on the ice and off, Thorne is the grump no one tries and everyone actively avoids. It’s why we get along so well.
And Silas. Silas is our calm storm, but still a storm nonetheless. Silas’s control often gets confused for weakness, but he’s the silent fighter I’d choose to be on my team every single time.
Any mafia, gang, or government entity would love to have its hands on us. We’ve got base talent and, more than that, we have drive.
Too bad, we wanted a peaceful life.
Jackson takes a key from his hand and throws it out the open window. “Now no one gets her.” He says. A crazed look in his blue eyes made his appearance more deranged.
More enticing to see crushed under my boot.
But I have something more important waiting for me. With one quick gaze around the kitchen, I find what I need. Lunging for Jackson, I grab him by his hair and drag him around the island. Taking his hand and laying it flat on the table, taking a butcher’s knife from the block, and smiling as he tries his damndest to get out of my grip.
“You touched my omega with this hand.” Flashes of him gripping her arm, her hair, as he dragged her out of her place of business, out of what should have been a safe place play in my mind the longer I stare at him.
“No, no,” he whispers, eyeing the knife in my hand. But it’s too late. He touched my omega. And for that, he must lose his hand.
I stab the knife through his hand, going deep into the counter. Hearing the satisfying grunt of the counter, I can’t stop the small smile that breaks through my lips. This’ll buy us the time to get my omega into the safety of Thorne’s car.
Hearing the bloodcurdling scream Jackson lets out eases the tension in my shoulders as I step away from him. Rounding the counter, my bond pulls me closer towhere Noa is. The pantry is small, so I won’t have room to break down the door.
“Noa, sweetheart, we’re here.” I press against the door, and I hear her moan in pain on the other side. Fuck. I try the handle, but nothing happens. They prepared for at least this much.
Quickly turning around, I open cabinets, trying to find anything to help me open this door. Hearing the grunts of Mayfield and Derrick, I continue my search, knowing that Thorne and Silas might actually have fun pounding these men unconscious, which is a problem for another time.
I hope they know boxing is the appropriate career choice, not hitman work.
I stop at the last fucking cabinet. I tilt my head, eyeing the doorknob. This could work.
Grabbing the iron frying pan, storming past a crying Jackson, still too pussy to grab the knife out of his hand, I swing at the door handle. It takes a few swings, but the minute it falls off the door, I open the door, and her scent slams into me as I kneel to gather her in my arms.
“Sweetheart,” I can’t help but repeat the nickname as I tuck her body close to my chest. Thorne and Silas appear at my sides, heavy breathing.
Noa shakes in my arms as she curls her head into my neck. I sigh, breathing much easier with her lesssour peach scent filling my nose. I stand, carrying her bridal style out of this damn house.
“I have no interest in doing this ever again, but I know I would if it meant helping any of you.” Silas says, “But they won’t be down long; we have to go.” Silas says as we step outside. As much as Noa writhes in my arms, nothing matters more to me than keeping her safe.
And she won’t be safe with them alive.
