“One hour,” Jethro rumbles. “Or I come looking.”
Ross leans across the island, pressing a warm kiss to my temple. Caleb runs a thumb over the metal pin on my chest, sealing his silent vow of protection. Oli catches my hand, giving my fingers a firm squeeze.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, stepping out of their collective hold.
I head for the mudroom. I shrug into my heavy wool coat, wrap a thick scarf around my neck, and step out the front door. Spring struggles to thaw Willowside, leaving the April morning crisp and serene.
The walk to Willowside Square takes ten minutes. A late frost crunches under my boots. The biting air fills my lungs, clearing the lingering sleep from my head. The square looks like a postcard. Red brick buildings line the cobblestone streets, their windows glowing with warm yellow light against the grey morning sky.
I push open the heavy glass door to Sam’s Bridal & Boutique. A brass bell chimes a bright, cheerful note overhead.
A wave of expensive perfume and rich textiles washes over me. Lavender diffusers puff small clouds of mist into the corners of the room. Racks of pristine silk, lace, and soft cashmere line the walls. The atmosphere breathes serenity.
Sam steps out from the back room. The tall, elegant Beta woman smooths her hands over her tailored black slacks. Her dark hair falls in a chic, blunt bob around her sharp jawline. She takes one look at me and flashes a welcoming smile.
“Sandra. You made it.” Sam walks over, catching my hands in a firm squeeze. “You’re glowing.”
A genuine smile stretches across my face. “Thank you.”
Sam laughs, a rich, melodic sound. Come to the back. I pulled the maternity swatches you asked for. We need to get you fitted before that little bump turns into a mountain.”
I follow her past the front displays. The boutique feels worlds away from the ratty motels and dark cellars of my past. I run my fingers over a rack of silk robes, marveling at the sheer luxury of my new life. For the first time in my entire existence, I feel like a normal person running normal errands. The shadows of my father’s debts and Sergio’s mafia enforcers feel like a distant nightmare, locked away behind the impenetrable wall of my pack.
I belong here. The thought solidifies in my mind, ringing with absolute truth.
Sam gestures to a plush velvet sofa set up near the large, lace-framed front window. “Sit. I’ll bring the cashmere samples. You want soft layers for the final trimester.”
I sink into the sofa, sighing as the cushions conform to my back. I tap the silver leaf pin through the fabric of my coat pocket, turning it over in the sunlight filtering through the lace curtains. The metal glints, a tiny beacon tying me to Caleb’s unyielding protection. I let out a long, contented breath, letting the lavender scent of the boutique lull me into a state of absolute, unbreakable peace.
Sam returns a moment later, her arms full of folded garments. She drops a stack of soft, muted fabrics onto the glass coffee table in front of me.
“We start with the basics,” Sam announces, holding up a pair of dark, flexible leggings. “Support panels. You will thank me in month seven. I promise.”
I reach out, running my hand over a pale blush-colored maternity sweater. The cashmere feels like spun clouds against my fingertips. I try to imagine my body expanding enough to fill the loose, flowing fabric. The thought brings a rush of excitement mixed with a heavy dose of sheer terror.
“It feels too nice.” I trace the ribbed hem of the sweater. “I can’t let you just give these to me, Sam. Cashmere costs a fortune.”
Sam sits next to me, her Beta nature radiating a calm, steady aura. She waves off my concern with a flick of her wrist. “Consider it a trade. Jethro slashes my venue fees every time I host a bridal expo at his bar. He never asks for a favor in return. Letting me dress his pregnant Omega is the least I can do.”
She places a hand over mine. “Besides, you deserve nice things, Sandra. You survived. Now you get to live.”
The profound truth in her words makes my throat tight. I nod, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. I pick up the sweater, holding it against my chest, and turn my head to check my reflection in the large, lace-framed window facing the square.
The peaceful smile freezes on my face. The boutique’s warm interior reflects in the glass, but beyond it, the cobblestone street stretches out into the cold morning. A massive, black SUV idles across from the shop. My heart gives painful stutter in my chest.
Black SUVs exist everywhere. Paranoia plays tricks on the mind. I force myself to take a breath, but my eyes lock onto the driver’s side window. The tinted glass lowers a single inch. A hand emerges, flicking the ash from a cigarette onto the road.
The profile of the driver leans forward, catching the glare of the sun. A sharp, hawk-like nose. Slicked-back dark hair.
Nero.
The cashmere slips from my numb fingers and pools in a heap on the floor. Lavender and silk vanish from my senses, replaced by a phantom stench. Memories of his hands holding me down and his teeth sinking into my unbonded neck rip through my mind with the force of a blow.
Every ounce of peace I built over the last two months shatters into a million jagged pieces. Ice fills my veins. My vision tunnels, turning the edges of the room dark and fuzzy. My lungs seize.I try to pull in air, but my throat clicks shut, trapping me in a violent, inescapable panic response.
“Sandra?” Sam’s voice sounds muffled, like she speaks from underwater.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the window. The SUV sits there, a predatory beast waiting in the shadows. He tracked me. The miles between us meant nothing. He came to drag me back to that hell.
