“Boss!” Emilio shouts. He takes a step toward the desk, his hand dropping to the weapon at his hip. “You’re just going to let him walk out of here with our Omega?”
Sergio sighs, looking at them with sheer disgust. “She isn’t yours. She rejected your claim. The collateral is paid in full. Stand down.”
Nero’s chest heaves. He glares at me, his jaw clenched in a furious sneer. “You think some cash stops us? You think some archaic bullshit law stops us? We’ll gut you, bartender. And we’ll drag her back here ourselves.”
I finally turn my head. I look at Nero and Emilio.
I don’t posture. I just let the absolute, sociopathic calm of my military training take over. I close the distance between us in two long strides, stopping right in front of them. I am taller, broader, and more dangerous.
“Look at me.” I drop my voice into a lethal register.
Nero and Emilio stare up at me, their bravado wavering under my intense, unblinking focus.
“The Law protects her.” I keep my tone conversational, which only makes the threat more real. “But this warning is specifically for you two. Sandra is carrying my kid. She’s bonded to my pack. If you ever cross the Willowside county line again... if you ever park another SUV outside our town... if you even breathe her name...”
I lean in slightly, staring right through them.
“I will take your lives apart.” I let the cold truth of the promise sink into their bones. “I will break every bone in your hands, and I will make sure neither of you ever walks again. Do you understand me? I won’t kill you, but you’ll want to die after I’m done with you. Move on.”
Nero swallows hard, his jaw tight. Emilio pales, the color draining from his face. Neither of them says anything. They give small, jerky nods.
I hold their gazes for a few seconds longer, ensuring the fear takes root.
I turn my back on them and look at Sergio one last time. “We’re done here.”
I don’t wait for a dismissal. I walk past the two guards, pull open the heavy steel door, and step out of the office.
The walk back through the freight warehouse feels different. The weight on my shoulders is gone. The crushing anxiety that I’ve been carrying since the morning in the boutique is eradicated.
I step out into the sunlight. I climb into my truck and start the heavy diesel engine. I put it in gear and drive away from the shipping depot, leaving the mess behind. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Ross’s number. He answers on the first ring. “It’s done.” I let out a long, exhausted breath. “The debt is paid and her marks are recognized. They can’t ever touch her again. Tell Sandra I’m coming home.”
Grateful But Terrified
Sandra
Iwake up to a room saturated in the heavy, lingering scents of my pack. The air is thick with the smell of smoky marshmallow, ginger, dates, and honeysuckle. I stay still for a moment, my eyes closed, letting the memories of the night before wash over me. Reaffirming the bond had been a desperate, visceral necessity; a way to scrub the sight of Nero’s face from my mind using the bodies of the men I’ve come to love. It worked. The hollow ache in my chest is gone.
I’m bare under the heavy weight of the comforter. The cool morning air pricks at my shoulders where the blanket has slipped off my breasts. My skin feels sensitized, humming with the ghost of their touch. I reach out to my left, searching for the solid heat of Jethro’s body. My hand finds only cold sheets. I open my eyes, blinking against the dim light filtering through the blackout curtains. The nest is empty. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s nearly ten in the morning. I’ve slept later than usual.
He’s at the Lucky Road. I settle back into the pillows, pulling the comforter up to my chin. It makes sense. He likes to be there for the breakfast rush. I can almost picture him behind the mahogany bar, his brow furrowed as he wipes down the wood, his salt-and-pepper hair tied back.
A soft flutter in my lower stomach pulls my attention away from thoughts of Jethro. I press my bare palm against my skin, waiting. There it is again. A tiny, rhythmic tap. Our baby is awake. I let out a slow breath, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. Two months ago, I was a girl running for her life, terrified of the debt my father had pinned to my back like a target. Now, I’m a woman in a nest, bonded and pregnant.
I force myself out of bed, the cool air hitting my naked body. I grab Jethro’s discarded flannel shirt from the chair near the window, slipping it on. It’s huge on me, the hem reaching mid-thigh, saturated in his smoky marshmallow scent. I button it up over my bump and go to the bathroom.
I head downstairs, the sound of the house rise to meet me. The kitchen smells like Luca’s bakery and fresh-brewed coffee. Ross is at the stove, his back to me. He’s wearing a worn t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders, his ginger scent a bright, comforting note in the room. He’s humming something low under his breath as he flips a stack of pancakes.
Caleb sits at the island, his head buried behind his open laptop. Lines of complex code reflect in his dark frames as his fingers fly across the keys. He’s been working obsessively on the software for the new Omega Tags—discreet trackers designed to be hidden inside jewelry or clothing so no Omega can ever be taken against their will. He looks up as I enter, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t smile, but the way his brown eyes soften when they land on me says everything. He reaches out, sliding a mug of herbal tea across the marble toward my usual seat.
“You’re late.” Caleb hits a final keystroke to save his work. “Oli was starting to think we should go up and check on you.”
“I was tired.” I sink into the chair, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic of the mug. I look around the kitchen, searching for the one face I need to see. “Where is Jethro?”
Oli wanders in from the mudroom, his golden hair a chaotic mess, his green eyes bright. He walks straight to me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my temple. “The bar.”
“I figured.” I take a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through my chest. “Did he say when he’d be back for lunch?”
Ross turns away from the stove, sliding a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. He avoids my eyes for a second, focusing on the perfect arrangement of the food. “He didn’t give a specific time.”
