Her brown eyes meet mine as she glances over her shoulder, her cheeks pink from exertion.
“Ready, Ms. White?” I ask her, not just about my claim, but about the heat this bite is going to push her into.
“Yes, Mr. Aegean,” she breathes, the returned use of the nickname confirming she’s still with me.
So I sink my teeth into her pretty flesh as Noah drives into her from the front.
She moans my name, then his, and falls into a squirming mess of slick need.
It makes entering her from behind exceptionally easy.
And it forces my knot out of me so much faster than I anticipated.
But as I’m filling her with my seed, joining Noah in the throes of passion, I realize that this moment couldn’t be more perfect.
Because we finally found our hacker. The one who stole from us for a good cause. Hid from us for years. And finally allowed us to ensnare her in our web.
Our very own black widow.
A white hat.
Our omega.
Ours.
EPILOGUE
LARK
Six Months Later
Gio glancesup and down the street, instantly on guard as strangers roam all around. He’s not pleased about having to leave his enforcers behind at the house. But I told him there was no way Silva and the others would be okay with him sauntering into Widows Peak with a fucking mafia entourage.
It’s hard enough to visit with my pack, and they’ve all been vetted.
Or rather, forcibly accepted.
Since they’re mine.
Though, I’m pretty sure Syrus still watches Noah like a hawk every time he enters the town limits. Lazarus, too, for that matter.
Johan seems to be the only one my friends don’t fear. Maybe because he’s the most like me. Some of the other widows have even started sending him data requests instead of me. However, I think that’s because they’re preparing for my maternity leave.
Gio jumps as Noah claps him on the back. “What’s wrong, bro?” Noah drawls. “Feeling out of your element in thatridiculously expensive suit?” He looks over my brother’s Italian import and whistles. “Seriously, I did suggest some jeans, didn’t I?”
“I hate it when you call mebro,” Gio mutters at him. “I’m not your brother.”
“That ring on your sister’s hand says otherwise,” Noah sing-songs, drawing attention to the diamond glittering on my finger. It’s a triangle shape with three adorning jewels—one blue, one black, and one multicolored.
Noah says they represent each of my men.
Blue for Johan.
Black for Lazarus.
Multicolored—“the best, obviously,” according to Noah—for Noah.
“I can’t believe you married this psycho,” Gio says to me.
