“Fuck that.” He rises to his full height, towering over Estelle. “I’m staying with Ash.”
My eyes drift back to Randal’s body. The pool of blood beneath his shattered skull is spreading, following the subtle slope in the floorboards.
Evidence.
Everything in this room is evidence now. The broken mugs. The overturned chair. The gun. The blood on all of us. I need to think. What happens when the police arrive? What story does this room tell them?
“Beckett,” Estelle says, her tone softer now but no less firm. “I understand how you feel, but—”
“No, you don’t.” He cuts her off, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I don’t care what this does to my career. I don’t care if the team drops me, if I never play hockey again. I’m not leaving her like this.”
Ash’s screams have quieted to ragged sobs. Pierce rocks her gently, his lips moving against her temple, whispering to her. Scent match. Right. That’s probably good for her right now. Good for Pierce too.
“This isn’t about your career,” Estelle says. She places a hand on Beckett’s arm. The gesture is part understanding, part commanding. “It’s about protecting Ash.”
“I can protect her.”
“Not from this.” Estelle shakes her head. “If the police find Beckett Hansen and his packmates at the scene of a violent death, what happens next? The press gets involved. Reporters startdigging. They’ll find out everything. Everything gets dragged into the press, analyzed, torn apart. It will be bad for her, not for you.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” I ask the woman, wracking my brain for her name. I know Enzo has mentioned it.
“The story is simple. Randal was abusing Ash. She finally stood up to him. Things got physical. He had a gun. He threatened her, then turned it on himself.”
“That’s basically the truth,” I observe.
“Exactly. The best lies are mostly true.” She glances at Ash, who seems barely conscious of the conversation. “But if the three of you are found here, that story gets complicated. Suddenly, it’s not about a barely legal omega escaping an abuser. Something that happens pretty much every day. It’s about Beckett Hansen, star hockey player, found at the scene of a violent crime.”
“I don’t like it.” Beckett’s jaw works, the muscle twitching beneath his skin.
Pierce hasn’t said a word. He just holds Ash. Fuck. This is going to fuck them both up. Reed, now Randal. The parallels aren’t lost on me.
“I have connections,” Estelle says quietly. “People who can make sure this is handled properly. But only if you three are gone when the authorities arrive.”
“You don’t even know her,” Beckett says to the woman.
She steps up to him, squaring off and gently puts her hands on his arms. “I’m Estelle. I work with Ash at the diner. I’ll take care of her like a sister. Me and my cousins.”
Estelle. Right. Enzo said something about her being the best thing his bloodline has produced in a generation.
And she’s completely right. About everything. If we’re not here, chances are high there will be no charges, or a lot of investigation. We have to go.
“You don’t have to like it,” I tell him, stepping closer, forcing him to focus on me. “You just have to do it. For her.”
“My cousin’s on the force. He’s on his way,” Estelle takes a step back and checks her phone. “Uncle Enzo too.”
“You have a lot of cousins,” Beckett says absently.
“I do.” She winks. “Are we going to be good little alphas and do what I say?”
Beckett looks at me. I nod.
“Okay.”
I look at Pierce, still cradling Ash in his arms. “Pierce,” I say softly. “We need to go.”
He doesn’t respond. Neither does Ash.
“Pierce,” I repeat, louder this time. Still nothing.
