I let go of his shoulder, pride burning through my chest like whiskey. He had done it. He had faced the monster and not blinked.
Harrison just glared at the camera, then leaned in so close his face blurred into a mask of rage. “This isn’t over,” he said, voice like a threat. “Not by a long shot.”
He disconnected. The screen went black, leaving only the reflection of Carter’s face, pale and hollow-eyed in the glass.
He stared at it for a long time. I watched the emotions flicker over him—relief, terror, disbelief. Then I pulled him out of the chair, cradled him in my arms like I’d planned it all along. He came apart in my grip, the adrenaline leaking out of him until all that was left was the raw, shaking animal at the heart of every person.
“You did it,” I said, burying my face in his hair. “You fucking did it.”
He laughed, a wild, broken sound, and buried his face in my shirt.
“We’re free,” he whispered.
I stroked his back, feeling every tremor. I wanted to tell him it was over, that the war had been won, but I knew better. This was just the first fight, but I also knew that, whatever came next, we’d face it together.
I looked down at the laptop, at the dead screen, and thought of all the ways a man could be dangerous. Harrison Steele had never gone up against an alpha who loved someone more than his own skin.
Let him come.
We’d be waiting.
* * * *
It took less than an hour for the war to escalate.
We’d barely finished the postmortem—me sitting at the kitchen table, Carter wrapped up in my arms, both of us breathing like we’d just sprinted a mile in full gear—when the next email dropped. A single line, no salutation.“We need to speak further. Now.”Below, the link:video call, immediate.
Carter didn’t want to answer. I could feel it in the way he leaned into me, his whole body radiating fuck this, but I knew that if we didn’t face it, Harrison would just keep coming. He always did.
So I stood, squared my shoulders, and hit “accept.”
This time, I took the chair next to Carter and made damn sure I was in frame when the video connected. I braced one hand behind him, resting it on the back of his neck, thumb stroking slow. If Harrison wanted a show of force, he could fucking have it.
He came onscreen even colder than before. Whatever mask he’d used to hide his disgust was gone; in its place was a sharp, glittering contempt.
“So this is the infamous O’Reilly,” Harrison said. Not a question. A dissection.
I watched his gaze take me apart—height, weight, haircut, scars. He recognized a fellow predator, but it just pissed him off more.
Carter’s voice was a little steadier this round. “What do you want, Dad?”
Harrison ignored him. “You think this is real, O’Reilly? You think you can stake a claim on my son, on my name, and just walk away?”
I grinned, teeth bared. “Wasn’t your name I wanted, sir.”
Carter choked back a laugh. I squeezed the back of his neck, pleased.
Harrison’s nostrils flared. “Let’s be clear. You will not marry him. You will not disgrace this family any further. If you persist in this… farce, I will cut you off, Carter. No inheritance. No trust. You’ll be left with nothing but the dust under your boots.”
I leaned forward, letting my shoulders take up the whole right half of the frame. “He doesn’t need your money. He doesn’t need your approval.” The words felt good, clean. “And he sure as hell doesn’t need to be chained to your misery.”
For a beat, I thought Harrison would pop a vessel. But he reeled it back, steepling his hands with deliberate calm.
“You’re Rawley’s subordinate,” he said, voice low and venomous. “The one he vouched for. You think I don’t know who you are, O’Reilly? I read your file. Decorated, yes. But there’s also a history, isn’t there? The Navy was only too happy to see you retire, as I recall. A little too volatile for officer track. A little too eager to break the rules.”
Carter went still. I could feel his pulse pick up, that old fear of being outed for a failure he didn’t even own.
I smiled at Harrison, slow and deliberate. “Never broke a rule that wasn’t worth breaking.”
