KNOT

RUINED

Jessica Crosbie

Contents

Copyright

Content Warning

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Copyright

Knot Ruined
Copyright ©[2025 by Jessica Crosbie

Cover Photo provided by Vecteezy.com

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in reviews, including eBook or other digital means.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Content Warning

This book contains mature themes intended for adult readers only (18+).

Trigger warnings include:

Explicit sexual scenes

Graphic violence and torture

Kidnapping and captivity

Mental health themes (PTSD, trauma, panic attacks)

Abusive family situations (past abuse, abandonment)

Depictions of murder and assault

Reader discretion is advised.

To everyone who's ever fallen for fictional men with morally questionable hobbies, oversized egos, and even bigger knots.

May your fantasies be filthy, your humor dark, and your standards forever ruined.

Chapter One

Fallon

February 6th

9:34 A.M

“What do you mean I’m getting married?”

I must have misheard. Or maybe I was dreaming—no, having a nightmare—because there was no way my mother had just informed me I was marrying a stranger or strangers in this case.

But Elizabeth Creed didn’t deal in jokes or absurdities. She sat behind her sleek, imposing desk, cool as ever. Her blonde hair was twisted into some intricate knot at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. Those icy gray eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unyielding. She had the typical Alpha build—tall, slim, all sharp lines, and controlled power.

She slid a thin envelope across the desk. The kind with the metal clasp holding it shut. I didn’t take it. My hands were clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

Mom sighed, irritation flickering across her otherwise unreadable face. “In a week, you will be marrying into the Rosetti pack. You have no choice in this matter. A parent or guardian must sign off on an omega’s pack placement, and I will not be signing off on anyone else, Fallon. You will do this for our family and our reputation.”

The Rosetti pack?

Ice slid down my spine. My stomach dropped straight to the floor.

“Oh my Gods, you can’t be serious! The Rosetti’s are practically the mafia! Cold-blooded. Ruthless. I’m pretty sure they killed their last omega!” My voice shot up in pitch and volume, hysteria bleeding through the edges.

My mother barely flinched. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fallon. We both know you can take care of yourself. You are just as crazy as you claim them to be.” Her voice was clipped and measured. “And lower your voice. This is my office, and I won’t have you disturbing my employees.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to knock everything off her desk and set fire to the damn contract. But she was right; I can, in fact, take care of myself.

Mom was the most successful defense lawyer in Chicago, a city that still treated Omegas like delicate little dolls incapable of independent thought. The law said I wasn’t stable enough to make my own decisions, that my hormones made me too fragile to function without an Alpha’s oversight.

I wasn’t even allowed to have a bank account in my name.

I had begged my mother to sign off so I could get my own apartment and my own life, but she refused. And now she was chaining me to a pack with blood on their hands.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. But the envelope sat there between us like a guillotine waiting to fall.

The envelope slid closer, her manicured fingers tapping against the desk. “Inside is everything you need to know about your new pack. I want you to have as much information as possible.”

I didn’t reach for it. Couldn’t.

She sighed, her expression softening just enough to crack the armor she always wore. “Contrary to what you may think, I do love you, Fallon. And I do want you to be happy.” Her voice wavered for a split second before she steadied herself. 

My eyes narrowed. The way she said it—weighted, desperate—sent a ripple of unease through me.

She hesitated, glancing at the polished surface of her desk as if looking for the right words. “I can’t tell you why,” she admitted. “Confidentiality clauses. But you must trust me.”

Something in her voice made me stop resisting just long enough to really look at her.

My mother didn't seem untouchable for the first time in my life. She looked exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes were carefully concealed with makeup, but up close, I could see the strain tightening the edges of her face. The fine lines near her mouth hadn’t been there before. The way her hands trembled—barely, but enough.

She wasn’t invincible. She wasn’t affected. I swallowed the lump in my throat, exhaling shakily. “Okay, Mom.” Her shoulders eased slightly.

I picked up the envelope as I stood, gripping it like it might bite. “I love you, too. So that you know. I don’t want this for myself,” I admitted, voice quieter now. “But I can see that you need this, and I will make the most of this.”

Her gaze flickered to mine, something unreadable passing through it before she nodded. “We need this, Fallon.” Her voice dropped back into that sharp, composed tone. “And don’t worry about anything. All the arrangements have been made. The only thing you need to do is find a dress.”

A dress.

Like that was the most significant issue here. Like I wasn’t about to be shackled to a pack of ruthless alphas who saw omegas as property.

I turned the doorknob but hesitated, glancing back at her one last time.

She had already closed her eyes. Her head tipped back against the chair like the weight of the world had finally settled onto her shoulders.

I slipped out, shutting the door behind me.

The office hummed with quiet efficiency—secretaries tapping away at keyboards, assistants murmuring into phones. I ignored them all. My pulse thudded in my ears as I pressed the elevator button, my grip tightening around the envelope.

I had no idea where to start. But I knew one thing. I needed my nest. Now. 

Fallon

February 9th

1:33 P.M

I love my nest. Lying back against the pillows, I feel like I’ve stepped into a dream. The bed is soft and inviting, wrapped in layers of cozy blankets and smooth sheets that feel cool against my skin. A soft green glow bathes the room, casting gentle light across the space, making everything feel calm and weightless.

Above me, tiny lights twinkle like stars woven into the canopy while delicate strands of fairy lights hang down like vines, adding a soft, whimsical touch. The sheer green curtains sway slightly, catching the light from the tall windows, their movement slow and effortless. The floating bed, illuminated from below, makes it feel like I’m resting on a cloud, tucked away from the world.

I sink deeper into the pillows, running my fingers over the different textures, the soft knit of the blankets, and the silky smoothness of the sheets. The contrast between deep black walls and soft greens creates a modern and peaceful space, like a quiet escape designed just for me.

Since I can’t put it off any longer, I start blindly digging through the mountain of blankets and pillows like a raccoon, searching for lost treasure. Blankets fly, pillows get sacrificed, and when I’m convinced the abyss has consumed the envelope, I hear the telltale crinkle of paper.

I found it—the cursed thing.

Coming home a few days ago was mostly a blur—probably because I spent most of it throwing myself into my nest like some tragic Victorian heroine, drowning in a sea of self-pity. I had a full-blown existential crisis, the kind that involved flailing, groaning dramatically, and screaming into multiple pillows like a true professional.

At some point, I must have worn myself out because the next thing I knew, I was waking up to the vague sensation of my mom hovering nearby. I wasn’t fully conscious, but I do recall her lightly patting my head like I was a sulking cat before disappearing into the night.

And now here I am. Face-to-face with the envelope of doom. Again. Sighing, I give up and open it. Pulling out various papers, glancing over them before snorting out an unladylike laugh. It’s information on each member of the pack, but what the fuck is this?

Confidential Dossier: Rosetti Pack

Prepared by: Halloway, Creed & Wilson Law firm

Classification: Highly Confidential – For Internal Use Only

Subject: Rosetti Pack Members

Kingston Rosetti

Age: 35
Designation: Alpha
Height/Build: 6’2”, muscular, commanding presence
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Dark brown, neatly styled
Alpha Scent: Fresh rain and pine
Occupation: Owner & Leader of Rosetti Grey Solutions

Profile:
Kingston Rosetti is the leader of the notorious Rosetti pack, well-known in both legitimate and underground circles. Rosetti Grey Solutions operates as a high-end private security and asset protection firm; however, the scope of their activities extends far beyond conventional security, encompassing intimidation, "problem-solving," and asset retrieval of questionable legality.

Kingston maintains an air of calculated authority, rarely raising his voice but commanding absolute obedience through sheer presence. Known for his ruthless efficiency, intelligence, and meticulous planning, he is rumored to possess extensive connections in political and corporate circles. Unconfirmed speculation persists regarding possible mafia ties, though no concrete evidence has been discovered.

Personal Notes:

Displays protective instincts toward pack.

Considered extremely dangerous when provoked; prefers cold strategy over impulsive violence.

Jace Calloway

Age: 33
Designation: Alpha
Height/Build: 6’1”, heavily muscled, intimidating build
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black, usually tousled
Alpha Scent: Cedarwood and citrus
Occupation: Senior Operative & Acquisitions Specialist at Rosetti Grey Solutions

Profile:
Jace Calloway specializes in asset recovery and acquisition operations. He effortlessly navigates complex negotiations, extracting valuable targets with equal finesse whether through charm or force. Charismatic, persuasive, and adaptable, Jace excels in high-pressure environments and maintains a calm exterior even under extreme stress.

Despite his polished exterior, surveillance reveals a capability for profound violence if necessary, balancing charm and brutality as situations dictate.

Personal Notes:

Dangerous charisma; handles high-value targets expertly.

Strong pack loyalty.

Romano Delgado

Age: 33
Designation: Alpha
Height/Build: 6’4”, lean but defined, agile build
Eye Color: Deep brown
Hair Color: Black, often casually messy
Alpha Scent: Smoked leather and vetiver
Occupation: Senior Operative & Technology Specialist at Rosetti Grey Solutions

Profile:
Romano Delgado is the technical brain behind the Rosetti Pack. He demonstrates unmatched expertise in cybersecurity, surveillance systems, and electronic infiltration. Romano can access virtually any digital system, rendering firewalls obsolete and erasing trails as efficiently as he leaves them.

He often projects a playful, youthful demeanor, but beneath lies a sharply analytical mind and a willingness to weaponize technology without hesitation. Surveillance has yet to uncover a network secure from his intrusion.

Personal Notes:

Skilled hacker; digitally proficient and strategically inventive.

Displays an unexpectedly playful disposition that conceals lethal capabilities.

Intensely loyal; uses humor as a shield.

Voss Harrington

Age: 36
Designation: Alpha
Height/Build: 6’6”, imposing and muscular, lethal appearance
Eye Color: Dark brown, unsettling intensity
Hair Color: Black, typically secured in a bun or loose around shoulders
Alpha Scent: Dark amber and spice
Occupation: Senior Operative & Intelligence Specialist at Rosetti Grey Solutions

Profile:
Voss Harrington is the pack's intelligence and interrogation specialist, referred to internally as "the ghost." He possesses an unsettling talent for uncovering secrets, extracting information through surveillance, and more coercive methods. His quiet demeanor masks an unpredictably dangerous personality, often described as borderline unhinged.

Survivors of his interrogations report psychological tactics equal to his physical methods. Emotionally volatile yet lethally efficient, Voss is feared even among his own associates. Deeply scarred by a traumatic past.

Personal Notes:

Intelligence extraction methods are highly effective, brutal, and psychologically complex.

Noted instability when emotionally triggered.

Considered the most volatile member of the pack; approach with extreme caution.

Overall Assessment:
The Rosetti pack, individually and collectively, presents a formidable and uniquely dangerous threat. While loyalty seems unwavering, their capacity for violence, strategic manipulation, and intimidation is unprecedented.

The mattress creaks beneath me as I shift restlessly, the folder lying open across my legs, pages scattered chaotically around me like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite put together. My head aches from the sheer overload of information, but it’s my racing pulse and the warmth pooling in my belly that confuses me most. I'm supposed to be pissed—and trust me, part of me absolutely is—but intrigue is worming its way through my chest, unwelcome and persistent.

I never wanted this marriage. Four strangers chosen by my mother, thrust into my life or Gods knows what reason. It's absurd. But, as I study the faces staring back at me from their dossiers, my frustration is slowly eclipsed by curiosity.

Kingston Rosetti. His photograph stares back at me, intimidatingly confident. Those piercing green eyes are dangerous even on paper. Wealthy, powerful, ruthless—exactly the kind of alpha who should repel me. So why does my pulse quicken at the thought of meeting him? Of having those eyes look at me, really seeing me?

Then there’s Jace Calloway, whose confident smirk radiates charm and charisma. Every detail in his dossier screams trouble wrapped in allure. A smooth operator, persuasive and lethal when necessary. Something in me stirs at the thought of unraveling the man behind that easy smile, even if I should know better.

Romano Delgado’s page nearly makes me laugh, and I find myself smiling despite my reservations. His crooked grin and playful expression don’t match the description of a technological genius and cyber-warfare expert. How does someone so dangerous look so disarming? I’m both curious and wary about what lies beneath that easygoing exterior.

Finally, Voss. His eyes, dark and intense even in the grainy photo, send a shiver skittering down my spine. Unhinged, volatile, dangerously lethal. Everything written about him screams at me to run, but instead, my heart pounds faster. There's something compelling about his darkness, something that makes me want to reach into the fire, even if it means getting burned.

I'm so lost in thought, I don’t notice my bedroom door softly opening until my mother speaks. “Fallon, are you alright?”

I flinch in surprise, hastily gathering up the scattered papers, heart thumping guiltily as if she can read my inappropriate thoughts right off my face. “Fine. Just reading.”

Mom steps further inside, her eyes moving over the disorganized papers spread around me. Her expression is cautiously hopeful, worry shadowing the familiar amber of her eyes. “So…what do you think?”

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” I snap irritably, but my tone lacks real bite. I rub my temples, sighing. “I don’t understand why I have to marry. It’s ridiculous, Mom.”

She moves to sit carefully on the edge of my bed, tucking her caramel-brown hair behind one ear as she reaches for my hand. Her fingers are soft and warm, grounding despite my annoyance. “Fallon, I didn’t pick them randomly. These men…they’re strong. They’re powerful. They’ll protect you, keep you safe.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” I mutter, glancing back down at Kingston’s intense stare from the dossier, heat climbing my mind drifts back to what else the four of them might do. I clear my throat, shaking off the traitorous thoughts. “This is all just…a lot.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Mom’s voice is gentle as she squeezes my hand. “But I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. Trust me, please. These men might be fierce, but they’re honorable—at least when it comes to those they care about.”

She brushes my tangled blue hair off my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give them a chance. You might find more than safety, Fallon. You might find happiness.”

She rises gracefully, heading to the door. “Think about it, sweetheart. Give them a chance before deciding to hate them.”

Fallon

February 9th

2:45 P.M

“You’re getting married… to the Rosetti pack?” Odette is staring at me. Mouth slightly open, brows furrowed, pure disbelief.

We’ve been best friends since we were kids—her family lives just two houses down from mine, so I understand why she’s struggling to process this. But still, the way she’s looking at me, you’d think I just told her I was sacrificing myself to a pack of rabid wolves.

Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to shake me. Or strangle me. Hard to tell.

Odette is gorgeous, a textbook ethereal omega with her long, fiery orange-blonde ombré hair twisted into her signature space buns. Her warm brown eyes are narrowed at me, scanning my face like I might be joking. At 5’6”, she’s taller than most omegas, her willowy frame making her look like she floated down from the heavens to judge me better.

Of course, anyone outside our circle sees her as the refined, always polished, always perfect one of our group. But I know better.

This woman could out-sass a room full of politicians and cut a man down verbally before he even realized he was bleeding. And even though we’re going to try on dresses, she’s still in her usual power outfit—pencil skirt, high heels, looking like a damn CEO. I don’t even have to ask why. She always says she likes the way her ass looks in them. 

Before I can respond, my second-best friend Violet chimes in, voice flat but full of judgment.

“What the fuck is that about?”

She’s not even looking at me, just peering into a compact mirror, fluffing her short, vibrant purple hair like my potential demise is just another minor inconvenience in her day. Her blue eyes flick to me as she checks her black lipstick, unimpressed.

Violet is pure chaos in gothic form. Today, she’s wearing a dark purple blouse with black lace sleeves that stop just before her wrists and a flowy teal skirt that barely brushes her knees. Long black socks. Calf-high platform boots.

She looks like a gothic fairy, only 5’1”, but with the balls of a 7ft Alpha.

“Exactly what I said,” I sigh, fiddling with a hole in the knee of my jeans. “Mom really needs me to do this. She won’t tell me why, but she’s exhausted, and I’d do anything to help her.”

Odette crosses her arms. “Fallon.”

Violet smacks her lips together. “Fallon.”

They say my name in the same tone at the same time. I pointedly avoid looking at them.

Instead, I focus on my boyfriend’s jeans, loose, comfy, and cuffed at my ankles because I’m not tripping over fabric today. At 5’4”, I refuse to become a victim of my pants. My chunky blue sweater, covered in little yellow hearts, is my go-to for days when I want to feel cute but not like I’m trying.

Also, not washing my hair for two days was a choice. It’s past my ass, okay? That’s a lot of hair to deal with. I tied it up in a messy bun and called it a day. Nobody needs to know. The car rolls to a stop, and Henry, my driver-slash-bodyguard, steps out first.

As usual, he does his security check—which consists of glaring at everything that moves until the air feels uncomfortable—before finally opening the door.

Odette and Violet gracefully step out like royalty. I barely make it before Henry practically yanks me out of the car.

I stumble, my slip-on shoes barely keeping up with the force of a man built like a linebacker.

“Damn it, Henry!” I huff, catching my balance. “What did I tell you about your strength?”

The man dares to chuckle and then ignore me entirely. “Get inside, kid.”

Henry is in his forties, with graying hair, broad shoulders, and the kind of dominant presence that makes grown men rethink their life choices. He’s been calling me “kid” since my mom hired him when I was twelve, and at this point, I’ve accepted that I could live to be a hundred years old, and he’d still call me “kid.”

I roll my eyes but don’t argue, instead looping my arms through Odette’s and Violet’s.

“Let’s go look at some dresses.”

Henry holds the door open, and we stride inside like we own the place. Which I actually do technically.

A sharp-looking blonde woman in a perfectly tailored cream-colored business suit strides toward us. “Can I help you?” Her voice is clipped, disinterested, just polite enough to be professional but laced with thinly veiled disdain. 

The three of us turned to face her. I don’t like her tone. This is not the type of person I would typically employ.

I feel Henry’s presence behind me, standing beside the door, scanning the boutique with that imposing bodyguard energy. He’s watching everyone, tracking who comes and goes like the security demon he is.

I straighten my spine. Going from easygoing omega to Fallon Creed.

“Yes, you can help me,” I say smoothly. “My name is Fallon. I have an appointment to find a dress.”

She narrows her eyes, scanning me like she’s searching for a lie. “You’re getting married?” she asks, the disbelief practically dripping off her words.

Odette and Violet take an instinctive step back because they already know. I might be sweet. I might be kind. But I do not tolerate disrespect. Violet always tells me when I get angry, my eyes darken, and those around us can practically feel the violence in the air.

“Yes,” I say evenly, meeting her eyes without a flinch. “I am getting married. My soon-to-be husbands will be covering all costs. They should have their card on file.”

The woman snorts. She actually snorts, like I just told her I plan to pay for my dress with Monopoly money.

“Like whoever you’re marrying could afford us.” She rolls her eyes, the condescension thick enough to choke on. “You might want to try the thrift store around the corner.”

The sheer audacity of this bitch.

Before I can tear into her, I catch movement from the corner of my eye—a man stepping through the door, speaking quietly to Henry. Henry doesn’t even glance at me when he gestures toward me in response.

I turn my attention back to the bitch in front of me. Tilting my head slowly, my expression slipping into something calm, collected, and just the right amount of menacing.

“Now, Ms. Whatever-The-Fuck-Your-Name-Is,” I say pleasantly. “I genuinely don’t care. But what I do care about is the fact that I will not tolerate this judgmental bullshit.”

Her smug expression flickers.

“My soon-to-be husbands, whom you might have heard of—the Rosetti pack?”

She pales so fast I laugh. Watching her, however, I don’t miss the flash of anger in her eyes. Filing that way for later, my amused laugh curled into something dark and humorless, the kind of sound that makes people instinctively take a step back.

And she does. She steps back.

An employee hovers awkwardly behind her, trying to blend into the background. I won’t let her.

“Is this how she treats all her customers?” I ask her instead; my voice is deceptively light.

The poor girl looks like she wants to evaporate into thin air, but after a moment of painful hesitation, she stammers, “O-Only the ones she thinks are poor.”

Ah. So, she’s just a bitch all around. I turn back to Ms. Condescending Dragon Lady. “Well. I suppose I will need your name after all.”

Her mouth opens, eyes darting nervously. “Why?” she demands, her timid mask slips for a second. Hmm, interesting.

I smile. It’s not friendly. “Why?” I echo. “Oh, there are a few reasons.” I hold up my finger. “One: You’re a bitch, and you shouldn’t be helping people on one of the happiest occasions of their lives.”

Another finger. “Two: I will be telling my husbands about this interaction.”

Her breath hitches. I ignore it.

I glance over at Henry, who is already pulling out his phone and scrolling through security feeds. “Henry, I want the surveillance video of this entire conversation before we leave. I wouldn’t want to be troubled with ‘wrongful termination.’”

The woman visibly wavers, her false confidence crumbling like a stale cookie. I step closer. Not threatening. Not raising my voice. Just… watching her.

“Three: I am not one to tolerate disrespect. Neither is my family. My name is Fallon Creed.” 

She gulps.

I let out another low chuckle, watching as the realization clicked into place. “And what store are we in?” I ask, tilting my head. “Ahh, that’s right. House of Creed.”

The color drains from her face. This time, the emotion is real—no hiding behind her mask.

I tsk, shaking my head. “Four: I just don’t like you. You’re fired. And I will be blacklisting you from all my stores and subsidiaries. I hope you have the day you deserve.” I point to the front door.

Her jaw drops, and she lets out a wordless sputter, but I’m already turning away, effectively dismissing her. Henry steps in, guiding her toward the back to get her belongings. That’s his problem now. I refocus on the employee who told the truth—and the group of other employees who have gathered at a safe distance, watching the downfall of their boss unfold in stunned silence.

“Which one of you has been here the longest?” They all point at the first girl.

I nod. “You’re promoted. Will you help me today? Tomorrow, I’ll send someone to train you until you’re confident in your role.”

Her entire face lights up. “Ms. Creed, I would be honored.” She straightens her shoulders and seems to stand up taller. It’s horrible what one terrible person in power can do to another.

I smile softly. “Please, just call me Fallon.”

I gesture to my best friends, who finally step forward now that the storm has passed. “These are my best friends, Odette and Violet.”

Violet, of course, immediately breaks the tension.

She starts giggling. “Fallon, that was amazing. I’ve known you all my life, but you still manage to surprise me.”

The employees visibly relax, the entire store exhaling like it’s been holding its breath. Odette watches, amused, as Violet loses her shit.

“My name is Rose, and I would love to help you find your dream dress.”

The only other person in the room is the man. I can see clearly, now that I don’t have tunnel vision. He is a tall, suited figure who glides effortlessly to the counter where a man stands to help him. 

I turn back and smile. “Lead the way, Rose.”

Chapter Two

Kingston

February 10th

9:36 A.M

I glance around the living room, my gaze drifting lazily over a space that's somehow both perfectly organized and chaotically us. It’s easily my favorite room in the house, even when tensions run high—lately, that's been more often than I'd like.

The massive charcoal sectional couch sprawled across the center of the room practically begs someone to sink into its soft cushions. Beside it sits a matching armchair that is mine to always claim.

Two coffee tables sit nestled in front of the couch—one sleek, modern glass top, pristine despite Romano constantly leaving fingerprints behind, and another older, wooden one that's scarred from years of use and occasional abuse. It bears the marks of spilled whiskey and coffee mug rings we’ve long since stopped trying to prevent, the imperfections telling the story of our journey from barely surviving in a one-bedroom apartment to where we are now.

A wall of exposed brick lends warmth, the rustic texture softened by a series of shelves displaying an eclectic mix of books, framed photos, and expensive gadgets Romano insists are “essential.” My eyes drift to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows opposite, the afternoon sun bathing everything in a gentle gold that briefly masks the darkness we've faced recently. Outside, the city stretches out, deceptively peaceful beneath the fading sunlight.

The moment of peace is shattered when Romano bursts in like a human hurricane.

“I think our soon-to-be wife will fit in just fine!” he announces, grinning like he just won the lottery.

He’s a blur of energy. Dark jeans slung low on his hips, an oversized hoodie swallowing his frame, covering the ink sprawling across his arms and chest—except for the ones crawling up his throat and hands. His short black hair is a perpetual mess, strands sticking up in chaotic defiance, and his round glasses slide down his nose as he waves a tablet in the air like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Without hesitation, he flops onto the sectional, bare feet landing unapologetically on the coffee table with a loud thud.

I exhale slowly, my moment of quiet now a thing of the past.

“What are we excited about?”

Voss’ voice is calm, almost lazy, but I know better.

He moves like a shadow, quiet and controlled, his lean, athletic frame stretching effortlessly as he leans against the exposed brick wall near the couch. He’s covered in just as much ink as the rest of us, the tattoos peeking out from beneath his fitted black tee and sweatpants that cling to his body like a second skin. His thick black hair is pulled into a low bun, neatly kept, just like his freshly trimmed beard. His brown eyes always seem blank. They have since we were children.

His lips twitch at the sides, the only real sign he’s entertained.

Where Voss is the smallest of us, Jace is the biggest. He’s built like he was meant to break people and enjoy it. The man’s biceps are bigger than my head, and he knows it. His black button-up is rolled at the sleeves, revealing forearms wrapped in ink, and his jeans are tailored but casual, somehow making him look even more dangerous. His black curls, forever falling into his face, shift slightly as he tilts his head, blue eyes flickering with amusement.

He settles into the corner of the sectional, stretching out as he props his massive boots onto the second coffee table, mirroring Romano’s lazy sprawl.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” Jace mutters, relaxing. We are all used to Romano.

“You guys have to check this out.” He shifts, tablet bouncing slightly on his knee. “So Fallon—our soon-to-be wife—owns The House of Creed.” He sucks in air like he’s physically incapable of slowing down.

I raise a brow. That wasn’t in the files.

Romano grins like a proud idiot. “Side note: Our omega built that business from the ground up. Now she has locations in most major cities.”

A low whistle from Jace. “Not bad.”

Romano nods enthusiastically, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose so they stop sliding down.

“Anyway,” he continues, “Marco went to put our card on file for her dress—great idea, right?” None of us answer, which doesn’t stop him from barreling forward.

“He walked in, and since he didn’t know which one of the three women inside was our intended,” he snickers at his own phrasing, “he stopped to talk to her bodyguard.”

I perk up slightly, catching the subtle shift in Romano’s expression.

“When he pointed her out,” Romano grins, “she was going toe-to-toe with that bitch Marline.”

I blink. “The bird-looking lady that won’t stop hitting on Voss?”

Voss tilts his head slightly, unimpressed. “That’s the one.”

Romano bursts out laughing, clapping his hands together like this is the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Henry—that’s her bodyguard—sent us the surveillance video. Per her request.” His grin sharpens. “Just watch.”

He presses a few buttons on the tablet, and the TV blinks to life.

The room shifts. Focuses. Because if an omega sent us a security feed of herself wrecking someone’s shit… we’re going to enjoy it.

An extremely clear video comes to life. It’s the outside of the building where a black town car has pulled up. A man steps out, checks the surroundings, and then opens the back door. A woman dressed as a business woman steps out. Then a small as shit goth looking woman steps out. The man then reaches inside and pulls a third woman out. I instantly hope that this is the one who will be our wife. Her dark blue hair is tossed into a bun, and her clothes make her look relaxed and happy. We watch her stumble and then faintly hear her yell. “Damn it, Henry! What did I tell you about your strength?” Jace chuckles, and even Voss smiles. 

They laugh before he calls her kid and tells her to get inside. The camera angle changes and the front door opens. The four of them step inside. The women chat and walk forward while Henry leans next to the front door, paying attention to everything.

“This is where it gets good guys. Marco should be stepping inside any minute.” Romano is practically vibrating in his seat. We watch as Marline comes into the frame. Voss growls. He really hates that woman. Not more than the rest of us, but it's more personal for him.

Marline enters the frame of the video. She looks horrible in a cream-colored suit, sharp-featured, practically drips with condescension. The audio picks up the barely restrained edge in her voice. Just polite enough to be professional but seething with unspoken judgment.

The response is immediate—the three women turn to face her, synchronized like a well-oiled machine. They must have been friends for a long time. That shit is creepy.

A beat of silence, then— “Yes, you can help me.”

The voice is cool, even, deliberate—the kind of calm that isn’t actually calm at all. The sound makes my skin prickle in anticipation.

The blue-haired woman in the blue sweater straightens. Something shifts in her tone, her posture settling into something authoritative, practiced, absolute.

“My name is Fallon. I have an appointment to find a dress.”

I can’t tell you how excited I am that this is going to be our mate. Looking at her is making my dick get hard. I try to adjust myself, but the zipper on my jeans digs into my skin harder.

Marline pauses. The audio catches a soft scoff, then a quiet exhale through her nose. “You’re getting married?” There’s disbelief in the woman’s tone—thick, unapologetic disbelief. 

The two women with her react immediately, shifting back like they’re about to watch a car crash in slow motion. Fallon, however, does not move. Her voice doesn’t waver. She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. I am getting married. My soon-to-be husbands will be covering all costs. They should have their card on file.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Marline snorts. She actually snorts. “Like whoever you’re marrying could afford us.” The rolling scoff, the unfiltered amusement, and every syllable are an open mockery. “You might want to try the thrift store around the corner.”

Jace growls low in his throat. Romano cuts him off, though. “Just watch you, giant!” 

A shift in the frame—movement from Henry’s side of the screen. Marco steps in, voice low, as he speaks to the bodyguard, who tilts his head but doesn’t take his eyes off Fallon.

But Fallon isn’t looking at Henry. She tilts her head slightly, the warmth draining from her expression, her lips pressing into a slight, unreadable smirk.

“Now, Ms. Whatever-The-Fuck-Your-Name-Is, I genuinely don’t care.” 

The air shifts. Marline’s smirk falters. 

“But what I do care about is the fact that I will not tolerate this judgmental bullshit.” The audio catches the silence, the moment of hesitation as the Marline registers the shift in tone.

“My soon-to-be husbands, whom you might have heard of—the Rosetti pack?”

A sharp inhale—a stutter in her movement. I'm unsure if anyone else can see the fury in her eyes, although her expression doesn't change. She visibly stiffens—no snark, no more amusement.

And Fallon chuckles. It’s not funny. It’s a low, humorless sound, an edge of warning woven beneath it.

My cock aches. I see Voss adjust his stance, and Jace groans. “Well fuck. I want to make her laugh at me like that.” 

I laugh at that because I feel the same. I finally give up trying for decorum and shove my hand in my pants to adjust myself.

She steps forward—not aggressively, not threatening—just enough.

“Is this how she treats all her customers?” Fallon asks, her voice suddenly lighter, almost sweet.

The camera shifts slightly, catching the employee hovering behind the blonde, shoulders tense, hands wringing at her sides.

She glances around like she’s waiting for permission to speak. When none comes, she forces it out anyway. “O-Only the ones she thinks a-are poor.”

A pin could drop.

Marline visibly falters, panic creeping into her eyes.

Fallon, however, sighs. “Well.” A pause. “I suppose I will need your name after all.”

A beat. Marline latches onto it and tries to recover. “Why?” she demands, her voice faltering but stubborn, like she thinks there’s still a way to claw back control.

“Why?” Fallon repeats, slow, mocking her own amusement. Then she counts off on her fingers, like listing groceries. “One: You’re a bitch, and you shouldn’t be helping people on one of the happiest occasions of their lives.” 

“Two: I will be telling my husbands about this interaction.”

A sharp inhale.

Fallon doesn’t even blink. Instead, she tilts her head toward Henry, still standing like a stone sentinel, already scrolling through his phone. “Henry, I want the surveillance video of this entire conversation before we leave. I wouldn’t want to be troubled with ‘wrongful termination.’”

Henry barely nods.

Fallon steps closer, not touching her, just watching. “Three: I am not one to tolerate disrespect. Neither is my family. My name is Fallon Creed.”

The audio catches the tiny, almost pathetic noise Marline makes.

Fallon tsks softly like she’s disappointed. “And what store are we in?” she muses. “Ahh, that’s right. House of Creed.”

Silence.

“Four: I just don’t like you. You’re fired. And I will be blacklisting you from all my stores and subsidiaries.”

“I hope you have the day you deserve.”

A garbled sputter, but Fallon is already turning away.

Henry steps in, muttering something low and unreadable before steering the Marline toward the back.

The remaining employees stand frozen, watching, waiting.

“Which one of you has been here the longest?”

Fallon nods. “You’re promoted.”

The employee straightens, eyes wide with shock before lighting up in excitement. “Ms. Creed, I would be honored.”

Fallon smiles, softer this time. “Please, just call me Fallon.”

The goth woman snickers.

Marco murmurs in a low voice as the audio crackles beneath the final exchange. “Well, shit.” Then, the footage cuts to black.

We’ve always wanted an omega to complete our pack. It’s instinct. We all feel a natural pull but have learned to bury beneath the weight of who we are and what we do. The life we lead isn’t safe. It isn’t stable. It sure as hell isn’t the kind of life an omega is supposed to walk into.

So, for a long time, we accepted that it would never happen. Until Elizabeth Creed walked into our office that day. She was wearing her usual unshakable, razor-sharp self, dressed in one of her pristine tailored suits, folder in hand, already three steps ahead of whatever legal disaster we needed to be covered.

But something was different. The sharp scent of her usual wine and something floral faded, barely noticeable. What wasn’t fading, though, was the honeyed peach scent that nearly overwhelmed us. It was warm, sweet, addictive. Something deep inside us stirred, muscles tensing in unison, instincts snapping to attention like a gun being cocked. And, of course, Romano was the first to say something.

“Ms. Creed, what smells like peaches?”

Elizabeth—our unshakable, ice-cold defense lawyer—actually flinched.

The reaction was brief, but we all caught it. Her usual mask of professionalism cracked for just a second, her sharp eyes widening before she quickly schooled her expression. That was the first time I had ever seen her surprised. She looked down at herself, chuckling lightly, something almost nervous in the sound.

“Ah,” she exhaled, touching the sleeve of her blouse like she’d only just remembered what she was wearing. “I borrowed one of my daughter’s blouses this morning. I suppose I’ve gotten so used to her scent that I didn’t even notice.”

Her daughter. Something snapped into place. We exchanged silent glances, something unspoken and heavy passing between us. And that was it. That was the moment the obsession began. We asked—outright—who her daughter was.

Elizabeth had never been hesitant with us before, but this time? She hesitated. We saw how she carefully chose her words, how her expression guarded itself, and how she tried to brush the subject aside. But we weren’t letting it go. So I made her an offer she couldn’t ignore. 

“I’ll clear all your debts if you arrange for us to marry your daughter.” The words hung in the air like a loaded weapon, and Elizabeth froze, her breath catching for just a moment. We didn’t try to sugarcoat it. We were blunt, direct, and honest. We told her, plain and simple, that we believed her daughter was our scent match—the omega meant for us.

She had every reason to say no.

But she didn’t.

And just like that—the plan began.

Romano

February 12th

1:51 P.M

The soft hum of my servers is practically white noise at this point, blending into the quiet rhythm of my office. This room is my sanctuary, my fortress of technology buried deep in the house, secured with biometric locks and state-of-the-art encryption.

It’s all sleek, modern, and bathed in neon glow—a mix of matte black walls, glass panels, and strategically placed LED strips that cast an almost futuristic blue light around the room. A wall of monitors stretches across the far side, displaying live security feeds, encrypted data streams, and whatever else I feel like keeping an eye on. My desk is a custom-built beast of touchscreens and hidden compartments, glowing softly beneath my fingers as I absently scroll through different files.

I’m lounging in one of my gaming chairs, hoodie loose around my frame, sleeves shoved up to my elbows. I’m in black joggers and socks because shoes are for the oppressed, and my round glasses keep slipping down my nose as I scan through security logs. I shove them up with the back of my hand, half-listening as Jace leans against the side of my desk.

“What type of flowers do you think our wife likes?” I look up at him, grinning.

Jace raises a brow. “Why?”

And this is why I like him—he never judges me for my random ass ideas. If anything, he seems genuinely interested.

I roll my chair back a little, stretching my arms above my head. “It’s Valentine’s Day in a few days. I wanted to send flowers, but now I’m thinking about it—what if we each send her a courting gift instead? Like a gift basket?”

That gets him. His whole face lights up, his dimple popping. “That’s a great idea.”

I grin, already pulling up my phone. “Call the others and see what they’d want to pick, and I’ll go pick it up.”

“Why not just order it?” Jace asks, already dialing as he walks across the room, his black button-up stretched across his broad chest, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his ink. He’s wearing fitted black jeans, his usual casual but expensive look, which says he could charm his way into a boardroom or a fight without changing outfits.

I shake my head, already distracted, already excited. “You can’t feel the textures of a picture.”

Jace chuckles, shaking his head like I’m a lost cause but amused all the same.

I start tapping out a text to Elizabeth Creed, the one person who will absolutely know what our wife-to-be likes. It doesn’t take long for her to respond—quick, efficient, no-nonsense—and when I see the list of things Fallon enjoys, my grin stretches even wider.

I tuck my phone back into my hoodie pocket, rubbing my hands together, my brain already sorting through ideas like a heist plan.

Jace comes back in, grinning.

“King loved the idea, and Voss is on board.” He grabs his jacket off the back of my chair. “Come on. I’m coming with.”

I push myself up from my seat, shoving my glasses back up again before I snag my keys off the desk and shove my feet into boots.

“Let’s go spoil our girl.”

The SUV hums beneath my hands, the wheel warm from the heat of the engine as I drum my fingers against it, bouncing slightly in my seat.

Jace is entirely unbothered. He’s reclining in the passenger seat, one arm resting lazily along the door, his blue eyes half-lidded but definitely watching me like he’s waiting for me to do something stupid, which is fair. I’m driving. And I drive like I have no regard for speed limits.

The engine growls as I swerve around a slower car, cutting into the next lane like a man on a mission. I glance at Jace, grinning. 

“You’re going to get us pulled over.” He doesn’t even sound worried—just mildly resigned to his fate.

“Nah,” I wave him off, foot pressing just a little harder on the gas. “I’ll talk my way out of it.”

Jace snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Because cops love unhinged tech geniuses.”

I shoot him a mock-offended look before turning back to the road. “I am not unhinged. I’m just—highly enthusiastic. Voss is the unhinged one.”

Jace doesn’t even dignify that with a response. The look he gives me says enough.

Still, he’s grinning, and I can’t help but feel giddy as hell. We’re going to pamper the absolute hell out of our wife-to-be.

The towering warehouse-sized building of Fluffed Up comes into view, its massive windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, practically glowing like a beacon of softness and indulgence.

Fluffed Up is the premier nesting store for omegas. And I do mean premier—this place is a cathedral of comfort, a sprawling haven stacked wall to wall with everything an omega could possibly dream of.

The exterior is sleek and modern, with large glass panels framed in dark metal, giving it an expensive but inviting feel. A massive, illuminated sign sits above the entrance, the letters of “Fluffed Up” in a warm, elegant script, glowing softly like the promise of the best nap of your life.

The parking lot is packed—no surprise. Omegas and their packs are coming in and out, some carrying oversized shopping bags, others pushing carts filled to the top.

I barely brake in time, swinging the SUV right up to the front doors and sliding into the first available parking spot like I own the place.

Jace doesn’t even blink.

He grabs the handle above his door and exhales. “Remind me never to let you drive when Fallon is in the car.”

I ignore him. I would never put our mate in danger. I am already vibrating with excitement. “Come on, Jace! Let’s do this!”

I practically throw myself out of the vehicle, landing on the pavement with all the energy of a kid let loose in a candy store.

He moves at his own damn pace, rolling his shoulders before stepping out of the car with easy confidence, brushing imaginary dust off his black button-up like he’s above the chaos I am fully prepared to unleash inside.

I’m halfway to the door, already vibrating with excitement when a horrifying realization slams into me like a truck.

I whirl around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, my hands flying to my head in absolute distress.

“Jace.” I gasp, eyes wide. “We haven’t set up the nest!”

Jace barely reacts. Because, of course, he doesn’t. He stares at me, unimpressed, with hands in his pockets like I didn’t announce a full-scale emergency. Unfortunately, He’s not the only one who hears.

A nearby omega and her pack freeze mid-step, all of them turning to stare like I’ve just yelled “fire” in a crowded building.

The omega in question is petite and soft-looking but confidently carries herself. She’s wearing a pale lavender sweater draping over her frame and a flowy cream skirt that brushes against her boots. Her scent—something light, floral, warm—lingers in the air as she pauses, her curious brown eyes flickering to me.

Her pack immediately tightens around her, an instinctive protective move that speaks volumes. Two alphas and a beta, all standing just a little closer, watching me with that subtle but unmistakable “Don’t Fuck Around” energy.

I hold up my hands in surrender, still reeling from my own disaster. She hesitates for half a second before speaking, her voice soft but steady. “Sir?” She tilts her head slightly like she’s trying to figure out if I’m a genuine idiot or just an overenthusiastic alpha having a moment. “Just make sure the room has a bed and other furniture. Leave the rest blank. I promise your omega will love being able to decorate it herself.”

The words hit me like a revelation. That makes sense. That’s smart. Why didn’t I think of that? I gasp, my eyes widening as I nod enthusiastically, probably looking like an over-caffeinated lunatic. “Thank you so much!”

She blinks at me, clearly not expecting that level of dramatic gratitude. Then, slowly, she smiles, giving me a polite nod before her pack nudges her along, guiding her away.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Jace finally cracks. A deep chuckle rumbles out of him, low and too damn amused.

I whip around to face him, still frazzled. “What?!”

He shakes his head, smirking. “You just scared the hell out of that poor omega over a nest.”

I cross my arms, scowling. “It’s an important fucking detail, Jace!”

He claps a hand on my shoulder, still laughing. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go spoil our girl before you have another existential crisis in the parking lot.”

I huff but follow him inside, already making a mental list of everything I need to buy.

Because damn it, my mate is going to have the best damn nest ever.

Chapter Three

Fallon

February 12th

5:43 P.M

“Ms. Fallon, you have a delivery.”

Cindy’s voice carries through my office, followed by a light knock on the doorframe.

I blink up from my laptop, momentarily pulled out of the chaos of emails, store reports, and my ongoing investigation into potential employee incompetence. The past few days have been a blur of driving between my local stores, getting the lay of the land, and making sure I haven’t accidentally employed any more Marline’s. Stupid fucking name if you ask me. 

I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the ache of sitting hunched over spreadsheets for hours and glance toward the doorway.

Cindy stands just inside, her hands clasped in front of her, grinning so hard I think her face might break. She’s in her usual maid’s uniform, even though I’ve told her at least a dozen times she doesn’t have to wear it. But every time I bring it up, she waves me off with: “I’m not cleaning other people’s houses in my own clothes.”

I can’t argue with that. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, her bright blue eyes practically sparkling with whatever amusement she’s holding in.

“Oh? A delivery?” I push my chair back and stretch, already curious.

My office is sleek and organized but still cozy, making it feel like mine. A massive glass desk sits in the center, stacked with business files, color-coded sticky notes, and a mug of coffee that’s been reheated at least three times. The walls are a soft cream color, and the bookshelves lining one side are filled with fashion design books, old sketch pads, and decorative storage boxes filled with Gods knows what. The large window behind me overlooks the garden, spilling in the warm afternoon light.

I follow Cindy out, padding barefoot down the polished hardwood hallway toward the dining room. The scent of vanilla and fresh linen from the house candles lingers in the air, making everything feel calm and normal.

That is, until I step into the dining room and see it.

A huge wicker basket sits in the center of my long oak dining table, practically overflowing with gifts, luxurious fabrics, small wrapped packages, and what looks like an expensive bottle of wine tucked in the corner.

I blink. Once. Twice.

“What in the world?”

Cindy bounces on her toes, hands clasped behind her back like she’s barely containing herself. I move forward, reaching for the card nestled at the front. There’s something thrumming in my chest, something light, excited—maybe even a little nervous. Because I can guess who sent it. And I’m not entirely sure what that means.

To Our Future Wife,

In two days, you’ll be ours. Legally, officially, completely.

We know this isn’t traditional. Nothing about this situation is, but that doesn’t mean we don’t intend to court you properly. You deserve to be spoiled, indulged, and adored; we take that responsibility very seriously.

So, consider this basket a down payment on everything we plan to give you. Comfort, pleasure, security, whatever you want, whatever you need, it’s yours. We’ll learn your favorites, your quirks, the little things that make you you.

You don’t have to love us. Not yet.

But trust us when we say—we’re already devoted to you.

– Kingston, Voss, Jace, Romano

P.S. Hope you like the gifts. If not, let us know—we’ll keep trying until we perfect it.

I laugh softly, warmth bubbling in my chest as I carefully set the card aside.

Then, unable to resist, I reach into the basket, fingertips brushing over plush fabrics and carefully selected items, each one wrapped with an almost ridiculous amount of care.

The first thing I pull out is a sage green blanket, neatly folded, the material buttery soft beneath my fingers. When I lift it, the weight is perfect—heavy enough to feel like a comforting hug but light enough that I know it’ll be ideal for curling up in.

A pair of lime green plush socks come next, so thick and ridiculously fluffy that I can already tell my feet will never know cold again.

I let out a breathless laugh as I pull out an emerald green robe, the fabric sliding over my hands like liquid silk. It’s luxurious, something straight out of a spa catalog, and when I press it against my cheek, it’s cool and smooth, whispering promises of absolute comfort.

Bath salts follow, packaged in a heavy glass jar; the label says the scent is a mix of vanilla, honey, and herbal. Nestled beside them are a few bath bombs wrapped in soft paper, their colors varying between deep greens and pale golds, flecks of shimmer catching in the light.

I exhale slowly, my heart squeezing just a little.

Next, I find an eye mask, the fabric velvety beneath my fingertips, lined with something soft and cooling. Then, a set of jade facial rollers, cool to the touch, had their weight solid and grounding in my palm.

And when I think they’ve thought of everything, I pull out a set of face masks, each one carefully chosen, the packaging sleek and high-end.

I pause, looking down at the collection of gifts now spread out across the table. This… this is the sweetest gift I’ve ever received. I turn to Cindy, still standing there, beaming like she orchestrated this herself.

“Is there a way to send them a response?” I ask, voice a little breathless, a little unsure. Because for the first time since this whole arrangement started, I don’t just feel like someone’s contracted wife-to-be.

I feel… wanted.

Voss

February 13th

6:45 P.M

“She sent a response!!!”

Romano dances into the room, practically vibrating with excitement, waving a light green envelope in the air like he just won the lottery.

I barely lift my head from where I’m stretched out in the armchair, but Jace is already behind him, silent, watchful, the momentary flicker of amusement on his face vanishing as quickly as it came. When we were kids, Jace sort of appointed himself Romano’s bodyguard. Not because Romano can’t handle himself—he can. But because his heart is soft. Too soft, sometimes. And because Romano is also crazy as fuck, and someone must make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.

“She responded?” I prompt when Romano throws himself onto the couch, legs sprawling, the envelope held up like a sacred artifact.

Kingston, drawn by the noise, leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes locked onto the letter like it might explode.

“Well, let’s hear it,” Jace says, his voice low, gravelly commanding. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, he’s either amused or demanding answers. I’ve seen the guy stare someone into submission.

Romano grins like he’s about to open the gates of heaven, carefully sliding a finger under the envelope’s seal, slow, deliberate, making sure not to tear it.

The room is silent, the anticipation thick, as he pulls out the white card tucked inside.

To My Soon-to-Be Husbands,

I’m not going to lie. I stared at this letter for a solid ten minutes, trying to figure out how to respond. Because, really? What does one say when their terrifying, possibly-mafia fiancés send them the perfect courting gift basket and a note that somehow manages to be both romantic and slightly ominous?

Thank you. Seems too small. But since I value my life, I’m going to go with it anyway.

Thank you. For the gifts. For the thought behind them. For somehow nailing every single thing I love despite the fact that we’ve never met. I don’t know whether to be flattered or mildly concerned about how well you already know me.

And as for the spoiling, indulging, and adoring part?

Well.

I suppose we’ll see if you live up to the hype.

– Fallon

P.S. See you tomorrow. I’ll be the one in the wedding dress.  

Romano breaks out into that weird-ass giggle-laugh of his, the one that usually means he’s found something wildly entertaining or is about to make a terrible decision.

“I think I’m in love,” he declares, still sprawled across the couch, grinning like an idiot as he waves Fallon’s letter in the air.

Kingston chuckles, shaking his head as he plucks the card from Romano’s grasp. Instead of rereading it, he brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Can’t say I blame you.” His green eyes glint with amusement as he lowers the letter, glancing around the room. “She really thinks we’re the fucking mafia.”

I snort, stretching my legs out in front of me. “To be fair, we don’t exactly do much to disprove that theory.”

“Yeah,” Romano grins, “but I love that she just accepted it. No panic, no questions. Just, ‘Oh, cool, my new husbands are criminals. Let’s roll with it.’”

Kingston chuckles again, the sound dark and amused. “Speaking of business.” He straightens, flipping the card between his fingers before propping it up on the mantel above the fireplace. “Jace?”

Jace is already adjusting his sleeves, looking every bit the man who handles problems without hesitation. “I’ve retrieved the asset you requested,” he says, his gravelly voice filling the room. “He’s at our usual place.”

We always talk in code. Not because we don’t trust our security but because I make sure our systems are airtight. But because paranoia is what keeps men like us in business.

“Voss,” Kingston turns to me next. “I need you to inquire about the missing numbers.

I nod once. “If there’s anything to know, I’ll find it.”

“Romano,” Kingston continues, shifting his gaze. “Go through the finances. I want to be sure we haven’t missed anything.”

Romano heaves himself up from the couch with a dramatic sigh, stretching before grabbing his phone. “On it, boss.” I follow suit, pushing off the armchair and stretching out the stiffness in my muscles. Kingston exhales with one last glance at Fallon’s letter, his expression settling into something colder, more focused.

It's time to ruin some corrupt men’s lives. And just like that, we head for the warehouse. Business as usual.

The warehouse is on the outskirts of Chicago. It’s in the more modern industrial areas. If it looks legit, it’s doubtful someone will come looking. Most people picture seedy, rotten buildings for crime. The overhead LED strips cast stark white light against the polished cement floors, their hum barely noticeable over the distant whir of ventilation systems.

This place isn’t some run-down, forgotten building. It’s modern, efficient, and designed for discretion and control. The walls are steel-reinforced, sleek, and painted in dark industrial grays, with strategically placed security cameras embedded into the corners. I know for a fact that Romano sees every angle the moment we walk in.

Rows of modular glass-walled offices line the left side. Their interiors are minimalist but functional—dark desks, ergonomic chairs, and high-end monitors blinking with encrypted data. The soundproofing is so good that, from the outside, you’d never hear the conversations happening inside.

To the right, past the open space in the center, is what we call “the pit”—a vast, sunken area designed for interrogations, negotiations, and the occasional… disposal of problems. The walls are lined with stainless steel panels, and the floor is graded for easy cleaning—a single grated drain on the floor.

Above us, a steel mezzanine stretches across the back wall, leading to private rooms, locked storage units, and a control hub where Romano’s systems run 24/7. The glass panels are one-way mirrored, giving a clear vantage point of the floor below. Everything about this place is clean, organized, and ruthlessly efficient.

The pit is already occupied, but my attention flickers first to Marco, who’s lounging in a chair like he’s watching a damn sports game.

He’s got a bag of peanuts in one hand and is tossing them into his mouth like this is just another Tuesday. Ever since his wife made him quit smoking, the man has developed an addiction to snacks. At first, they were sunflower seeds, but the shells ended up everywhere. So, now? Already shelled peanuts. It’s an improvement.

He’s dressed as impeccably as always because Marco in anything but a suit would be an omen of the apocalypse. His jacket is unbuttoned, dark navy blue, with a crisp white shirt underneath. Sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the gold cufflinks his wife gave him. His black hair is perfectly styled, except for the one defiant curl that always falls between his hazel eyes.

We’ve made it our mission to mess with him about it with Superman jokes. Little figurines were left everywhere—his house, his car, his desk; he even snuck one into his damn suit jacket once. He still has no idea who’s doing it. His wife thinks it hilarious and has helped on occasion.

Marco grins up at Kingston, voice deep and amused, a familiar hint of laughter buried in his tone as he calls out, “Boss.”

With a grin, he stands, shifting his chair back with his foot, dragging it out of the “splash zone.”

I follow his gaze, finally landing on the night's main attraction. Suspended in the middle of the pit, chains creak under the weight of a man hanging limply, wrists bound, ankles shackled.

His head droops forward, dark hair slicked to his forehead, damp with sweat and something thicker. His white dress shirt is torn and stained in places where bruises bloom beneath the fabric. The once-pristine material is now wrinkled, clinging to him from the sweat rolling down his spine.

His face is a mess of swollen flesh and split skin, one eye nearly swollen shut, his lip split down the center, and blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He’s breathing, but barely.

The rhythmic drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the grated floor echoes in the silence. I step into the pit, movements calm and methodical, his presence alone shifting the air. The man stirs and lifts his head just enough to look at us, eyes glazed but still holding onto some stubborn scrap of defiance.

Marco pops another peanut into his mouth and chews slowly, watching.

“Well,” he murmurs, “he’s still conscious. That’s progress.”

I smirk. Not for long. I step closer, the echo of my boots against the concrete, the only sound in the pit. The man before me, low-level scum, barely worth the oxygen he’s sucking in, hangs limply from the chains.

“Well, well,” I murmur, slowly and measured, letting his name roll off my tongue. “What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

My voice drops lower, taking on that familiar, unsettling edge, the one that has broken stronger men than him. I watch as a shudder rolls through his battered frame, his shoulders tensing just enough to tell me he’s still got a little fight left.

I grin, sharp and feral.

Then I slap his cheek, not hard enough to do more damage—just enough to bring him fully back to reality.

His head jerks to the side, a groan tearing from his throat, his lip splitting further, fresh blood welling along the already cracked skin.

“What was that?” I ask when he mumbles something, his words thick, slurred.

He tries again, a little louder this time. “...Wasn’t… me… wrong… person…”

I tilt my head, watching him struggle, his one eye barely cracking open, the other too swollen to function.

Behind me, I sense movement. I don’t have to look to see Kingston and Jace watching, silent, waiting. Romano had already disappeared into his little tech lair, no doubt combing through files, pulling every dirty secret this guy had ever tried to bury.

I glance over my shoulder, smirking. “He says it wasn’t him. We’ve got the wrong person. Guess we can let him go.” Then I laugh in his face.

He flinches at the sound, and I can’t tell if it’s because he knows I’m lying or because he’s too damn stupid to realize I’m not. I exhale through my nose, stepping away and walking toward the steel table along the wall. It’s clean and organized, with each tool in its place. Knives, scalpels, pliers, syringes—everything necessary to get the truth out of a man, whether he wants to give it or not.

I drag a finger over a long, thin blade's hilt, watching how the light catches against its polished surface.

“See,” I murmur, flipping the blade between my fingers, “we’ve caught wind of someone doing… not very nice things.”

He shifts, a pathetic, rattling sound leaving his throat.

I ignore him, watching the blade as I turn it back and forth, letting him see it.

“Someone,” I continue, tone deceptively casual, “has been kidnapping omegas. From their homes, their businesses, and the streets. What for we don’t know.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and suffocating.

Then Kingston steps in, voice smooth, controlled but coiled tight with barely restrained violence.

“Can you imagine what their packs feel?” he asks, pushing off the wall. “Through their bonds? As their omegas get taken, raped, beaten, drugged—torn away from them like they’re nothing.

The man is breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven bursts. I watch the panic start to creep in, the reality of what’s about to happen finally clicking into place.

I roll my wrist, flipping the knife in my grip before bringing it to his bare chest.

The blade is razor-sharp but not deep-cutting—this isn’t for real damage. It’s for pain. The kind that feels unbearable but leaves no real lasting scars.

I flick it across his nipple, watching as a thin red line blooms in its wake.

It’s barely anything—a papercut at worst.

He shrieks. Not a grunt. Not a hiss of pain. A full, panicked, dramatic scream.

My brows draw together. What in the actual fuck? I know it hurts. I made sure of that. But not that much. I glance at Kingston, who raises a brow. Jace tilts his head, unimpressed.

Behind us, Marco, who has been eating peanuts this whole time, chuckles.

“Either he’s real bad with pain,” Marco muses, tossing another peanut into his mouth, “or he’s about to give himself up before we even start.”

I turn back to my captive, amused now. “Huh,” I murmur, tapping the blade lightly against my fingers. “Dramatic. I like that.”

Then I drag the knife again, just a little lower.

Let’s see how much he’s really willing to scream.

An hour later, my friend is barely hanging on.

Blood drips steadily from his body, pooling beneath him in dark, sluggish puddles, soaking into the grated floor of the pit. His head lolls forward, his chin nearly resting against his chest, and the rise and fall of his breathing are shallow and uneven.

For all the pain and the hours wasted, all we got out of him was one pathetic scrap of information.

M.

That’s it. Just a single goddamn letter.

I stare at the mess before me, frowning, irritation coiling in my gut like a slow burn. He could have just told us more and saved himself from suffering, but men like him? They never learn.

With a sigh, I wipe the blade of my knife against his torn shirt, watching as he shudders involuntarily, his remaining eye fluttering like he’s trying to hold on.

Pointless.

I turn away, rolling the tension from my shoulders as I step out of the pit. Kingston and Jace are already ahead of me, their footsteps steady, unhurried.

Marco falls into step beside me as we leave the building, crumbling the empty peanut bag. I glance at him, already knowing what needs to be done. “Call a cleaning crew,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “We have a wedding to get ready for.”

Marco snorts, popping the last handful of peanuts into his mouth before grinning. “Good luck with that.” His laugh follows us to the SUV, low and amused, as I slide into the back seat, exhaling slowly.

Honestly, we might need it.

Chapter Four

Fallon

February 14th

5:06 P.M

I stare into the mirror, heart hammering, because the woman looking back at me isn’t me. She’s poised, elegant, ethereal—nothing like the woman I’m used to seeing.

My breath catches as I lift a trembling hand, fingertips grazing over the delicate cascade of tiny flowers woven into my hair. The soft curls are pulled back just enough to frame my face, a few wisps left loose to brush against my cheekbones, making the look feel effortless, almost whimsical. My makeup is softer than I expected, enhancing instead of concealing, making my blue eyes seem brighter, my skin fresh, glowing like I belong in a fairy tale.

A subtle shimmer of glitter dusts my cheekbones and collarbone, catching the light with every breath, like I’m wearing the last remnants of a star-streaked sky. My lips, painted in a deep nude shade, feel unfamiliar. The color makes me look more mature than I’ve ever felt.

The dress is everything. Ethereal, breathtaking, like something out of a dream I never dared to have.

My hands hover over the fabric, fingertips barely grazing the soft layers of sage green tulle that flow down my body, pooling at my feet like mist rolling over the forest floor. It’s delicate but structured, the bodice wrapped in intricate folds that hug my curves, cinching at my waist before cascading down in weightless, gossamer waves.

A high slit parts the fabric as I shift, revealing a teasing glimpse of bare leg, a contrast to the softness of the dress, reminding me that beneath all this delicate elegance, I am still me.

But the cape—oh, the cape.

It drapes over my shoulders, a glittering waterfall of sequins and sheer fabric, catching the light like it was woven from stardust. Every subtle movement sends a shimmer dancing across the walls, the tiny flecks of gold and silver making me feel less like a bride and more like something untouchable—something divine.

I exhale slowly, pressing a hand to my stomach, my pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips. I should be nervous. I should be second-guessing everything. But as I take in the way this dress makes me feel—like I belong in it like it was made for me, a small, quiet certainty settles deep inside my chest.

I don’t know what’s waiting for me at the altar. But I feel ready for the first time since this whole arrangement began. I hope this can be a good marriage. When I’ve tried to find someone or a pack in the past, they have always found some fault in me. The one that got me the most was I was too “dark” of a person, and they wanted someone more cheerful. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Fallon? Oh my—”

My mother’s voice catches on a gasp, and when I turn, I see her standing just inside the room, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other clutching her chest like she’s trying to steady her heart. She’s wearing a gorgeous light yellow suit. I love that. It looks fantastic on her, and I’m happy she stayed true to herself. 

Her amber eyes shimmer, caught somewhere between pride and overwhelming emotion, and for a moment, she looks like she doesn’t know whether to throw her arms around me or start sobbing.

I lift a warning finger, already feeling the telltale burn behind my own eyes. “Mom, if you cry, I’m going to cry, and then we’ll both be a mess.” She lets out a watery laugh, dabbing at her eyes, but I see the way she’s drinking me in, memorizing this moment. Before the emotion can swallow us whole, the door pushes open again, and Violet and Odette slip inside, bringing a wave of energy and warmth with them.

Violet, of course, is the first to react.

“Oh my god.” She stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide, jaw-dropping. Then, in true Violet fashion, she lets out a dramatic sigh, fanning herself. “You look sexy as fuck. If your husbands don’t want you, I’ll take you.”

I snort, rolling my eyes, but I don’t miss how she’s actually looking at me—not just at the dress, but at me like she’s seeing something new and more.

Odette snickers, shaking her head as she steps up beside me. But when her gaze meets mine in the mirror, her expression softens. “You look so beautiful.” Her voice is gentle, warm, and sincere, which makes my chest ache. She reaches out, smoothing a hand over the delicate fabric of my sleeve, taking in every detail—the soft sage green tulle, the structured bodice, the way the cape cascades like something out of a fairytale.

“I love that you chose this dress,” she murmurs. “It’s not a typical wedding, and white just feels… too—”

“Virginal,” I supply, arching a brow.

Violet barks out a laugh while Odette nods, smirking. “Exactly.”

I turn back to my reflection, exhaling slowly. “The last thing I want to look like is a timid woman.” And I don’t. Not with the way the dress hugs my frame like it was made for me, the way the soft glitter catches the light, or the way my confidence has started to settle over me like armor. Not with my best friends beside me, dressed in deep emerald green gowns contrasting beautifully against my softer sage.

Violet’s dress is sleek and fitted, hugging her curves with a deep V neckline and delicate lace detailing along the sleeves. Her short purple hair is styled in soft waves, and she’s already adjusting her black lipstick in the mirror, preening like she’s the main event. I love her all the more for it. My friend is beautiful and owns it.

Odette’s gown is more flowing and elegant, the fabric pooling around her feet like liquid silk. The deep green complements her fiery ombre hair, and her delicate gold earrings catch the light when she moves.

We look good together—a trio of troublemakers ready to shake the foundations of the world.

My mother finally steps forward, brushing a soft curl back from my face, her hand lingering against my cheek. “You are going to be unforgettable,” she whispers, her voice full of so much love it nearly undoes me.

I let out a shaky breath, squeezing her hand before turning back to my friends. “Alright, ladies. Let’s get me married.”

The venue is breathtaking, something out of a dream I never let myself have. How they managed to find a garden fairytale setting in the middle of a Chicago winter is beyond me. But looking around at the towering frost-kissed trees, the delicate blooms draped in cascading flowers, and the thousands of fairy lights twinkling like fallen stars—I have to believe it’s magic.

I inhale slowly, trying to steady the nervous energy thrumming under my skin as I step up to the grand French doors, sheer white curtains fluttering softly with the faintest winter breeze.

My hands feel clammy, my heart a relentless rhythm in my chest, but then I feel two familiar squeezes—one from each side.

Violet and Odette. My best friends. My sisters in spirit.

They don’t say anything, but they don’t have to. I feel their unwavering support in how they hold my hands, grounding me for a moment before they step into place.

None of us are carrying flowers. I never saw the point. They’re just there to keep your hands busy, to distract you from your nerves. And I don’t want a distraction. I want to feel everything. 

The doors sweep open, revealing a curving cobblestone aisle, worn smooth by time, footsteps, and rain, framed by arching trees intertwined with trailing flowers. The soft glow of fairy lights weaves through the branches, lighting the path like something out of a fairytale.

A shiver rolls down my spine, part nerves, part awe.

Violet and Odette step forward first, moving in perfect sync with the hauntingly beautiful melody that fills the air. The music wraps around me, sinking into my bones, making everything feel surreal yet utterly, terrifyingly real at the same time.

I inhale again, but this time, it’s shaky and uneven. Because I still can’t see them. The aisle curves to the left, hiding the guests—and my husbands—from view. Then, the music shifts. My cue. A warm, steady hand slides through my arm, and I turn to see my mother standing beside me. Her amber eyes are already glassy with emotion, but she holds it together, giving me a soft, knowing smile as she squeezes my hand.

We step forward together. The soft clack of our heels echoes over the stone as we follow the bend, my dress whispering around me, catching the glow of the lights, making me feel like something ethereal. I feel dozens of eyes on me, but I don’t look.

Not at first. The guests are a blur, a mix of familiar faces—friends, acquaintances, people who have been a part of my life in one way or another. The ones I don’t recognize watch me with quiet appreciation, and I assume those belong to my husbands.

But none of them matter. Because when I finally lift my gaze, my breath catches. And there they are.

Kingston. Voss. Jace. Romano.

Waiting for me.

The first one stands tall and unwavering, his presence commanding and effortless. His body is full of muscle and strength, filling out the deep green suit that fits him to perfection. My eyes flit up to his face, to those piercing green eyes that lock onto me with something intense—something profound. His expression is soft but heated as if he’s seeing something he never thought he’d have. His brown hair is perfectly styled, parted just enough to frame his sharp, chiseled features.

Kingston.

The second man is leaner but no less dangerous, his long black hair braided back from his face, though the rest hangs loosely around his shoulders. He looks coiled to strike, a predator waiting, sensing, watching. His brown eyes clash with mine, and a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips, his beard twitching slightly with the movement.

Voss.

The third is imposing, which is impossible to ignore. His body is massive—broad chest, slim waist, thick, muscular thighs that I really shouldn’t be looking at right now, but my brain betrays me. I feel slick gather between my thighs, and I internally curse my omega instincts for reacting so blatantly. His black hair is slightly tousled but in a way that looks intentional and effortlessly rugged. He stands with his hands in his pockets, seemingly relaxed, but I see how his blue eyes burn. Feral. Hungry. Claiming.

Jace.

And then there’s the last one. The one bouncing on his toes, unable to contain himself, the excitement radiating off him in waves. He’s leaner but firm, and his black hair is slicked back, making him look even more put together than usual. But it’s his grin that gets me. Like he’s won, like I’m the prize he always knew he’d claim. His brown eyes shine behind round glasses, which he pushes up into place with the tip of his finger, never breaking eye contact with me.

Romano.

I exhale, my heart hammers, and my knees are weak. And somehow—somehow—I make it to the end of the aisle without tripping.

“Who gives the bride away?”

The officiant’s voice is calm, steady—but it sends a shiver through me, grounding me in the moment. Beside me, my mother’s grip is warm and strong, her nails pressing lightly into my skin as if to remind me she’s still there. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t waver.

“I do.”

Her voice is clear, unwavering, filled with a quiet strength that settles something deep in my chest. She turns toward me, her amber eyes shining, filled with an emotion I don’t dare name—because if I do, I might break. Instead, I breathe through the ache, through the lump in my throat, as she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek.

Her lips are warm, but when she pulls back, I see how her chin trembles and how she swallows hard as if she’s holding back tears. And then, with one last lingering squeeze of my fingers, she places my hand in Kingston’s.

His fingers engulf mine, warm, steady, unyielding. The moment our hands touch, a shocking jolt of heat rolls through me, something that steals my breath and tightens my chest. I look up—really look at him.

His green eyes soften just slightly, just enough to tell me that this is more than duty and an arrangement. There’s something else here—something I don’t understand yet. But I don’t pull away.

As the officiant continues, I step forward, my dress whispering against the stone, my pulse pounding in my ears. The ceremony blurs around me, voices fading into the background as I look at the men surrounding me—my husbands.

I repeat the vows, the words leaving my lips on autopilot, but I barely register them because I’m lost in their eyes.

Kingston’s gaze is steady, grounding, and filled with unspoken promises.

Voss watches me like a predator watching prey, his smirk barely contained.

Jace’s blue eyes burn with undeniable possession, calculating and focused.

Romano practically vibrates with energy, his grin boyish but his eyes knowing.

And the desire I see in them? It’s enough to make my knees weak and my heart pound against my ribs.

I’m incredibly grateful for the scent blockers I took before stepping into this venue. Because if I hadn’t? The entire room would be drowning in my perfume by now.

I’m still trapped in their eyes, still floating somewhere between reality and something far more dangerous, when the officiant’s words jolt me back to the present.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Kingston pulls me in before I can even react, his touch firm, possessive, but controlled. His lips press against mine in a soft, fleeting kiss, just enough to make me ache for more. The ghost of it lingers, leaving my lips tingling, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

The moment my lips part from Kingston’s, Voss steps forward, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me flush against his body. His mouth devours mine, nothing soft, nothing restrained. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, his lips demanding, bruising, staking his claim in front of the entire world.

By the time he pulls back, I’m breathless, dazed, and thoroughly wrecked. Voss’s satisfied smirk says it all as he hands me off to Jace like I’m a prize to be passed between them.

Jace’s hands grip my waist, strong, steady, but his kiss is different—slower, deliberate like he’s memorizing me. Sweet. But no less consuming. When he releases me, my body is already buzzing, my lips warm and swollen from their attention.

Then Romano takes his turn. He grins before he even kisses me, his hands cradling my face as he presses tiny kisses all over my forehead, nose, cheeks, and the corner of my lips.

I giggle, breathless, swaying slightly, and then—finally—he claims my lips with a soft, slow kiss. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just pure, teasing, addictive warmth. By the time he pulls away, I feel weightless and dizzy, like I’ve been spun in circles.

A deep chuckle rumbles next to me. “Breathe, little one,” Kingston murmurs, his voice smooth and knowing, his hand firm on the small of my back.

I gasp in a deep, much-needed breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly as the room erupts into cheers and applause. Laughter, clapping, whistling—all of it crashes over me at once, but none of it matters.

Because I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

I glance to the side and find Violet and Odette, both of them gaping at me, eyes wide, expressions frozen in absolute shock. I wag my eyebrows at them, feeling playful and giddy like I might actually float off the ground. They burst into laughter, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Romano

February 14th

8:32 P.M

My wife, my omega is so beautiful. Her midnight blue hair is a little messed up from Voss’s kiss but shines with the tiny flowers. The dress she chose accentuates her curves. I can feel the dreamy look on my face as I watch her dancing with her friends. Violet, the goth one, and Odette, the prim one. Although the mouth on that girl is anything but prim. 

I toss back the rest of the champagne in my glass before setting it down on a nearby table before stalking towards her. Violet sees me coming and winks at me before spinning Fallon into my arms. I catch her, pulling her tight against my body. “Dance with me, Little Love?” 

She grins at me, “Well how could I refuse such a handsome alpha.” My chest puffs up with pride as I spin her around until she laughs. We dance close, and I hate that I can’t scent her with the cancellers the omegas have to wear. She presses her cheek to my chest and sighs. It doesn’t sound happy though. 

“What's wrong?” I am afraid she’s upset about marrying us. 

“I just wish I could scent you.” 

My brows furrow. I didn’t wear any cancellers, and neither did the others. “You can’t?” I ask cautiously. 

She shakes her head. “I broke my nose when I was a kid, and scents are barely there or not there at all for me. I can sort of scent my mom, but I think that's because I’ve been around her my whole life. It makes me sad sometimes.” 

My heart starts racing. If she can’t scent us, she has no idea we are mates. I look for the rest of the pack and catch Voss’ eyes first. I nod down at Fallon and give him a look. He sets his glass down and heads for us. 

“Little Love, there's another who wants to dance with you. I spin her into Voss’ arms. She laughs delightfully as he dances with her, spinning her around and swirling between the other dancers. I head for Kingston and Jace, who is chatting with Marco and Savy, his wife. Savy is a small woman. I mean only maybe five feet tall. Everything about her is a contrast to Marco’s Italian heritage: pale skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. 

I don’t mind if they hear this part of the conversation. “We might have a mild problem,” I say not even greeting them. I repeat what Fallon told me. 

“That means…” Jace has a fleeting look of pain before his expression blanks. 

“Yes, That means she has no idea she’s our mate. She probably thinks this is just a contract marriage.” 

“You could just tell her.” Savy jumps in a confused note to her words. 

Kingston sighs. “If she thinks this is a contract marriage and we tell her that, she will think we are just playing lip service to her. She won’t believe us.” 

Jace raises his hand as if to run his hand through his hair before he remembers he can't. “Let's just make sure she knows we want a real marriage. This isn’t a contract to us. Then, when she trusts us, we can tell her.” 

“That seems the safest bet. Look at how happy she is.” Marco points out that Voss says something to make her throw her head back in laughter. 

“We will figure it out. Marco, make sure you pass the word to the others that no one is to mention her being our mate to her.” 

“Will do Boss.”

Chapter Five

Fallon

February 14th

11:42 P.M

My cheeks ache, a dull, happy soreness settling into my face from smiling too damn much. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in years. Maybe ever. The reception had been a whirlwind of laughter, dancing, and stolen glances, the kind of night that felt too perfect to be real. I danced with each of my husbands—more than once.

Kingston moved with effortless confidence, guiding me like he was made for it like I was made for him. Voss held me just a little too close, his smirk full of unspoken promises, his touch teasing but firm. Jace was all smooth precision, his large hands steadying me, keeping me grounded even as my head spun. Romano was Chaotic. Unhinged. Absolutely delightful. He had zero regard for rhythm, making me laugh until I almost tripped over my feet as he spun me around more than we danced.

At one point, I even waltzed with Odette, the two of us spinning dramatically across the floor like we were in some historical romance movie.

Violet and I tangoed.

And when I say tangoed, I mean we full-on committed, complete with dramatic dips, exaggerated expressions, and a final pose that left the guests in stitches.

Thanks, Mom, for forcing me into dance lessons as a kid.

Between the dancing, the pictures, and the introductions, I’d met a dozen of their business associates. They were all nice enough, polite, and refined, but none of them made quite the impression that Marco and his wife did.

Marco had been charming in a way that felt effortless, but it was Savy who stole the show. Savy was hilarious. Loud, opinionated, full of sharp wit and energy, the kind of woman who took up space in the best way possible. I liked her immediately.

Romano’s fingers are threaded firmly through mine, his grip warm and solid, while Kingston’s palm rests against my lower back, the pressure grounding, possessive.

As we step out of the venue, the cold air bites at my exposed skin, but the warmth radiating from my husbands is enough to keep me steady. My husbands. Mine.

Outside, guests are still mingling, their laughter drifting through the crisp night air, clouds of breath curling into the dark.

Everything seems soft, hazy, like a dream I don’t want to wake from.

And then—

Chaos.

Because suddenly, glitter is raining down on us.

Lots of it.

I squeal, the high-pitched sound escaping before I can stop it, and without thinking, I grab Romano’s arm and make a run for it.

“Come on!” I shriek, dragging him with me as I dart forward to outrun the absolute disaster falling from the sky. “Hurry, or it’ll take a thousand years to get it all off!” Romano’s laughter rings out, bright and full, his grip tightening in mine as he stumbles after me.

Behind us, I can hear Jace’s deep, rolling chuckle, Voss’s unrestrained amusement, and Kingston’s smooth, knowing laugh.

They don’t run. They don’t have to. Because I know, somehow, I’ll be the one suffering the consequences of this.

By the time we reach the SUV, I’m breathless, glitter-dusted, and entirely too giddy.

We climbed in quickly, Romano practically pulling me onto his lap as the others filed in behind us. The interior is warm, and the scent of leather and something unmistakably alpha is wrapping around me.

The driver and another security guy sit up front, their presence a silent reminder that I’ve just married into something much bigger than myself. Kingston leans forward, murmuring something too low for me to catch, his voice calm, absolute. The driver nods once, adjusting the wheel. Then Kingston presses a button. A divider slides up, sealing us into a private, enclosed space.

I sigh happily, my chest warm, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of the night.

I take a moment to look at each of them, letting the reality of this settle into my bones.

Kingston smiles at me, and it’s not the sharp, commanding grin he wore speaking to the guests. This one is soft, genuine—his eyes crinkling at the corners, warmth radiating from him like the steady burn of a fireplace on a cold night.

Jace sits beside him, watching me with an expression I can’t quite place—gentle, thoughtful, maybe even reverent. His hard edges seem to ease, just for a moment, and the sight of it sends a strange flutter through my chest.

Voss’ gaze is different. His brown eyes flash with something unreadable, something dark and knowing. But then his lips twitch as if he’s forcing back a smirk.

I’m starting to learn that Romano is a golden retriever trapped in the body of a man—a chaotic, reckless ball of energy, too big for the space he takes up but impossible to look away from. He proves it a second later when he throws an arm around me, pulling me into his warmth without hesitation.

I laugh, snuggling into him, my smile still stretched wide. “Thank you,” I murmur, looking at each of them again, meaning every word. “All of you. Thank you for making our wedding such a magical experience. I know this isn’t real, but… thank you.”

The shift is instant. I feel Romano tense, his body going unnaturally still, his usual lightheartedness pausing for a beat.

Then, from across the space, Voss chuckles. The sound is low, dark, rich—coiling around me like a slow-moving predator. A shiver rolls down my spine. “Oh, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice pure sin, “we never said this would be fake.”

I barely have time to process that before Jace speaks. I've noticed that he doesn’t talk much.

“We needed a wife, yes,” he says, his voice gravelly, firm, absolute. “but we chose you. So don’t think for a minute this isn’t going to be a real marriage. We are very much looking forward to the wedding night.”

Heat floods my face, my pulse stuttering.

Kingston chuckles, a deep and indulgent sound amused by my reaction. “That’s if you want it,” he adds smoothly. “We would never force you or make you think you have no choice. We, however, never plan to be married again, so we would like to be your husbands for real.”

I blink at him, tilting my head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I want that? This is my future, and as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.” The question leaves me before I can stop it, and the moment the words are out, I feel it. A low, vibrating rumble against my back. It takes me a second to realize what it is. I tilt my head up, eyes widening as I find Romano staring down at me, his brown eyes warm and dark, half-lidded behind his glasses.

He’s purring.

For me.

My breath catches, and without thinking, I reach up, gently pushing his glasses back into place with my fingertips. His lids lower further, his voice barely more than a murmur. “You’d like that with us?”

I let out a soft laugh, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I mean… you are my husbands. I don’t plan on having any others.”

The second the words leave me, a sound rumbles through the SUV. A growl. Multiple growls. I startle slightly, eyes darting between them, realizing that Kingston, Voss, Jace, and Romano are growling. Possessive. Raw.

Oh.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, trying to ease the tension. “And you’re all very nice to look at.” The moment I say it, Romano moves. His lips crash down onto mine, stealing my breath, taking, devouring. This kiss is nothing like the one at the wedding. That one had been sweet, teasing. This is a conquest.

His mouth moves against mine with heat and desperation, tasting champagne and something smoky, something entirely him. His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me closer, deeper, more.

By the time he pulls away, my lips are swollen and tingling, and my breath is coming in shallow gasps.

I try to chase him, already missing the heat of his mouth, but he chuckles, pulling back, his voice thick with amusement.

“You smell so good, Little Love.”

The words take a second to register. Then I freeze.

I scan the space, looking at the others—the way Kingston’s eyes darken, the way Jace shifts like he’s holding himself back, the way Voss tilts his head, assessing me with a smirk.

I’m perfuming. I inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to my mouth, mortified. “I’m sorry!” I squeak.

Voss chuckles again, deep, wicked, teasing, his teeth flashing in the low light. “Never apologize, Princess,” he murmurs, voice like a velvet threat. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

I arch a brow, laughing despite the warmth still curling low in my belly. “Is that a rule?”

His smirk widens, something feral and devastating, making him look even more dangerously handsome. “It is now.”

The SUV hums beneath us, the inside so quiet I swear I can hear my own heartbeat trying to make a run for it. Which is rude, considering the rest of me is melting into a puddle. Romano is still purring, and my traitorous, easily seduced omega instincts have decided that I now have the spine of a wet noodle.

I shift slightly, trying to sit up straighter to regain even an ounce of my dignity, but Romano tightens his hold on me, rubbing slow circles into my hip like I’m some precious, breakable thing. Which is probably why my brain short-circuits when the car slows, the sound of muffled voices coming from outside. Before I can overthink it, the SUV pulls forward again, and then—Holy shit.

I gape out the window, taking in the monstrosity of a house coming into view. Or should I say, mini-mansion because these men live in something straight out of a high-end architectural magazine, all clean lines, modern stonework, and towering glass windows that cost more than my entire existence. It should feel cold, detached, like something a Bond villain would lounge around in—but somehow, it doesn’t.

The warm golden glow of the exterior lighting, the way the front door is framed by soft sconces, the perfectly paved driveway curving toward a garage that definitely houses at least one obnoxiously expensive car—it all feels… weirdly inviting. Like it’s been waiting for me, the lawn is immaculate, of course, not a single blade of grass out of place, and for some completely unhinged reason, my brain decides to focus on one single thought: Would they let me plant a garden? A little one, maybe. Just enough to ruin the billionaire aesthetics.

Vines creeping up the perfect stone walls. Wildflowers poking out of the manicured lawn. A row of herbs by the kitchen window. You know, something that screams, ‘Hey, an omega lives here now.’

I blink, snapping myself out of it. Now is not the time to be fantasizing about gardening. Especially when I’m actively trying to remember how to use my legs because Romano is still purring, and I’m one second away from turning into a lovesick puddle in the car. Kingston must sense it because his hand presses against the small of my back, warm and grounding, a silent command to breathe.

Breathe? Cute. He assumes I remember how.

The SUV rolls to a stop, and I exhale slowly, bracing myself. I don’t know what’s waiting for me inside that house. But one thing is very, very clear. I’m in so much trouble.

We get out, and I’m instantly scooped up and thrown over a shoulder. A startled laugh escapes me as I realize Voss has picked me up. I brace my hands on his lower back and maybe steal a squeeze of his perfect ass. 

He laughs, slapping me on my ass. “We will give you a tour later. Tonight is just for us, and we have lots of plans for you, Princess.” 

It feels like he’s jogging upstairs, which blows my mind because I’m not exactly light. My blue hair hangs down, obscuring my vision and leaving little flowers behind as pins fall out. I guess they weren’t meant to be hung upside down. The next thing I know, I’m flying backward, bouncing on a soft surface. I push myself up on my elbows, looking around. I’m lying on a massive round mattress sunken down in the middle. There are sheets on it and a pile of blankets on the edge. The room is otherwise undecorated besides a dresser and two doorways, which I assume are the bathroom, closet, and a chair.

“This is your nest, Kitten,” Jace says, watching my face as I look around the empty room. “Tomorrow, we are going to go get everything you want to build it. We wanted you to make it the way you want it. As well as have your belongings moved into the house.” 

I grin at them. “That’s so sweet. Thank you! This bed feels like hea—” I squeal before I can finish what I was saying. Kingston has a hand on my ankle as he pulls me to the edge of the bed. I’m pulled up to stand as he squats down, lifting one of my feet to unbuckle my heel before slipping it off and doing the same to the other foot. My skin feels like electricity is flowing through it as warm, rough hands start detaching the cape where it's connected to the dress. My eyes flutter close, feeling different hands slowly unbuttoning the tiny pearl buttons down my spine. A warm mouth lands on my neck, kissing my shoulder. 

“Tell us, Fallon. Is there anything you don’t want us to do?” Voss’s voice is a whisper of sound in my ear. The dress is slowly becoming slack against my body. 

“Mmm. No bonding.. at least right now. No humiliation, although dirty talk is ok. No bodily fluids except for cum.” I chuckle at that. 

“Are you ok with more than one of us at a time? Knotting?” Lips brush the other side of my neck. A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me. 

A soft wine leaves me. “Yes, please, Alpha.” 

My dress slides down my body, revealing my white strapless bra and the tiny scrap of lace they call panties. I am being thoroughly seduced. A growl vibrates behind me as a soft touch trails down my spine. “You are so beautiful, Wife.” The gruff tone tells me it’s Jace touching my spine. I open my eyes. Voss, Romano, and Kingston are staring at me with so much heat in their eyes that I’m surprised the room isn’t on fire. Jace's rough hands unhook my bra, letting it fall away. 

Romano makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Are..” He swallows so loud it sounds painful. “Are your nipples pierced?” 

A slow smile turns my lips up. Jace reaches around, palming my breast. They aren’t tiny, but they aren’t huge, either. He thumbs my nipples, growling, “I approve.” 

Something about that sends heat to my core. Slick leaks from between my legs, making my thighs slippery. A collective groan vibrates the room. Jace's hands keep trailing down, gabbing the straps of my thong in each hand, and with a quick pull, they tear apart. The material falls away, and this time, it's Voss who sucks in a startled breath. 

“Oh, Princess.” He hums, stepping forward and flicking the piercing I have on my mound above my clit. “We are going to have so much fun with you.” 

“I’m waiting, Alpha.” I taunt. Jace lifts me, spinning me around until we crash down on the bed together. He holds his body up with his forearms. Thankfully, because otherwise, he’d crush me. He kisses me slowly but deeply as if he were trying to taste my soul. I moan when he presses his hard length against my pussy. I hate the fabric of his pants, which keeps me from feeling all of him. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” I tease, panting from the kiss. He leans up, straddling my body as he slowly unbuttons his dress shirt. I make a sound as he slowly uncovers his body. His body is muscular, and I didn’t know someone could have that many abs. Throw in the fact that he’s covered in tattoos. I sigh, knowing I’m perfuming. He shuffles off me to take his pants off, and a very naked Kingston fills my vision. His body is just as gorgeous and covered in tattoos. When my gaze makes it to his cock my eyes widen. He’s massive, and I really want to taste him. I lick my lips as I move to get my mouth on him. He chuckles as his palms land on my hips, holding me down. 

“There will be time for that later, omega.” His voice is husky and warm as he trails kisses down my belly. He tosses my legs over his shoulders and uses my thighs to pull me closer to his mouth. “I think I’ll die if I don’t get to taste you.” 

My body is on fire already, but the moment I feel his tongue flick across my clit, I’m pretty sure I no longer have a body. He groans as he tastes me. “You taste like honey and peaches.” He dives in, using his tongue to fuck me mindlessly. The white-hot sensation that floods through me as my orgasm crashes through me is so absolute that I forget for a moment who I even am. 

My hips move of their own accord, trying to ride his face. He chuckles, pulling back. His face glistened with me. He licks his lips, watching me with fire-filled eyes. Movement on either side of me catches my attention. Romano is kneeling to my left. His perfect long cock bounces as he moves. Voss is to my right, kneeling the same way. His long length dripping precum as he strokes himself slowly. I glance around until I find Jace sitting naked in a chair facing us, slowly stroking his cock while he watches my face. 

I moan as I feel two fingers sliding inside of me. The wet sound was embarrassingly loud in the room. Kingston watches my face as he moves his fingers over that one spot that all omegas have. It’s like an instant button that makes me cum again, this time slightly softer but no less impactful. He moves up on his knees. “You have to taste her. Our wife is delicious.”

Romano grabs his hand, sucking my slick off of Kingston's fingers. “Mmm, You are right about that.” I want to laugh, but Kingston chooses that moment to push the head of his cock inside me. The moan that leaves me is low and throaty. He slowly pushes himself inside of me, giving me shallow thrusts until he seats himself all the way in. I can feel the beginning of his knot swelling slightly at my entrance. The stretch of his cock stings for a moment before that fades into pleasure. 

A shudder moves through his body. “Gods, Fallon. You are so tight.” Then he begins to really fuck me. “Alpha!” I cry out. He growls, holding my hips as his trust forces me to slide up the bed. 

I turn my head, seeing Romano stroking himself. I lunge forward, closing my mouth around his dripping head. He grunts and slides a pillow under my head to give me a better angle. Voss’ hand slides around my throat, not tight but holding me still. “Relax your throat and let him fuck this pretty mouth.” I moan around Romano, making him groan. He leans forward, bracing one hand on the bed and one of Voss’ shoulders as he moves his hips. His cock moves slowly in and out of my mouth, each time pressing further and further down my throat. He pauses once he’s all the way in my throat. 

My name leaves his lips in a strangled groan. “Fallon. Do you have a gag reflex?” A light, muffled chuckle leaves me as I shake my head slightly with him buried in my throat. “Fuck.” He moves his hips, pulling mostly out before thrusting roughly back in, knowing he’s not going to hurt me. 

“What a perfect omega you are. Do you like him fucking your throat like that? I can feel him down your throat.” Voss squeezes my throat a little harder, making Romano’s thrust stutter. 

“Fuck Voss. Don’t do that. I won't last long.” 

Chapter Six

Fallon

February 15th

1:45 A.M

I feel someone flick a finger across my clit, making me scream out my orgasm around Romano, causing him to curse. Warm salty cum hits my tongue as I drink him down. He pulls out of my mouth, collapsing back and breathing hard. Mumbling about mouths and dicks. I want to laugh but Kingston gets my attention. He pulls me up as his thrust turns brutal. I cry out as we come together. I can feel his warm cum painting my insides as he works his knot in his fist. He didn’t knot me and my omega didn’t like that. I whine as he pulls out of me. 

He shushes me brushing my hair away from my face. “I would love to knot your perfect pussy Little one, but you have two other alphas to take care of.” 

Oh well, that’s fine, then. I beam a smile at him. He chuckles as he moves out of the way. Jace is suddenly there, pulling me on top of him. My thighs can barely straddle him. I roll my hips moving my sensitive clit along his length. My slick and Kingston’s cum coat him. He lifts me pushing his way into me. The stretch is incredible and instantly pushes me over into a mini orgasm. He pulls me down, kissing me thoroughly, not caring that I just had Romano’s cum in my mouth. He moves my hips, helping me ride him. The sensation is overwhelming. A warm body is suddenly pressed against my back. Voss places soft kisses down my neck. 

“Tell me, Princess, has anyone had you here?” I feel his fingers sliding between my ass, pressing against the ring of muscles there. 

I pull away from Jace’s kiss to turn my head towards him. “Yes.” 

He kisses me lightly. “And did you enjoy it?” I nod, and he pushes me forward until I’m practically sprawled across Jace’s chest. I can feel him gathering my slick up to coat his cock and me. Omega’s bodies are made to stretch to take alpha knots, so he doesn’t have to use lube, but the thought is sweet. 

I cry out stiffening as I feel the head pressing past the ring of muscles. “Shh, relax, Princess.” He starts purring, making my body relax as he bottoms out. We all stay that way for a moment, and then our bodies slowly move. “Ready?” he asks. I moan, trying to nod. 

They start to move, taking a moment to get a rhythm that works. White hot sensations fuel me as I try to move my hips into their thrusts. 

“Alpha! More.” I beg. Jace palms my hips in his large warm hands, holding me still while they fuck me roughly. 

“Cum one more time for us.” Jace grunts. I can feel his thrusts faltering. 

“I can’t.” I cry. 

Voss moves his fingers between us. “Yes, you can, beautiful. Give it to us.” He pinches my clit, making me scream as the waves of my orgasm roll through me. I hear them both shout as they both push their knots inside of me, locking us together. I can feel the warm sensation of their cum filling me. 

My body goes limp. All I can hear is the harsh panting of us trying to catch our breaths. They move us until we lie on our sides, still locked together. A soft blanket flutters over us. Romano and Kingston settled on either side of us. 

The moment the euphoria fades, I start to panic. “Fuck. Uh, guys?” I’m half panicking, but I can’t get away. 

“What’s wrong? Did we hurt you?” Romano sits up, looking down at me. 

I shake my head no. “It’s not that.” my voice sounded small.

“What is it, Kitten?” Jace asks softly. 

My heart starts racing. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. But uh... I’m not on birth control.” I didn’t realize how tense they were until they relaxed. 

“I, for one, can’t wait until you are round with our child.” Romano grins before laying back down.

“Don’t worry, Little one. We can handle whatever happens. As long as we have each other, nothing can stop us.” 

Four different purrs rumble to life. I can’t remember why that should confuse me as I close my eyes. I fall asleep locked between my new husbands. 

Jace

February 17th

10:04 A.M

I wake up with a warm weight on my chest. Blinking my eyes open, looking down at my chest. It takes a second to register, my mind foggy with sleep, but then I feel it—the petite weight sprawled over my chest, her body half-draped over mine, her warmth sinking into my skin. The bed on either side of me is empty.

I blink, my vision adjusting to the dim light filtering through the room, and when I look down, my breath catches.

She’s perfect like this, barely awake, lost somewhere between dreams and reality. Her face is soft in sleep, her lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanning against flushed cheeks.

I study her, my chest tightening with something slow, dangerous, and consuming. The past few days have been filled with soft touches and stolen moments trying to get to know each other around moving her stuff in. Her friends and mom came to help and, in my opinion, see where Fallon would be living. The house has suddenly been filled with laughter. It makes my cold heart warm.

I reach out without thinking, fingers brushing against the strands of deep blue hair spilling over her face. It’s softer than I expected, like silk against my fingertips, and I get the sudden, wild urge to feel it against my skin.

Wrapped around my fist. Splayed across my stomach. Tangled in my sheets.

I swallow hard, my body already reacting, my cock aching, straining beneath the heat of her. It’s a miracle I haven’t passed out yet from all my blood rushing south.

She shifts slightly, making a tiny, contented noise, and I go completely still, barely breathing. Then, slowly, her lashes flutter, her body stretching just slightly before those bright blue eyes blink up at me, still hazy with sleep.

“Morning, Kitten.” My voice comes out rough and lower than I mean for it to.

She makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of her throat, arching like a cat waking from a nap, arms stretching overhead before she relaxes completely, sighing as she melts against me again.

“Morning, Jace,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, her breath warm against my skin. She sighs, snuggling close to me and rubbing her face on my chest. A purr rumbles out of my chest. It’s deep and kind of sounds like a lawnmower. I don’t remember a time before her I ever purred for someone. I love that she is scent-marking me. 

The moment is perfect—warm, soft, borderline dangerous in how easily I could get used to waking up like this. I trail my fingertips down her spine as she gently rubs herself on me. She makes another tiny contented moan as I press inside her slick pussy, slow and gentle. My thrusts are lazy and unhurried. Gods, she feels good. “Does that feel good omega?” She moans, nodding her head, her cheek still pressed against my neck. I feel her small tongue lick my throat as I drag my length out of her, feeling her muscles tighten. I can already feel my balls tightening. “Rub your clit, Kitten. Get yourself there.” Her little hand slips between us, and it's like an explosion. I speed up, grunting, filling her with my cum at the same time. She gasps my name with her orgasm, her walls squeezing the life out of me.

She starts giggling, making me smile as she whispers, “Well, what a way to wake up.” I could stay like this forever, holding her in my arms, cum leaking out of her. And then, of course, it’s shattered by the obnoxiously loud ringing of a phone.

Both of our heads snapped toward the doorway, my muscles tensing automatically, only to see Kingston standing there, smiling at us and holding Fallon’s phone in his hand. I wonder how long he’d been standing there.

“Little one, your phone has been ringing non-stop for twenty minutes.” His green eyes flick to me, clearly amused. “I hope you don’t mind, I answered it.”

Fallon lets out a sleepy little sigh, stretching lazily before pulling herself up and letting me slip out of her. We both groan at the sensation. She slides off my chest, completely unbothered by the fact that she’s still very, very naked with cum dripping down her legs.

I watch, reluctantly letting her go, as she pads over to Kingston, not even thinking about grabbing a robe or covering up. Kingston, to his credit, doesn’t look away or shift uncomfortably—he smirks, waiting. Fallon grabs the phone from his hand but tilts her chin up expectantly.

Kingston chuckles, indulging her with a slow brush of his lips against hers before stepping back like he hasn’t just made my situation worse. I’m trying to will my still-hard cock to go down.

She lifts the phone to her ear, sighing like she already knows this is going to be a problem. “Fallon.”

There’s a beat of silence as she listens, then she chuckles, shaking her head. I can feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly—whoever it is, it’s nothing serious.

“Yes, Miss Clery is a handful,” she says, rubbing a hand over her face. “Do you need me to come down?”

Another pause, then a sharp exhale through her nose like she’s holding back anger.

“She made Robert cry?”

I exchange a glance with Kingston. Robert? Fallon sighs, already resigned to her fate. “Yes, I’ll come down. Give me a moment to find some pants.” On the other end, we hear loud, wheezing laughter.

Fallon’s cheeks flush pink, her fingers clenching around the phone as she glares at it like she can will the embarrassment away. “I just got married!” she snaps, still blushing. “Of course, I don’t have pants!” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying—and failing—to smother a grin.

“Yes, I’ll be there in twenty. Just tell her the owner is on the way and will handle whatever she needs personally.” She rolls her eyes, already annoyed. “Give her a glass of champagne. And make sure you sit her down somewhere first, or she’ll ‘accidentally’ spill it on a dress.”

Kingston shakes his head, amused, while I file that little piece of information for later.

Fallon hangs up, and we don’t even need to ask for context. It’s obvious. She looks down at herself—completely naked—then over to the chair in the corner where her wedding dress is tossed haphazardly. Then she looks at us.

“Well,” she says dryly. “Don’t think I can go to work in my current outfit.”

The room erupts with laughter. Kingston steps forward, smoothing his hand over her hair before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Hold on one second. Why don’t you take a quick shower, and we’ll bring you something to wear—something boss-lady approved.”

With a playful eye roll, Fallon turns and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“I’m with Romano. I think I’m already in love.”

Kingston chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s what mates will do to you.” His voice is low, knowing, entirely too amused at my expense.

The moment we hear the water turn on, he moves toward the closet, rummaging through shelves with an air of confidence that tells me he already knows exactly what he’s looking for.

I frown. “Why didn’t you tell her about the closet?”

Kingston tosses a glance over his shoulder, smirking. “And ruin the magic?”

Before I can argue, he turns back to the open wardrobe, pulling out a matching lavender bra and panty set, followed by a silk lavender blouse, a dark green pencil skirt, and matching heels.

Heels.

Does my mind short-circuit for a second because of the image that provokes? Yeah. Not helpful.

Shaking my head, I shove it aside, pushing off the bed and heading to my own room. A shower is much needed. I just had her, but my body doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo.

I rinse off quickly, the water just hot enough to ease the remaining tension from my muscles, before I step out and pull on gray slacks and a black button-up, leaving the collar open.

By the time I reached the kitchen, everyone else was already gathered there, sipping coffee.

Voss is dressed similarly to me—black jeans, black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair still damp but already pulled back into his usual bun.

Unsurprisingly, Romano is dressed in black jeans and a tee shirt that reads ‘Nerds Are Better.’

I snort at that.

Fallon is already at the counter, laughing as she rolls Kingston’s sleeves up to his elbows, utterly unaware of the fact that he lets her manhandle him like it’s second nature.

Kingston, for his part, looks like he expected this. His black slacks are well-fitted, and his red dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, falling just on the right side of the polished and relaxed.

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms as I watch them. This. This is it right here. Her in our kitchen. Romano being his usual brand of ridiculous. Voss stared at her with a dark glint in his eyes. Kingston is letting Fallon adjust his wardrobe like she’s been here forever.

It’s domestic. Easy.

And fuck me, I think I like it.

Fallon looks up at me, beaming a bright smile. “Are we ready to roll?” 

Fallon

February 17th

11:30 A.M

If looks could kill, Amanda Clery would have dropped dead the moment I stepped through the doors. Hell, I could have ended her with my bare hands if I really wanted to.

The moment we walked in, I saw her—tall, willowy, fake blonde extensions curled perfectly around her too-thin face. She was wearing a skintight white dress, which was entirely inappropriate for a fitting appointment and cut so high up her thighs that it barely qualified as clothing.

Her makeup was flawless, perfectly contoured with deep red lipstick that I was pretty sure she applied for the sole purpose of marking whatever she could. Who wears red lipstick to a wedding dress fitting?

The second we entered, she was berating Rose, her voice sharp, cruel, meant to cut. Rose, to her credit, stood her ground, but she was pale, lips pressed together, fingers trembling slightly.

I started toward them, ready to handle it, when I saw Robert—the only other omega at this location—looking shaken and close to tears.

So, I did what any responsible business owner and decent human being would do. I went to comfort Robert. And that’s when Amanda’s true colors showed.

She went from angry beta bride-to-be to desperate slut in record time.

The moment my back was turned, she latched onto Romano, flipping her blonde hair, laughing in that fake breathy way that made my skin crawl.

I would have given her credit for boldness if it weren’t so utterly pathetic.

Romano, bless him, looked mildly horrified—his usual golden-retriever energy completely gone, replaced with pure discomfort as he tried to back away.

Of course, she didn’t take the hint.

The click of my heels against the marble floor must have been a warning because Voss and Jace—who were the closest—immediately turned to watch.

Jace subtly nudged Kingston, who followed their gaze and found me stalking toward them like a lioness on the hunt.

Romano’s eyes darted toward me, silently pleading for rescue.

Amanda, however, was still draped over his arm, her manicured fingers gripping him like she had a claim.

And that did not fucking fly with me.

“Amanda.”

My voice cut through the store like a whipcrack, the power behind it making her startle and turn—but not enough to remove her clawed grip from my husband.

Romano wasn’t moving, standing rigid, his lips pressed together like he was restraining himself from throwing her across the room. Behind him, Kingston, Voss, and Jace stood at attention, watching.

I kept my expression blank, my voice even. “I would like it if you would stop touching him without permission.” Politeness first. Always give them a chance.

Amanda’s red lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, he doesn’t mind. Do you, handsome?” She cooed at him, batting her mascara-thickened lashes.

My vision turned red. I growled, low, warning. “Get. Your. Fucking. Hand. Off. Him.”

Amanda’s smirk widened, and she turned around to face me fully, completely unbothered by my apparent rage. “Or what?” she taunted. “I’m allowed to fuck who I want.”

Wrong answer.

I stepped into her space, deliberately ignoring her, looking directly at Romano. “Do you want her to touch you?”

He shakes his head vigorously; His response is instant, sharp, and final. “No.”

She froze. I let my lips curl into a cruel, knowing smile. “Interesting.” Before she could react, I grabbed her wrist, firm but not painful.

Amanda gasped, eyes wide. “What the fuck are you doing? You can’t touch me!”

I let my face smooth into something empty and cold. “Oh? You can do it, but I can’t?”

Her outrage spiked. “What’s it matter to you who I fuck?” she spat. “I know he wants me. We were going to have a quickie in the dressing room. Isn’t that right, darling?”

The laugh that spilled from me was dark, sharp, and meant to wound. “Oh, honey.” With one sharp wrench, I twisted her wrist. The crack echoed through the store.

Amanda’s scream followed a second later, shrill and furious as she crumpled to the ground, clutching her broken wrist.

“That man you’re claiming you were going to fuck?” I knelt beside her, my voice calm, measured, and lethal.

“He’s my husband.”

Her sobs turned to screeches. “He wants me! I don’t care if he’s your husband!”

Finally shaking off his disgusted silence, Romano looked down at her, his usual exuberance nowhere to be found.

“Actually,” he said, his voice eerily blank, “I don’t want to fuck you. I didn’t want you to touch me, but the four no’s I gave you didn’t seem to register.”

Amanda blinked up at him, stunned.

Romano shrugged. “The only reason I didn’t break your wrist myself is because this is my Little Love’s business. Gotta be polite and all.”

Voss was watching me now, adjusting himself, eyes dark with something else entirely.

I pretended not to notice how much that turned me on. Instead, I turned to Rose, who looked more than a little awed and grabbed the store phone from the counter.

“Dial Amanda’s emergency contact,” I instructed. It rang a few times before a man answered, voice exhausted.

“Hello?”

The guys watched me, but I shook my head, giving them a soft smile.

“Hi, Samuel? This is Fallon over at House of Creed.” My voice was light, cheerful, utterly unbothered.

“Oh! Hello. What can I do for you?”

I stepped over Amanda, who was still sniveling on the floor clutching her hand to her chest.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but we can no longer accept Miss Clery as a customer.”

Silence. Then, concern. “Oh no, what happened? Is everything okay?”

I didn’t bother sugarcoating it.

I told him exactly what happened, including Amanda’s claim that she was going to fuck my husband, her refusal to respect his boundaries, Her broken wrist, and the security footage available if he needed proof.

Samuel’s voice hardened instantly. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Of course.” I smiled. “Now, will you or one of your packmates be picking her up, or should I call the police?”

His answer was instant. “Call the police. They can have her.” Amanda screeched his name, begging. Samuel hung up.

Before I could dial the police, I was suddenly wrapped in warmth. Romano was wrapped around me, arms tight around my waist. And another warm, hard body pressed against my back.

“Mm,” Voss murmured, his lips brushing my ear, his voice full of something dark, possessive, hungry. “I love when you laugh like that. Makes me hard.”

The half-laugh, half-moan that escaped me was utterly involuntary.

Chapter Seven

Voss

February 18th

9:26 A.M

“Jace, have you acquired the asset for tonight?”

Kingston’s voice cuts through the quiet, shaking me from my thoughts. I blink, realizing my coffee has gone completely cold in my hand, the ceramic mug warming my palm but offering nothing else. How long had I been standing here, lost in my own head? I take a slow sip anyway, ignoring the bitter taste, letting it ground me and pull me back into the moment.

Across the kitchen, Jace stands at the stove, his broad back shifting with each precise movement as he cooks. He’s shirtless, his usual discipline relaxed in the early morning air, moving with a quiet confidence. I can see the difference Fallon is having on him. It’s only been four days with her here, and much of the tension has leaked from his shoulders. His black joggers sit low on his hips, his body wound tight beneath the surface, always controlled but never at ease. The bacon sizzles in the pan, hot grease spitting at his skin, but he doesn’t flinch or react. He keeps moving.

Brave man. Or maybe just a stubborn one. Pain is something you learn to ignore after a while. Knowing who his parents were, I can believe he really didn’t notice it.

He barely acknowledges Kingston’s question with more than a grunt, flipping a strip of bacon before responding. “Acquired and placed in the usual asset vault.”

I smirk slightly, shaking my head. The way we talk in code still amuses me, even after all these years. Acquired. Secured. Vault. Neat little terms to make our world seem less brutal than it is. But we all know the truth. We don’t just solve problems. We erase them.

Kingston leans against the island, rolling up his sleeves, his watch catching the light as he fastens it. He looks like he’s about to end someone’s life with a handshake. His gray three-piece suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection, and the fabric is practically molded for him. A red dress shirt peeks out beneath the vest, unbuttoned at the collar just enough to make it look effortless rather than arrogant.

I don’t think a single one of us owns a tie. 

He catches me watching him as he finishes adjusting his cufflinks, his lips quirking slightly like he knows exactly where my mind went. I don’t look away. Kingston always knows.

“After we pick up supplies for Fallon’s nest, I have to head into the office.” His voice is smooth. I roll my shoulders, pushing down the feeling creeping up my spine, the one that reminds me I was never supposed to have this. That men like us—men like me—don’t get soft things.

We take. We control. We own.

Fallon is so fucking soft, and all I want is to keep her that way. Keep her happy, keep her from realizing that I don’t deserve her. That none of us do.

My mind drifts back to yesterday, to the way she looked when she shattered that bitch’s wrist like it was nothing. That sharp, dark smile, the way she didn’t hesitate, the absolute certainty in her movements.

I sigh to myself, shifting slightly, almost cursing, when my cock hardens at the memory. I never claimed to be a good man. Something about my omega causing violence? Yeah, that shit does it for me.

“She was disappointed we didn’t get to go out last night,” I murmur, dragging my thumb along the rim of my coffee cup. “Upset that work got in the way.” I exhale, shaking my head. “But damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do.”

The others hum in agreement, but a soft giggle breaks through the kitchen before anyone can respond.

We all turn instantly, like fucking animals catching a scent on the wind.

And there she is.

Standing in the doorway, bare-legged, glowing, drowning in one of Jace’s shirts.

I immediately glare at him, and the bastard just smirks, leaning back against the counter like he knew exactly what he was doing. Lucky fucking bastard. I want her in my clothes. I want her wrapped in my scent.

Her blue hair is wild, tangled from sleep. Or Romano, who has a self-satisfied smile, hovers behind her. The look on her face is everything.

Dreamy. Satisfied. Sweet as sin.

Her bright blue eyes shine, still a little dazed, and the scent of honeyed peaches is thick in the air, wrapping around me, making my mouth water.

A sharp pang runs through my chest, and I swallow hard, pushing it down. She can’t scent us. She doesn’t know we’re hers. She still seems uncertain, still hesitant to believe what’s in front of her.

I can’t fucking stand it.

I set my coffee down and stalk toward her, my movements slow, deliberate. She watches me with amusement, but I can see the flash of something else—something curious that makes me want to unravel her.

When I reach her, I don’t hesitate. I lift her up, grinning, when she lets out a surprised squeak before instinctively wrapping those gorgeous legs around my waist.

Mine.

“Good morning, Princess.”

I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, pressing soft, teasing kisses against her delicate skin. She’s warm, her scent sinking into my lungs like an addiction I’ll never get over. My mouth fills with saliva—my canine’s ache. I want to mark her. Right here. Right now. She laughs, wiggling in my grip. “Morning, V. That tickles.”

V.

My brain short-circuits for a second, my grip on her tightening just slightly at the sound of it. She gave me a nickname. She tries to tuck her head to her shoulder, but I rub my scruff against her throat, making her shriek with laughter.

Behind me, Kingston chuckles, stepping forward to pry her out of my grip gently. I let him—for now.

She turns into him easily, her small hands curling into his shirt as he presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head. He murmurs something to her, voice too low for me to catch, but whatever he says has her blushing pink.

She beams up at him, and he gives her a soft smile before gently nudging her toward Jace.

Jace doesn’t wait. He scoops her up effortlessly, hands firm, sure, and kisses her so deeply her fingers curl into his hair for balance.

By the time he sets her down on a stool at the counter, she looks dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. I smirk, running my tongue along my teeth. We’re going to ruin her.

Romano hums cheerfully, already plating food, and within seconds, we’re sitting down, ready to eat.

Fallon takes a bite of eggs and lets out a soft, happy hum, her whole body wiggling slightly in her seat.

“Gods,” she moans, eyes fluttering shut. “This is so yummy.”

Jace just smirked, leaning back in his chair, pleased to see her so happy. 

I watch Fallon’s every movement, the slight flick of her wrist as she steals bacon from Kingston’s plate, the way her blue eyes sparkle when she smiles. I crave her laughter and smiles and the delicate scent of honeyed peaches that now clings permanently to my clothes. But how can I possibly deserve her sweetness? A twisted fuck like me, stained with violence, steeped in shadows. The hands that touch her so gently are the same ones I've used to break bones, to hurt, to destroy.

Yet, despite it all, she looks at me sometimes as if she sees beneath the darkness—as if she could somehow redeem the man I became. I'm selfish enough to want it desperately, greedy enough to take it. I’d destroy worlds to keep her gaze on me, to ensure she never realizes the truth: I don't deserve her. I never did.

But that won't stop me from holding on to her tight enough to bruise. Because without her, I’m nothing but darkness and ashes, a monster lost in the shadows. With her, even a twisted bastard like me can pretend, just for a moment, that I might be worthy of the love she offers.

Kingston

February 18th

11:36 A.M

The moment we step into Fluffed Up, Fallon’s entire face lights up, and it’s everything I could have hoped for. 

The store is massive, a warehouse-sized oasis of comfort, with plush displays and soft, inviting colors. The scent of lavender and vanilla lingers in the air, mixing with the faintest hint of fresh linen. Towering shelves are stacked with bedding, blankets, and pillows, while aisles dedicated to candles, bath products, and luxury robes sprawl out in every direction. Everything here is made for omegas, comfort, safety, and nesting.

I squeeze her small, delicate hand in mine, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin as she takes it all in, her wide blue eyes flicking from aisle to aisle like she doesn’t know where to start. 

“Alright, little one.” I keep my voice low, indulgent, full of promise. “There’s no limit. Whatever you want.”

She glances up at me, fingers tightening around mine. “I don’t even know where to start.” Before any of us can respond, movement in our periphery makes us pause.

A woman and a man walk toward us, their presence stopping us in our tracks. The beta woman is tiny, almost as small as Fallon, her blonde hair twisted into some intricate updo that looks unnecessarily complicated. Her green dress is fitted and businesslike but softened by the bright expression on her face. Her matching heels click against the polished floors as she picks up speed.

Beside her, the alpha man is built lean, closer to Voss’ frame—compact but coiled with strength. His black hair is buzzed short, his sharp features giving him a no-nonsense look that reminds me of someone accustomed to watching and waiting. His dark eyes flick to us, assessing, before settling on Fallon with obvious familiarity.

“Fallon!” The beta’s voice rings through the store as she rushes forward, throwing her arms around our omega without hesitation.

The man at her side watches her indulgently before nodding at us, his greeting calm and measured. “Hello, Fallon.”

Fallon turns back to us, grinning so brightly it momentarily stuns me. “Guys, this is Callie and Colby—Robert’s pack members.”

Romano tilts his head slightly, searching his memory for the name. A beat later, understanding dawns on his face. “Oh, the omega that works for you?” His tone is casual, but there’s a spark of satisfaction when Fallon beams at him for remembering.

I want that smile turned toward me. I want to keep her looking at me like that. 

“Callie, Colby,” Fallon continues, her voice clear and full of pride, “these are my husbands. Kingston, Voss, Romano, and Jace.” The way she says it so effortlessly, so confidently, sends something possessive and primal curling through my chest.

Husbands. I wish she knew we are her mates.

Colby nods, his expression respectful but edged with something protective. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Callie, still practically vibrating with energy, hugs our omega again. “And Fallon—thank you. Robert told us what happened the other day. I’m glad that woman was arrested.” 

Colby’s low growl vibrates through the space, his displeasure clear, but Callie only laughs, resting a hand on his chest before turning back to Fallon. “Speaking of which,” she says, lifting the bag, “we have to head home. Our omega deserves to be pampered.”

After quick goodbyes, I barely have a second to react before Romano steals Fallon from me, laughing as he twirls her toward an entire aisle of sheets. Jace follows behind, already pushing a cart, while Voss and I fall in step behind them like lost fucking puppies. Fallon glides her hands over a row of neatly folded sheets, eyes practically sparkling as she tests the fabric between her fingers.

“Ohh,” she breathes, “these are so soft. Come feel these.”

I don’t hesitate, reaching forward to run my hand over the fabric, noting the way her pupils dilate as she watches my fingers trace the material. We go through at least five or six sets, each softer than the last, and when she hesitates, I step closer, my voice low and firm.

“Get them all.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “You guys are like furnaces. No way would I survive the thick ones.”

Her words settle in my chest, warm and sure. She’s already thinking about sleeping with us. Already assuming she’ll be wrapped up in our heat, in her nest. And fuck me if that doesn’t make my blood run hot. I try subtly to adjust myself, catching Voss silently laughing at me. I flip him off behind Fallon’s back. We are all going to die from being constantly hard around her. I wonder if it’s a mate thing or a Fallon thing.

We move aisle by aisle, watching Fallon run her fingers over every texture, every fabric, testing, feeling, and deciding.

Our cart is already overflowing, piled with layers of plush greens and blues, soft fabrics she keeps pressing against her cheek to test their feel. Every time she finds something she likes, her eyes go soft, her lips curving in satisfaction before she tosses it into the cart.

I don’t care how much we get. If she wants it, it’s hers.

When we reach the curtains and lights section, she takes her time, pulling different materials from the racks and testing their weight between her fingers. She first goes for a sheer sage green, then frowns, running her thumb along the edge of a darker emerald set.

“Which one?” I ask, leaning down, speaking just for her.

She chews her lip, clearly torn.

Jace steps in, plucking both from her hands and setting them in the cart.

“Both,” he says.

Fallon beams at him, and my chest tightens with something warm, possessive. We are already practically obsessed with her. 

When we turn into the next aisle, the reaction is instantaneous.

Fallon practically squeals, her entire body vibrating with excitement as she zeros in on a massive display of stuffed animals.

I blink, taken off guard by the sheer joy radiating from her.

One second, she’s beside me—

The next, she’s launching herself at a giant, red and white spotted mushroom with stumpy feet and a cute face. 

She snatches it up, hugging it to her chest with a dramatic sigh. “I am taking you home and calling you Mush!” For a moment, all we can do is stare at her. And then, we burst into laughter.

This wild, chaotic, feral little omega who just yesterday shattered a woman’s wrist without hesitation, who fired someone with cold efficiency, who walks through life with grace, confidence, and deadly precision.

And yet here she is.

Cuddling a stupidly oversized stuffed mushroom like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Romano is already digging through the pile, clearly looking for one of his own. Jace shakes his head, muttering something about how we’re never going to get her out of this aisle. Voss is watching her like she hung the goddamn moon. An expression that I’ve never seen on the man. Most people are terrified of him. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been more gone for someone in my life.

“Come on, Princess, let's check out and get you home.” Voss laces his fingers with hers, and they laugh as she tries to carry the stuffed mushroom. Romano takes pity on her, carrying it for her. Jace falls in step with me. “We will get her settled, then head to work. The faster we get this done, the faster we can get back to her. I, for one, am looking forward to seeing the nest she builds.” 

“Agreed.”

Fallon

February 18th

3:46 P.M

A little dazed, I stare at the checkout counter as the poor beta cashier scans what looks like a literal mountain of nesting supplies. “I think we broke him,” I whisper to Romano, who’s standing beside me, grinning like a menace.

The beta—whose name tag reads Elliot—blinks rapidly, looking between us and the overflowing cart, clearly calculating whether he’s about to be robbed or just dealing with unhinged rich people. Kingston, ever the leader, pulls out a sleek black card, sliding it across the counter without a word.

Elliot swallows, his hands slightly shaking as he takes it. “Sir?”

“Just scan it,” Kingston says, his tone calm, unreadable, but somehow still terrifying.

Elliot nods so fast it’s a miracle his head doesn’t fly off.

Behind me, Jace and Voss are both carrying extra bags because our cart couldn’t handle everything. Jace, as usual, looks calm and composed. Voss looks like he’s barely holding in laughter. “What?” I demand, shifting a little under his gaze.

Voss lifts a tiny pink bunny plush that somehow made its way into our haul, his brows arching.

“This yours, Princess?”

I immediately snatched it from his hands, holding it to my chest protectively. “Yes, and I will be accepting no judgment at this time.”

Romano laughs loudly, grabbing one of the five different Squishmallows I picked out and tossing it at Jace, who catches it with a deadpan expression.

“I like that our little omega has layers,” Romano muses, watching as I stack my plushies in my arms. “One second, she’s breaking wrists. The next, she’s hoarding stuffed animals like a feral little dragon.”

“I can do both,” I say primly, tucking the bunny under my arm.

Voss leans in, his voice a dark purr against my ear. “Oh, we know.”

Kingston grabs one of the bags before I can die on the spot, nodding toward the door.

“Let’s go,” he says smoothly, already moving.

As we step outside, a gust of cold air bites at my legs, and I barely have time to react before Jace shrugs off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders without a word.

I blink up at him. “You’ll get cold.”

He shrugs, his blue eyes glinting. “I run hot.”

Voss snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

Romano is already pressing buttons on his phone, and Kingston is leading the way to the SUV, moving like he owns the world and everyone in it.

I glance at my husbands, the absurd amount of bags, the fluffy mushroom plush peeking out of one of them, and let out a slow breath.

This is my life now.

There is still something nagging me. No matter how happy I am, I can’t forget this started with a contract. One I still don’t know the extent of.

By the time we pull up to the house, I’m practically vibrating with excitement. The second the SUV stops, I try to launch myself out of the door, only for Jace’s large hand to wrap around my wrist, halting me in place.

“Patience, kitten,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging over the inside of my wrist in a slow, teasing stroke.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I have no patience. Let me go.” 

Jace chuckles, low and smooth, before releasing me. But not before giving my wrist one last squeeze, like he enjoys keeping me on a leash.

Noted.

I grab as many bags as I can handle, but Kingston snatches them from me without so much as a glance.

“Try again, little one.” His voice is silk-wrapped steel, commanding without effort.

I huff, planting my hands on my hips. “You do realize I’m capable of carrying my own stuff, right?”

Kingston smirks, “I’m aware. But I like making you rely on us.”

Voss makes a low sound in the back of his throat, and when I turn, I find him watching me like he’s already undressed me in his mind.

Okay, then.

Fine.

They want to play? Let’s play.

I saunter ahead of them, swaying my hips just enough to be noticeable, and when I glance back, all four pairs of eyes are locked onto my ass.

Men.

Jogging up to the nest, I don’t even hesitate before kicking off my shoes and diving straight into my nest-building mission.

Jace moves immediately, pulling out the sheer green curtains, hanging them from the ceiling, and draping them over the bed in soft, elegant waves. He works silently, his body moving with that deadly efficiency he’s mastered. But I don’t miss how his eyes flick to me whenever I stretch too far or arch too much.

Kingston follows behind him, weaving twinkling fairy lights through the fabric and across the ceiling, his movements precise and deliberate. “You’re going to get tangled in these, you know,” he murmurs, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I grin, tilting my head. “Then I guess you’ll have to untangle me, won’t you?”

Something flickers in his expression—something dark, unreadable. But then he smirks and plucks one of my blankets out of my hands, just to be difficult.

Voss is right beside me, handing me pillow after pillow, his fingers brushing against mine just a little longer than necessary.

“Soft enough?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

I fluff a pillow aggressively, making a dramatic show of sinking my fingers into it. “Perfect. Unlike your attitude.”

Voss smirks, and I see a flash of teeth, sharp and wolfish.

Romano, meanwhile, is having the time of his life, arranging my Squishmallows on the dresser like they’re precious artifacts.

I pause, tilting my head. “You know, maybe they shouldn’t be facing the bed.”

Romano glances over, brow raised. “And why is that?”

I sigh, tragic and dramatic. “They might get traumatized.”

Jace snorts, Kingston shakes his head, and Voss lets out a deep, amused rumble that makes my thighs press together involuntarily.

Romano, however, full-on cackles, grabbing my giant mushroom plush, Mush, and turning it so it faces the wall.

“There,” he declares between laughs. “Now Mush doesn’t have to witness whatever unholy things happen in this room.”

I snort, finishing moving the blankets and pillows into the perfect shape. I sit back, studying my creation. I like it. I hum in appreciation. 

Kingston steps forward, “Finished?” he asks, looming over me, his green eyes dark with heat. I tilt my head back to look up at him slightly upside down. He twists his hand in my hair, which hangs like a blue curtain. I make a tiny noise in the back of my throat. “I like it. You are such a good omega.” his voice is soft with an underlying sharp edge. He gently kisses my throat before he lets me go. I can’t help but preen at his words. 

“We have to head out to work. Would you like us to join you here if it is too late?” 

I nod, smiling as Voss kisses me roughly, Jace kisses my forehead, and Romano gives me tiny kisses all over my face like he did at the wedding. I watch them as they leave calling out, “Have a good night at work!” 

Chapter Eight

Voss

March 16th

12:12 A.M

I slowly wipe blood from my hands as I study the piece of shit hanging before me. I haven’t done anything to him yet other than a few cuts from Jace getting him here. He’s a lanky pale man with a shit ton of freckles and bright orange hair. He kind of reminds me of an off-brand version of that comedian Carrot Top. “Are you sure you have no information?” Kingston’s voice booms through the warehouse. He’s sitting in a chair, ankle propped on his knee. Fingertips pressed together. I want to laugh. He knows what he’s doing. The Godfather act actually works sometimes. 

I’ll give it to him. He’s a lot braver than the last guy. He stares me straight in the eye. His lip split in the middle of his bottom lip. He doesn't even seem to care. He is hanging naked in the middle of the room. He gave my tools a mere glace. There is something like resignation in his eyes. 

“I will give you this because I also want these trash humans taken down. Someone stole my omega.” He tilts his head as far as it will go. There is a silvery bond mark in his hairline at the side of his neck. 

Jace takes a half step forward from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He stares at the man, who silently stares back before Jace’s face goes carefully blank. “You were hanging around trying to get information yourself?” 

The man in front of me nods. I’m half glad I actually hadn’t hurt this man. I don’t actually like hurting people. Ok, maybe that’s a lie. I don’t love to hurt people. I do kind of like it, though. I motion to Jace, who hits the button to lower the chains slowly, allowing the man to get his feet under him. I grab a pair of sweats and hand them to him. I watch his face as he slides them on. 

“It’s true. You can feel what’s happening to your omega?” Kingston's voice is hard. Romano makes a strangled sound, no doubt thinking of Fallon. The man nods, rubbing the red marks on his wrist. 

“What is your name? I ask, watching his face for micro expressions. 

“John.” He says, clearly feeling pain. “Robert has been missing since yesterday night. Whatever they are doing to him, he is in pain and terrified.” 

Romano stands up and rushes over at that point. “Robert? Does he work at House of Creed?” 

John’s gaze sharpened on Romano’s face, and it suddenly clicked for me.

“Fuck.” Jace grunts.

“He does. How do you know that?” His voice is like ice. 

“We are married to Fallon Creed. We briefly met him and two of your other packmates.” 

John’s shoulder slumped, and his eyes suddenly filled with tears. He tilts his head back, blinking rapidly, his voice hoarse and full of pain. “Please help me get him back. Callie is catatonic. I can’t get her to snap out of it.” he begs. “I can feel everything. Everything they do to him.”

I respect a man who shows his emotions about the ones he loves, but he doesn’t have to beg. The fucked-up part is now we have to tell Fallon and ruin the happy bubble we’ve been in this past month.

Kingston stands, his movements measured as he grabs a hoodie and a pair of shoes, pressing them into John’s hands. His voice is steady and unwavering, carrying the weight of a promise that leaves no room for doubt. “Go home to your pack. Come back tomorrow—whether it’s just you or all of you, that’s your call. We’ll tell Fallon in the morning, then we start planning. Don’t worry, brother. We will find him.”

What he doesn’t say out loud is we will find him dead or alive. 

Fallon

March 16th

9:37 A.M

I don’t like the expressions on my husband's face as we sit in the living room. I sit with my legs crossed in the middle in the corner of the couch, holding a soft blue pillow. My heart is racing. Is this the moment they tell me they don’t want me anymore? I’m emotionally locked into this marriage. I will be devastated if that happens. Voss is standing, leaning against the fireplace. He’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt that has me mildly distracted by his forearms. The tattoos move each time he flexes. His long legs are encased by the black jeans he’s wearing. I’m pretty sure he just went out and bought every pair of black jeans in varying shades he could find. Other than being naked, I’ve mostly seen him in jeans. He’s staring at me in a way that both turns me on and scares me.

Romano sits beside me, holding my hand and rubbing small circles across my knuckles. He pushes up his glasses as he watches me. He’s in light grey joggers and a red hoodie. His bare feet propped up on the table in front of him. Jace is sitting in the chair next to us. His hair is down, which is the first sign that something isn’t ok. He usually only wears it down if we go out and wants to be intimidating. He’s wearing black slacks and a black sweater that looks so soft. I want to rub my face all over it. Kingston is in one of his usual black suits. His white shirt is unbuttoned at his throat, and his hair is a little messy as if it’s the last thing he cares about. 

“Fallon.” Kingston sighs, looking down with his elbows, propping his heads up. “Have you heard about what's happening with omegas going missing?” 

My heart feels like it’s stopped beating. That was not what I was expecting him to say.  “I only know that they have gone missing, but I don’t know any details.” my voice sounds small. Romano squeezes my hand, and a sad look is on his face. “What is going on?” 

“Little one, We need to tell you something. I really hope it doesn't change your opinion of us.” Kingston runs his hands through his hair, his brows furrowing. 

“As long as you don’t tell me you're the one stealing omegas, I don’t think my opinion will change.” my halfhearted joke falls flat. 

“No, of course not. We are classified as an asset acquisition company. We are in some ways. We have a legitimate business with teams and other employees. The four of us, however, are a bit different. I find people who are, let's say, really terrible people. Jace “acquires” them. We take them to a warehouse we have.” 

I stopped him, holding up my hand. “Should you be telling me this here? Like, have you checked for bugs?” 

Voss’ lips part in surprise, and Jace chuckles, mumbling something about perfect mate. I ignore them and focus back on Kingston. 

He’s got a slight smile on his lips. “We checked for bugs, and this room is soundproof. It’s the room we like to relax in, so it seems appropriate. This little box,” he lifts a small black box with a few blinking green lights. “Disrupts cell phones and other electronic devices.” 

I want to tell him how cool that is, but he keeps going. “Voss,” he pauses, glancing at Voss, who nods. “Voss is the one who extracts information from them.” 

I glance at Voss, studying him. I could see that being his job. I turn to Romano, my sweet puppy of a man. “What do you do?” 

He smiles at me loving my attention on him. “I am the tech genius. I hack files to find everything I can find on people.” 

I smile at him. These men think I’m worried about them being violent. I literally broke a bitch’s hand for touching Romano. I sigh at their worried looks. “I came into this marriage thinking you guys are mafia. So I’m unsure what you expect me to do or feel.” 

Voss laughs. It sounds dark and deep. “I forgot about that. We aren’t mafia, Princess.” 

“Back to the problem at hand.” Kingston cuts in. “Someone out there is kidnapping omegas whether they are bonded or not.” 

I know my face pales because I can feel it. That means their pack members can feel everything. I must make some sort of noise because Romano pulls me into his lap and starts purring. The sound makes the tension in my body relax. I burrow my face into his chest, rubbing my face back and forth. 

“I know this is a lot, but we are trying to find who is behind the kidnappings. All we have so far is it’s someone named “M,” which is really not helpful at his point.” Kingston continues. “There is some terrible news I wish we didn’t have to tell you.” 

“Just tell me.” My voice is soft but full of fear.

“They got Robert.”

Three words. Three simple words that had the power to destroy me. Robert and I had gotten close during the weeks after I fired Marline. I’d been out with him and his pack many times. He’s as important to me as Violet and Odette. And even if he weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. He is a fellow omega and doesn’t deserve this.

I gasp, trying to drag in the air. My lungs feel like they are on fire. “No, no, no, no.” I try to pull away from Romano, but he holds me tighter. I push into his chest, trying to get away from the pain. A warm body presses into my side as four purrs start-up in the room. 

“Shhh, Princess. Calm.” Voss’ soft voice gets through the blood rushing in my ears. “We will find him and the other omegas. I vow it to you.” 

The tears hit me then. Pouring down my cheeks as I gasped for breath. I don’t know how long I sat in Romano’s arms. Eventually, my tears slowed and stopped. I feel weak and lightheaded. 

A thought crosses my mind, making me gasp and struggle from his grip. “I need to call Violet and Odette!” 

Jace finally speaks up. “Don’t worry, Kitten. I’ve already sent someone to watch Violet and Henry was already helping Odette.” 

I sag in relief. “What now? How can I help?” 

They tell me that Robert's pack will be coming over. About Callie not functioning and what they want to do moving forward. 

I can’t believe they got Robert. Sweet, kind, Robert. Anger starts to fill me. I can feel the rage filling every last inch of me. “I want their hearts ripped out of their chest. See if they like the way every omega and their packs feel. If you can’t give me that. I’ll fucking do it myself.” 

I get surprised looks from the four of them. 

“They fucked with the wrong omega.” 

Jace

March 16th

1:01 P.M

I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with a person. That includes my parents before they died. I hated them. Being in foster care was shit until Voss was placed in the same group home as me. We just clicked, and when Kingston showed up bringing Romano with him, the pack bond solidified. Now I’m with my brothers, sharing a woman we can’t help but fall in love with. I know it too soon, even by scent-matched mates' standards. Watching Fallon become enraged for her friend and all the other omegas taken is a thing of beauty. Watching her now as she wipes her friend's tears. The beta came back to life almost the instant she saw Fallon.

The alpha we met at Fluffed Up, Colby, John, and the rest of us stand back, giving them space, waiting for Fallon so we can begin planning. She tucks Callie up in the corner of the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. She kisses her forehead, whispering into her ear before she stands and makes her way to us. It’s not fair she looks so good in the jeans and sweater she’s wearing. Her blue hair pulled up into a messy bun. The expression on her face, however, would make a lesser man shit himself.

“What do we know?” her voice flat, and compared to what it usually is, I hate it. I want our sweet, slightly violent omega back. Her honeyed peach scent has taken on a sharp edge like it is on the verge of being too ripe. Once again, I wish she could smell our scents. 

“I got as close as possible to the one taking the omegas. I wasn’t able to get close enough to grab one of them. The assholes are always in bigger packs. Listening to them talk, however. We know they have multiple locations, but they keep them. First, there is a warehouse, and then they take them to a house on the edge of town. Then, they move them to another location. Unfortunately, I don’t know the locations of any of these buildings. I did learn it’s a woman in charge. Her husband is, as well. I think he is complicit in what she is doing. All I keep getting is “M,” although I’m unsure if that is the man or woman. That part is unclear.” 

I pull Fallon to me. Fitting her to my side. A soft, low purr settles her shoulders. I could see the rage and panic building in her. We need to keep a level head. 

“Give me a location of where the men are.” 

John gave me the location of several houses where I could find them. I look over at Colby and see the man practically vibrating out of his skin. “Colby. Come with me. Let's go make some friends.” 

I look down at Fallon at the same time she looks up at me. I place a soft kiss against her lips. 

“Be safe,” she whispers. 

“There.” I gesture toward two men lounging against the front of a rundown house, its paint peeling and windows clouded with grime. The neighborhood is exactly what you’d expect—cracked sidewalks and the faint scent of garbage lingering in the air. They stand out like a damn spotlight, their expensive clothes too crisp, too clean, too out of place against the decay around them.

“One or both?” Colby grunts. 

“Both, my friend.” It’s not even dark out, but I can tell you no soul will tell what happened. In this area, everyone minds their own business. “I got left, and you got right.”

Colby and I move in sync, silent and efficient like we’ve done this a thousand times before, even though we’ve just met. If this goes well, I wouldn’t mind working with him in the future. The two men are still leaning against the front of the run-down house, lost in conversation. They don’t belong here. And in a few seconds, they won’t be here at all. I close the distance in two long strides, my footsteps masked by the distant hum of traffic. The first man barely had time to turn his head before I snatched the back of his neck, my grip ironclad.

One sharp jab to the kidney. He sucks in a pained breath, his knees already starting to buckle. Good.

Before he can drop, I bring up my elbow and slam it into his temple. His body goes slack instantly, all resistance draining as he crumples forward.

At the same time, Colby handles the second guy. No wasted effort—just a quick, brutal strike to the throat, cutting off any chance of sound, followed by a precise blow to the side of his head.

Two men. Down in seconds.

Silent. Efficient.

I barely break stride as I grab my guy under the arms, hauling him up like a sack of dead weight. Colby does the same, his movements are as smooth as practiced.

The SUV door swings open, and without a word, we toss the unconscious bodies inside, letting them land in a heap on the floor.

I wipe my hands down the front of my jeans, my pulse steady, breathing even. Colby smooths his shirt like he just handled the paperwork, not a damn abduction.

No words. No questions. Just a job done right. 

After I slide in on the driver's side, I press buttons on the steering wheel, listening to the phone ring. Kingston answers. “Got two,” I grunt before hanging up. 

Twenty minutes after that, the two men are strung up, naked and slightly bloody. 

The pit is pristine and cleaned after each use. The door behind me opens, and Kingston struts in, wearing one of his suits. I want to laugh at how he always looks like a GQ model. Voss follows with a maniacal grin on his face, with Romano following. His usual exuberance has dimmed. That right there is one reason to destroy whoever is behind this. John is next with an expression of thunder. My eyebrows rise when Fallon is the last to enter the room. 

She scrunches her cute nose. “Gross.” I’m worried for all of two seconds. Will she judge us, hate us, fear us? I don’t think I could handle my mate leaving us. Especially before she even knows who we are to her. “Those are two dicks I’ll never be able to unsee.”

I want to laugh at the offended expressions on dumb and dumber. Both have mildly muscular bodies, black hair, and similar features. Huh, I think they are twins. Even better for what we are about to do. Voss grabs the back of Fallon’s neck, pulling her to him. Pressing his entire body against her, he kisses her deeply. I’m not a jealous man. I take pride in my packmates getting closer to our little mate. He pulls back leaving her dazed as he steps into the pit. 

“What gifts have you brought me this time, Jace?” Voss’ voice is like velvet as he circles our captives. 

“I can’t take all the credit. Colby helped.” I tell him, amused by his antics.

Voss tosses him a smile. “I do love presents.” 

I glance at Fallon sitting in a chair with her legs crossed. I can’t read the look on her face. It’s blank. Her eyes, however, are blazing with a rage I’ve never seen. Even Voss’ anger is a blank mask. I adore the cute, bubbly version of her. She’s so sweet, beautiful and kind. This side of her however, there are so many words to describe this visceral feeling inside of me. She’s vicious, violent, gorgeous, and Gods damn, does it make me hard. My cock is straining painfully against my zipper. Hearing a grunt, I turn my attention back to the pit. 

Voss has Dumb’s head tilted back with a handful of hair. His favorite razer sharp knife hovering above his throat. He’s looking at Dumber, though. “Tell us what we want to know, or we can play my favorite game.” 

“What is your favorite game?” Fallon calls out curiosity, threading through her tone. 

Voss tilts his head to look at her, grinning. “I’m glad you asked Princess.” He turns back to the men. “Have you ever heard of ‘Death by a thousand Cuts’ No? Well, buckle in, gentlemen. He releases Dumb and sets his knife down. “It’s actually called Lingchi. In the Chinese culture, it’s loosely translated to ‘slow cuts’ or ‘death of a thousand cuts.’” He starts pacing like a professor teaching his students, his hands clasped behind his back. I have to swallow a laugh.  

Voss paces slowly, his boots grinding against the concrete floor, each step measured, deliberate. Calculated. His voice is low, almost conversational, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it. A dark, simmering pleasure in the way he drags out every word.

“Do you know how this works?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable.

The men don’t answer. They can’t. One is still half-conscious, the other staring up at Voss like he’s staring at Death himself.

Voss smirks. “It’s a slow death,” he continues, his voice almost casual, amused. “That’s the beauty of it. First, we tie you up—arms stretched, completely exposed, nowhere to run.” He pauses, then grins. “Step one complete. Then, we start cutting. Small at first. Strips of flesh, peeled away, one by one.” His fingers mimic the motion, tracing the air like he’s already slicing them open. “No set pattern. No rules. Just cut, and cut, and cut.”

I watch as the color drains from their faces. Their bodies tensed like cornered prey.

Voss leans forward, his smirk widening. “It’s not just about the pain. It’s about the humiliation. The fear. The slow, creeping realization that you are going to die, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

He gestures vaguely. “And then, there’s the best part—your suffering doesn’t end when you stop breathing. Because your body? Your remains? They’ll be left for the world to see. A message. A warning.”

Dumb whimpers, his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling in short, panicked bursts. Voss watches him, his smile never fading.

“But don’t worry,” he says, his tone almost mocking. “We’ll make sure you last a long time.”

Dumber chokes on a sob, and I don’t miss the way Voss’s pupils blow wide with satisfaction. I exhale slowly, shifting against the wall, watching it all play out.

Fallon stands and steps down into the pit. I almost step forward to stop her, but Kingston catches my eye and gently shakes his head. I settle in to watch what she will do. They say your mate is supposed to be your equal, right?

Chapter Nine

Fallon

March 16th

2:06 P.M

Stepping down into the pit gives me chills. That might also be the sexy-as-sin man standing next to me. Something about the darkness inside him calls to the dark inside me. I slide one arm around his waist and another around his chest, looking at the two men. I was being honest when I said looking at these guys was gross. As is, in fact, they are naked and have nothing to look at. “Very interesting.” I purr the words in his ear. I’m glad I’m wearing jeans because I can feel the slick soaking my thong. 

Voss growls as he takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. “Are you wet for me or for them.” 

It’s almost comical how quickly the two dumbasses in front of us forget that they are about to be tortured. “And if it were for them?” I tease him licking the side of his neck. 

“Then I’d rip their dicks off and shove them down their throats.” He looks ready to do just that. One of the men actually squeaks. Pathetic. 

“Good thing it's all for you, baby.” I purr again. Running my hand down his chest then look at the men strung up. “Boys. I would answer the questions about to be asked. I know you don’t want to be hurt. I can’t convince them to let you go unless we can get what information we need.” 

Voss stiffens, and someone behind us sucks in a breath. I tap Voss on the back and wave off the others where the men can’t see. Voss’ muscles relax slowly. I’m glad he realizes I’m pretending to be soft. “She may give you a chance. I would do anything for her. Even letting you go once we are done.” 

I lean up and kiss his cheek before stepping around his to go to his table, curious to see what tools he uses. Pliers, saws, knives, clamps, a horse brush, and various other things. 

I barely glance up from the scarred wooden table, my fingers absently tracing a deep groove in the surface as I speak. “Boys, do you know who’s taking the omegas?”

I can hear Kingston, Jace, Romano, John, and Colby start laughing. Not loud or long, but more like a room full of chuckling men.

I blinked, glancing up to see what the hell was so funny.  I didn’t think what I asked was funny. Everything looks the same. The men in the room haven’t moved. Nothing seems different. My brows pull together. “What?”

Voss tosses an amused, sharp-edged smile over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with something close to cruel amusement. “Be thankful you have no sense of smell at this moment. They, however, do.” He steps to the side, and it takes me a full second to realize what he’s saying and showing me.

Oh. Oh no.

Both men—our supposed prisoners, our captives, our enemies—are rock fucking hard.

I groan, slapping a hand over my eyes as disgust curls in my stomach. “Oh, what the fuck?”

One of them, the first man, swallows audibly, and it sounds painful. “You’re an omega?” His voice is strained and tight, like speaking takes effort.

I lower my hand just enough to squint at him in irritation. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?” Still confused. Still disgusted.

Voss, however, is having the time of his life. He laughs, delighted, stepping closer until he’s nearly in my space. His brown eyes flash with pure, unrepentant amusement as he leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make my skin prickle. “They can smell your slick, Princess.”

I jerked back like he just slapped me. “Excuse me?”

Voss only grins wider, and I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he finds this hilarious or the fact that I now must be aware of this deeply unfortunate situation. “You are an unbonded omega, and they are alphas.” He gestures at them.

My nose wrinkles in deep, soul-crushing disgust as I flick a glance at the two men, who look both miserable and mortified. “Sorry, boys, but given the circumstances—and the fact that I am very much married to four of the men in this room, including the one currently laughing his ass off—whatever you’re thinking? Not gonna happen. Flattering though.”

The second man, who up until now had been dazed, barely present, suddenly straightens, blinking rapidly, fully alert. Like he was drowning and just clawed his way back to the surface. His voice is even and measured, with the barest hint of strain under it. “I would apologize, but as I assume every man in this room knows, it is involuntary. I would hope this… unfortunate reaction will not be used against us.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sheer politeness of the request. I fold my arms across my chest, watching him carefully. “You understand the situation you’re in?”

He nods once, sharply. “I do.”

Kingston’s voice drawls from across the room, smooth and controlled, but carrying that weight of authority that makes it impossible to ignore. “It’s up to you, little one. If you forgive this transgression, we will as well.” 

I glance at Kingston, then back to the man—studying him, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze stays locked on mine, steady, unflinching. Respectful. I step closer Voss following me, my presence looming over the two of them now instead of the other way around.

“What’s your name?” I ask, my voice softer, but no less firm. “I’m sure these brutes didn’t ask.”

The man nods once, his expression unreadable but careful. “I am Gregor. This is my twin, Ozias.”

I tilt my head, studying them. Gregor’s eyes don’t wander. He doesn’t flick his gaze lower, doesn’t shift uncomfortably. He looks at me. Acknowledging me but not challenging me. Interesting. I nod. “Gregor, I can forgive this one thing. I accept your apology. I do not, however, accept what you are a part of.”

Silence lingers in the air, thick, heavy, suffocating.

Gregor swallows once, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then nods again—this time slower, more deliberate.

Romano, who has wandered back in from his tech cave, flashes me a promising smile. I turn so no one sees me blush. Ugh. Trying to be badass here. 

I can tell John and Colby are running out of patience. John’s hands clench and unclench, the tendons in his forearms tight with barely restrained emotion. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with his own body, like the anger and fear are crawling under his skin, searching for an outlet. His shoulders are too tight, and his breath is just a little too uneven.

Colby, on the other hand, is leaning against the wall near Jace, unmoving. At first glance, he looks calm, detached, and unreadable. But I see it—the storm brewing beneath the surface. His jaw is locked so tight I half expect to hear his teeth crack. His fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, and when his eyes flick to me, I see it—the quiet rage, the helpless despair, the need to act.

I know that feeling. I send them both a small, reassuring smile, hoping they can see past the tension, past the waiting, past the frustration that’s eating them alive. This is calculated. Intentional. I hope they understand. We aren’t stalling. My husbands and I discussed how this would go on the way here. 

It’s showtime.

“Now, I’ll ask again. Who is kidnapping the omegas?”

Gregor shakes his head, as Ozias gives me a pleading expression. 

“I wouldn’t lie boys. Voss, who is my current favorite husband, loves the idea of cutting little pieces off of you.” 

Kingston, Jace, and Romeo protest demanding to know how to be my favorite. I laugh at them before continuing. “Now, who is taking them?” 

“We really don’t know!” Ozias calls his voice full of fear. I wave for Voss to have at it while I walk back to my seat. 

Kingston’s grip snags me, swift and possessive, pulling me flush against his chest. His warmth bleeds into my skin, and his strength is a cage that I don’t mind being trapped in.

“You are so sexy, little one.” His voice is a low, molten rasp, his breath ghosting over my ear, making my spine tingle. “My pretty, vicious omega.”

His lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses along my bare shoulder, slow and reverent, trailing upward, claiming. His teeth graze a sensitive spot near the curve of my neck, and when he sucks gently, biting just enough to make my breath hitch, my body betrays me, shuddering against him. Kingston chuckles, the sound deep and dark, reverberating in my chest like a second heartbeat. His arms tighten around me, holding me there, grounding me, branding me.

And for a moment, just a brief, dangerous moment, I let myself melt into the feeling—the warmth, the safety, the way he makes the world feel smaller, simpler. But I can’t. Not when Robert is still out there. Not when other omegas are trapped, terrified, waiting for someone to save them. The shift in my focus must be palpable, because Kingston doesn’t protest when I lean forward slightly, my attention snapping back to the men in the pit.

Voss is standing there, a force of pure, simmering violence, his voice low and lethal as he speaks. “We know it’s you two who are snatching the omegas.” His tone alone makes the air thick, heavy, suffocating. “Where is the group of omegas that were taken recently?”

Ozias looks like hell, his chest marred with deep, deliberate cuts, rivulets of blood trailing down his torso, dripping steadily onto the cold concrete. His face is pale and slick with sweat, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.

Gregor isn’t much better, his head tilted back, his lips slightly parted, like keeping his eyes open takes too much energy. But when he finally lifts his gaze to Voss, there’s no defiance left. Only acceptance.

His voice is a rasp, barely more than air. “They’re in a warehouse across town in the slums.

Voss stills, but his eyes darken. Gregor exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a beat before speaking again. “That’s all I have left to give. I can tell you the names of the men I do know are part of this, but none of them know who’s in charge. The only name we’ve ever heard is ‘M’—and I know that’s not helpful.”

My stomach turns at his following words.

“I don’t know the exact location of the warehouse, I’m sorry. After I give you the names, all I ask is that you make our deaths quick.” His expression is blank, hollow, resigned. “We never wanted to do this. It’s immoral. It’s disgusting. And I’m too tired to keep going.”

That pulls me from Kingston’s grasp. I step forward, my boots click sharply against the floor as I make my way back into the pit. “Then why do it at all?” My voice isn’t mocking. It’s not soft either. It’s sharp, edged in something raw and bitter.

Gregor lets out a slow, weary sigh, then turns his head toward Ozias, his expression shifting, softening into something almost painful to look at.

Love.

Genuine, absolute love.

“They grabbed us a month ago,” he finally says, his voice thick with exhaustion. “We were living on the streets. They separated us. Demanded obedience. And every time I refused…” His throat bobs, his fingers twitching. “I could hear him screaming.”

The room is so silent I can hear the blood dripping from his chest hitting the floor.

“I broke,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t take much more of them hurting him because of me.” His lips press into a thin line before he continues. “They cleaned us up. Dressed us. Then they threatened to kill us both if we didn’t follow orders.”

I watched him for a long moment, studying the weariness lining his face, the weight pressing against his shoulders. “In another life, Gregor, I think we could have been friends.”

His lips twitch, just slightly, like he wants to smile but can’t quite remember how. “An honor, I’m sure, is my loss.”

I exhale, turning to Voss, my voice now soft and sad. “Get what you need, baby.”

His dark eyes lock onto mine, heated, hungry, understanding precisely what I mean.

I reach for him, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth, quick and fierce. When I pull back, his gaze is almost reverent, but his face remains unreadable. Still, he tilts his head toward the door.

I take my cue and walk out, leaving the pit behind. Some things a girl can’t unsee. 

Kingston

March 21st

1:42 A.M

It took days—painful, restless days—to track down the right building and confirm it was actually the place we were looking for. Leads went nowhere, false sightings frustrated us at every turn, and tension simmered just below the boiling point. John and Colby were immediately ready to storm the place, driven nearly mad by desperation. I couldn't blame them; the thought of Fallon in that hell made my skin crawl, and my blood ignite. But charging in without a solid plan would get people killed—or worse, would cost us the lives of the very omegas we were trying to save.

After endless hours of surveillance, stakeouts, and hacking into security cameras, we finally pinpointed the correct building—an abandoned-looking warehouse hidden at the edge of town. Despite the apparent neglect, subtle details told us the place was fortified and closely monitored: discreetly placed cameras, frequent guard rotations, and reinforced doors. It wasn’t a random hideout—it was a secure facility meant to look unassuming to anyone not trained to notice.

I had to physically hold John back when he first saw the grainy security footage. His omega’s pain reflected in his eyes like a living wound. Colby paced relentlessly, fists clenched, every ounce of patience we asked for visibly draining him. It took hours of careful explanation, mapping out entry points, counting guards, and assessing weak spots to calm them down—to make them realize that going in unprepared could mean losing everything.

“Stop right here.”

Jace pulls the SUV to a smooth halt at the curb, the van following close behind, its headlights cutting through the darkened street before being shut off. The engine hums softly, barely a sound against the muffled city noise in the distance. Jace’s fingers move quickly over the steering wheel controls, and within seconds, Colby’s voice filters through the speakers.

“The warehouse on the right is the one we’re looking for.” I don’t take my eyes off the building, scanning its worn-down exterior, the dim yellow glow from the windows, and the reinforced side entrance. I can already see the weak points—the places where the walls are rotting, sagging inward. Whoever runs this operation doesn’t care about maintaining appearances. I wouldn’t expect them actually to care for the omega's needs, but hell, putting them in actual danger before whatever they are doing doesn’t make sense to me. As I speak, a slow exhale leaves my chest, my voice steady, controlled, and absolute.

“We move in through the back. Most of us can move like ghosts, so we do this clean. No wasted movement. No unnecessary noise.” I let my words settle before shifting my gaze to the van. “Colby, you and John are in charge of extracting the omegas. The moment you have them all, get them into the van and take them to my house. We’ll sort things out once we return.”

Colby’s voice is calm but edged with anticipation. “Understood.”

Jace nods, adjusting his grip on the wheel, his expression unreadable. He’s already in the headspace needed for this—cold, precise, unaffected.

Voss shifts in the passenger seat beside me, rolling his shoulders like a predator loosening its muscles before the hunt. There’s an almost bored look on his face, but I know better. Voss is never bored when it comes to things like this.

“And the rest of us?” Romano asks from the backseat, his usual easygoing tone now edged with something sharp, something lethal.

I glance at him through the rearview mirror. His brown eyes glint in the dim lighting, unreadable yet hungry. I roll my sleeves up, slow and deliberate.

“The rest of us?” I echo, my lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smile. “We slit the throats of those in charge.”

A slow, humming silence follows my words, stretching between us like the final breath before a war cry. We slip from the vehicles silently, and the darkness swallows us whole. The only sounds are our controlled breaths, the muffled crunch of boots against dirt, and the distant hum of a passing car far beyond the alley.

The warehouse looms ahead. It’s not security that would worry me in a place like this. It’s the risk of the damn ceiling caving in before we even get inside.

We move in formation, silent, deliberate. Jace is on my right, his presence a steady force, while Voss stays to my left, a living shadow, his steps soundless as he prowls forward. Romano follows just behind, his fingers twitching slightly, eager for action.

Colby and John bring up the rear at the back of the group, their movements tense but controlled. John’s breathing is measured, but I can tell he’s on edge, ready to tear through anyone standing between him and his omega.

We reach the rear entrance, where a dented metal door hangs slightly ajar. I motion for Colby and John to hold the position while the rest of us press forward.

Jace crouches slightly, pointing to the ground just outside the door. I follow his gaze, my face going slack with shock.

A brick.

A fucking brick propped up to keep the door open like they’re welcoming guests. Cigarette butts litter the ground, the acrid scent of old smoke lingering in the air. If I could roll my eyes any harder, I’d be staring at the back of my own skull. These idiots couldn’t have made this any easier if they’d left a damn welcome sign.

Voss lets out a slow exhale, low and almost amused, but his hands are already shifting toward his blades. Romano glances at me, grinning, but there’s nothing friendly about it. I press forward, barely a whisper of sound as I ease the door open. It’s time.

We move like shadows, a seamless, silent unit slipping one by one through the open doorway, swallowed by the darkness inside. The air is thick with the scent of stale cigarettes, damp wood, and something rotten lingering beneath it all.

Inside, the warehouse is just as decrepit as it looked from the outside. Metal beams loom overhead, rusted and sagging under the weight of time and neglect. The dim glow of flickering overhead lights cast broken patches of illumination across the cracked concrete floor, barely cutting through the dark corners. Why is there such high security on the outside of the building if they just leave it to idiots to actually handle the inside?

Jace, Voss, Romano, and I fan out, positioning ourselves around John and Colby, keeping them shielded in the center. They need to stay undetected, ready to move the omegas the moment we secure them. Just ahead, two guards stand near a stack of wooden crates, talking in low, lazy tones, their posture loose—too relaxed, too fucking comfortable. They don’t even know they’re already dead. I glance at Jace. He’s already looking at me. I give him a simple nod. 

I step forward, smooth and silent, closing the distance with predatory ease. The guard in front of me never even registers my presence before I clamp a hand over his mouth and twist, the sharp crack of his vertebrae snapping into place beneath my palm.

Jace moves just as fast.

His arm snakes around the other guard’s neck, twisting with brutal efficiency. A muffled gurgle, another sharp snap, and his body goes limp.

Their deaths are instant and silent. We don’t let them hit the ground.

I tighten my grip under the dead weight of my target, hoisting his slack body up effortlessly as Jace does the same. We drag them backward into the darkened entryway, laying them out against the wall, their heads tilted forward like they’re just slumped in sleep. A fitting end for men like them.

With one last glance at the corpses, I exhale slowly and step forward, voice nothing more than a whisper. “Keep moving.”

The first room we come to is empty, the stench of mildew and rot clinging to the air. Trash and debris litter the floor—discarded food wrappers, empty liquor bottles, and the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies. The walls are streaked with something dark, something old, and I don’t want to think too hard about what it might be.

We move on, slipping into the next room. Three guards are lounging, utterly unaware of their impending deaths. The television flickers in front of them, static buzzing low, a bottle of cheap whiskey sitting open on a makeshift table.

Voss and I move first, striking fast, brutally, and efficiently. Jace takes the last one, snapping his neck before the bastard can even make a sound. Their bodies are dragged into the shadows, hidden in the darkness like they were never there at all.

The following three rooms off the hallway are just as empty, though the filth and lingering scent of fear is proof enough that people have been held here before. Shackles are bolted to the walls in one of them. A cot sits in the corner of another, and the mattress is stained with things I don’t want to consider.

I already know by the time we reach the last door in the hallway. This is it. This is where they’re keeping them. The smell of fear and omega is unmistakable. 

The lock is cheap, rusted, and barely holding on. I squat down, pulling out my lock pick set, but it only takes a few seconds before the latch clicks open. I want to think I’m that skilled, but truthfully, the lock was just that shitty. It's difficult for an omega to break, but I could have manhandled it open as an alpha.

The door creaks as it opens. I stay low, cautious, but the glimpse I get is fucking heartbreaking. A group of roughly eight omegas huddled in the farthest corner of a filthy room, their bodies curled into themselves, backs pressed against the wall like they were trying to disappear.

Their clothes are torn and dirty, some hanging loose over skeletal frames. A few look half-starved, sunken eyes hollow and wide with terror. Dried blood stains the wrists of one of the male omegas, evidence of shackles that were removed too late. The second I motion John and Colby forward, the air shifts.

A soft gasp—then a growl, low and warning. And then, there was a blur of movement.

A familiar looking omega launches forward, colliding into John and Colby so hard it knocks them back a step. Their arms wrap around him instantly, holding on like they’re afraid he’ll disappear if they let go.

The sound Robert makes is shattered, broken, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. John grips the back of his head, whispering something against his hair, while Colby buries his face against Robert’s shoulder. Tears are streaming down all three of their faces.

I feel something tighten in my chest. I don’t let myself linger on it. Because all I can think about is Fallon. How would I feel if it were her? If someone took her, locked her away, starved her, threatened her with things too vile to speak aloud? My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. Robert pulls back slightly, turning to the other omegas, his voice a low whisper. The group listens, but some of their expressions twist with disappointment, sadness, and resignation. For a moment, I wonder why, and then I realize they think we are only here for Robert. I almost growl, but I know that would frighten them more. 

Fuck.

It takes several long minutes to convince them we’re here for all of them. John and Colby help, their presence reassuring, but the fear runs deep.

Two other male omegas are among them, and the rest are female. Some have claiming bites on their necks—marks of mates waiting for them to come home. Others have nothing, no visible sign that anyone is searching for them.

As they finally begin moving toward the door, I keep my voice low and steady. “Are there any others?”

Robert shakes his head. “They talked a lot right outside of the door. We are the last group left here. We could hear them taking the others out of the building.” His voice is quiet, but every word drips with the trauma of what he’s endured.

I nod at him, my jaw tensing. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look towards Colby, who is standing slightly behind me. His entire body is rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are bone white. His jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring. I don’t need to see his face to know.

He wants blood. And so do I. I give him a single, unspoken nod. Not one of these bastards is leaving this building alive.

That’s a promise.

Chapter Ten

Voss

March 21st

3:02 A.M

The second the omegas clear the room with John and Colby, the atmosphere shifts. The subtle mask of calm we've all been wearing cracks, letting the bloodlust we’ve held back spill into the shadows. Kingston’s eyes go cold, colder than ice, and I grin slowly, savoring the burn of anticipation that floods through me.

“Let’s finish it,” Kingston says, voice dark with a quiet fury he rarely lets loose. Jace and Romano nod silently, the gentle softness they show Fallon replaced by the lethal focus I've always known them for. This is who we are beneath the masks she’s somehow pulled over our true faces—the monsters we've always been.

We move like shadows down the hallway, our footsteps barely audible on the cracked tile. The heavy scent of mold, fear, and blood clings to everything, but to me, it’s exhilarating. My pulse races with a perverse kind of excitement—the promise of chaos sings through my veins, igniting something primal, something violent. Something I only ever feel when I’m ending lives.

“On your left,” Kingston whispers, his voice barely above a breath.

The next room erupts into chaos as we breach it. Gunfire flashes bright, bullets tearing holes through walls. Romano ducks low, knife glinting in his hand as he slashes a man’s throat open. Blood sprays in an arc, painting his face in crimson. He doesn’t flinch—none of us do. We’ve bathed in blood so often it no longer stains us; it simply reminds us who we truly are.

I spot two men scrambling for weapons near a battered desk. Too slow. My own gun is already up, aiming, firing. The sharp crack rings out, echoing violently in the small space. One man falls, choking, clawing at his chest, the other’s head snaps back, a hole punched neatly through his forehead. Satisfaction curls inside me, dark and delicious.

“Jace, cover!” Kingston shouts, and bullets tear past us, shattering plaster and glass. I spin, teeth bared in a wild grin, heart pounding wildly. Jace curses harshly, gripping his arm where blood trickles from a fresh wound.

I laugh, raw and untamed. Pain just makes us sharper, angrier, deadlier. Jace growls, barely pausing as he fires back, dropping another attacker with ruthless efficiency. Romano darts between the chaos, using shadows as cover, his blades catching what little moonlight filters through cracked windows. He moves like a ghost, leaving bodies in his wake.

Kingston’s eyes meet mine across the chaos. We’re both smiling—blood-soaked grins of two beasts set loose. This is who we are at our core: violent and unforgiving, built to destroy anyone who dares to threaten what's ours. And Fallon is ours, which means anyone she considers hers is ours too. These men stole what wasn’t theirs. They deserve no mercy, no hesitation.

I drop my empty clip and reload smoothly, stalking forward. A bullet whips past my head, too close, and I turn, finding the shooter’s wide-eyed fear. He’s young, barely a man. My finger doesn’t pause on the trigger. A harsh bark of gunfire, and he collapses, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

No one leaves here alive.

It’s done in minutes, but the carnage feels timeless—bodies sprawled across the filthy floors, the sharp scent of gunpowder thick in the air, smoke lingering like a ghostly witness. We walk silently back toward the entrance, our breathing harsh, adrenaline still surging.

Jace grimaces slightly, blood seeping between his fingers. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, noticing my look.

“You’ll live,” Romano says dryly, though he still looks him over quickly. Tearing a strip off Jace's already shredded shirt, he wraps it and ties it off.

Kingston hands Romano a gas can from outside, and he douses the walls, the furniture, and even the corpses. There will be no trace of what we’ve done here, no survivors, no loose ends. I smile darkly as Kingston hands me the match. I strike it slowly, savoring the hiss and the faint sulfur smell, before flicking it casually toward the soaked room.

Fire blooms instantly, orange and red tongues hungrily devouring everything—evidence, sins, memories. It’s beautiful, really.

The flames dance in my eyes, the heat warm on my face, cleansing, purifying. This building, these men—they deserved every flame, every scream silenced, every life ended. We won't stop until we find every omega and every building they are kept in. We won't stop until we tear the person in charge apart.

Fallon

March 30th

1:23 PM

The shrill ringing of my phone cuts through the silence, making me flinch and nearly send a stack of resumes flying across my desk. Jesus. I already have a headache from staring at these damn things for hours, and now I’m jumping at sudden noises like a skittish kitten.

I shove the stack aside and dig through the clutter until I unearth my phone, squinting at the screen. A group video call. Violet and Odette. Of course.

With a sigh, I swipe to answer and prop up my phone against a small stack of ‘qualified’ resumes, ensuring they get a good view of the absolute chaos I’m buried under. I came into my office in leggings and a soft pink sweater. At least I don’t have to wear shoes.

The moment their faces appear, Violet snickers. “Bitch, are you working?”

Odette, ever the enabler, grins. “Be nice, Vi. Our Fallon is a hero.”

They’re both laughing, and I let out a long suffering sigh, rubbing at my aching temples. I swear, my shoulders feel like they’re carved from stone at this point. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done when it feels like someone’s been using my spine as a tension rod?

“I didn’t really have a choice,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair and rolling my neck until it gives a satisfying pop.

My office is usually my sanctuary, a place of warmth and control, but today, it feels more like a war zone. The large mahogany desk that once looked sleek and professional is now covered in stacks of paper, resumes, and financial reports. The floor-to-ceiling windows on one side let in too much light, making my head throb harder, but at least they offer a view of the city skyline instead of the disaster on my desk.

“So what’s the crisis this time?” Odette asks, arching a perfectly groomed brow.

“My Boston location had a walkout,” I say flatly, gritting my teeth at the memory. “The manager refused to tell me why, and now I have to shut it down temporarily.”

“Oh, shit.” Violet’s face scrunches in concern. “What about the brides’ dresses?”

On the screen, she looks comfortably curled in her nest, makeup-free, hugging a bright purple pillow that’s only a few shades lighter than her hair. Lucky bitch. She looks so cozy, so unbothered, while I’m here drowning in responsibilities.

I let out another exhausted sigh as I start shuffling the stacks of resumes, separating them into dramatic piles—” Absolutely Not” and “Qualified.”

“Luckily, there were no outstanding orders—somehow. But something felt off, so I hired a financial investigator. Something about the numbers isn’t adding up, and I’m not about to get screwed over by someone playing dirty with my business.”

I almost laugh to myself at how ridiculous it sounds. But knowing my luck? It’s probably worse than I think.

Odette lets out a breathy sigh through the video, and I immediately take notice. She sounds slightly winded, and it takes me a second to really look at her.

Her orange-blonde hair is curled around her face, slightly damp at the edges from the wind. She’s dressed in workout clothes—leggings, a fitted top, and a light jacket tied around her waist. I squint at the screen, suspicion curling in my chest.

“O, what are you doing?”

Before she can answer, Violet groans loudly, throwing her hands up like she’s just discovered a crime scene. “O, come on. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Odette rolls her eyes dramatically, letting out another breath as she shifts the camera slightly. “I’m headed to the gym. Don’t worry, I borrowed Henry.”

The screen tilts, shifting the view, and Henry’s back enters the frame. My giant, intimidating, no-nonsense bodyguard, keeping pace just slightly ahead of her, his presence a silent but undeniable force. He’s dressed in his usual dark suit, barely even winded, his sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

The second his gravelly voice rumbles through the speaker, some of the tension leaks out of my chest. “Hey, kid. Did your… friends get home okay?”

I exhale, not even realizing how tightly I’d been wound up until now. I didn’t realize how afraid I’d been of my best friends. I don’t know if I would survive without them. They are my one constant in this life. I know Mom loves me, but she has other priorities. I should call her. 

“Oh, yes. Each one had a family member pick them up. Some needed a little extra help, but I think they’ll all be okay in time. Robert says hi, by the way.”

I keep my tone light, but we both know we’re being deliberately vague. I think Voss’ paranoia has bled into me because I can’t shake the feeling that discussing this too openly—even now—is dangerous.

Once Robert finished ushering the omegas inside, something shifted. It was like Callie fully came back to life. Thank the Gods, because she was really starting to worry me. She initially reacted to me, then returned to how she was when they arrived. The way she’d been staring blankly, barely reacting, barely breathing. It had sent something cold into my chest. But the second Robert was safe. It was like her soul snapped back into place.

There were more hugs, tears, and whispered promises that they’d be okay. Kingston made sure they all got home safely.

I spent time with each of them, ensuring they were clean, comfortable, and not alone. We had already stocked up on extra sweats before the rescue, knowing they’d need something warm and soft to slip into. The house had plenty of unused rooms, and we set them up in one of the larger, empty ones on the other wing. They refused to be separated, so we made sure they didn’t have to be.

I stayed with them as they called their packs, their families. Some of the conversations were quiet, soft sobs and whispered reassurances. Others were loud, frantic, packs demanding to know where their omegas had been taken. I held a few of them as they broke down mid-call, their bodies shaking with the weight of fear and relief crashing together all at once.

But my heart still aches the most for Mary.

She was the one they had the longest. She was so small, so frail, her body nothing but sharp angles beneath her oversized clothes. She was so weak she couldn’t even hold the phone, so I had to put it on speaker for her.

And I will never forget how the man on the other end of that call sounded.

The moment he answered, his voice was soft, hesitant—like he had already resigned himself to never hearing from her again.

I swallowed hard, choosing my words carefully. “Hi, my name is Fallon. My pack is the Rosetti pack. We recently…” I pause, searching for a way to say it that won’t break him. “Acquired something that was stolen from you. That we would very much like to return.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then his voice shifts. It goes from tired and broken to sharp and cautious, words carefully measured.

“The Rosetti pack?” A pause. “I’m aware of the company and their reputation for… acquisitions.”

I matched his tone, keeping it deliberately business-like. “Ah yes, we came across something that belongs to you while acquiring other missing assets.”

His breath shudders so hard that he suddenly breaks into a coughing fit.

And then Mary, leaning heavily against my shoulder, manages to whisper in the weakest, rasping voice—“Miles.”

The sound that comes through the phone shatters me.

A loud, gut-wrenching sob rips through the line, followed by chaos in the background. Desperate voices demanding to know what’s happening, people scrambling. That sound still haunts my dreams. I wake up in terror most nights. I’ve seen a lot of things since I became their wife, but that sound. It was the worst thing that I’ve ever witnessed.

After several more promises, I gave him the address and hung up. Less than thirty minutes later, her pack arrived. I was still helping Mary to the door when they stormed inside. She could barely walk, the sweats hanging too loose off her starved frame, making her steps uncertain. But the moment she saw them, she let out a broken, breathy sob, and her legs gave out.

I managed to keep her up and stepped aside as they grabbed her, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Their reunion solidified everything for me.

This.

This is why we do the things we do.

The four of them came home that night exhausted and covered in blood. Jace was the first thing I saw, a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around his arm. His face was hard, pissed off, coiled like a predator still waiting to strike.

I felt my stomach drop, panic clawing up my throat. “Jace.”

Kingston barely glanced up from where he was rolling his sleeves back down. “It’s nothing. Just a graze.”

I whipped back to Jace, my eyes scanning him for anything worse. He let out a long, slow breath, shaking his head.

“A bullet just skimmed me. It’s more of a burn than a wound.”

I still fretted over him, hovering, hands hovering over his arm, but before I could really spiral, he grabbed me.

One hard yank and I was flush against his chest, my breath catching.

Then he buried his face in the juncture of my neck and shoulder, breathing me in, holding me so tight it felt like he was trying to anchor himself with my scent.

I melted into him, exhaling slowly.

They’ve done three more extractions since that night. Some of the omegas were taken and almost lost forever.

Violet’s voice brings me back to the call. “O, are you going to the gym because you want to or because someone made you think you were less?” 

My heart aches when Odette falls silent, the screen still filled with her hesitant expression before she carefully schools it into something neutral.

Odette is stunning, yet I know she doesn’t see herself as we do. She’s curvy, full-figured in a way that screams soft, feminine power. She isn’t even overweight—just generously built, with plush curves that only add to her beauty. But because her waistline isn’t tiny, because she doesn’t fit into the rigid, suffocating beauty standards shoved down our throats, she’s endured more than her fair share of snide comments and cruel whispers.

Not from her family, thankfully. If either Violet or I had ever heard so much as a peep of that kind of bullshit, there would have been hands thrown immediately.

“Odette,” I start, my throat tightening, trying to find something, anything, to say that might convince her to see herself the way we do.

But she cuts me off before I can. “I’ve got to go, guys. Love you.” And just like that, her screen goes black.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping, the weight of my helplessness settling deep. “I really wish she could see herself the way we do. She’s a beautiful woman and kind as hell.”

“Preach it, sister.” Violet’s voice is sharp, laced with an edge of protective anger. I glance back at the screen and shake my head.

“I have to go, Vi. I can’t handle this right now. You be careful and stay safe. Love you.”

She nods, her blue eyes flashing with frustration, but she doesn’t argue.

When the call ends, I let out a long breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. The dull ache in my temples has transformed into a full-blown headache that throbs behind my eyes, pounding with every beat of my heart.

A soft knock on my office door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. I blink, straightening up.

“Come in.”

The door bursts open, and a whirlwind of warmth and energy sweeps into the room. Before I can react, I’m scooped up effortlessly, lifted like I weigh nothing as Romano settles into my chair—only with me in his lap.

His arms wrap around me possessively, burying his face in my neck. He inhales deeply, groaning in satisfaction. “Ahh, much better. I was lonely. I missed my little love.” His voice is smooth and affectionate, his hold around me firm but not suffocating. Just solid. Warm.

I melt into him, resting my head against his broad chest, my fingers curling into his shirt. “I missed you too, Ro.”

His grin is devastating, bright, and full of mischief as he brushes my hair away from my face, trailing his fingers down my cheek.

His touch is so gentle that it makes my throat tighten. “What are you doing in here besides stressing?” His tone is playful, but I can hear the concern beneath it.

I exhale, explaining everything—Odette, the endless stack of resumes, the frustration, the stress weighing on me.

His frown deepens, his brows pulling together. “I don’t like you upset.” He taps his fingers against my knee, thoughtful. “I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

I tilt my head back, peering up at him with narrowed eyes. “Oh yeah?”

His grin spreads slowly and dangerously, and my breath catches in my throat. Goosebumps prickle my skin as the atmosphere between us shifts.

Romano leans down, capturing my lips in a kiss that starts soft, teasing— until he nips at my bottom lip, making me gasp.

And then he takes advantage.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, teasing, tasting. I don’t stand a chance. I’m utterly consumed, my body pressing closer on instinct. The heat between us ignites like a spark catching dry kindling.

When he finally pulls away, we both breathe harder, his lips kiss-swollen and slightly smug. His eyes flick over my dazed expression, and his voice drops into something low and satisfied. “Oh, little love… I need a better taste.”

I barely have time to process before he stands with me still in his arms. Romano lowers me slowly like he has all the time in the world. Like he wants to savor every second, tease me with the anticipation of what’s coming next.

But I don’t want slow.

I don’t want gentle, measured, teasing.

I want him.

I take one step back, my breath coming faster, my hands moving before I even think about it. I grab the hem of my sweater and yank it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind me, uncaring where it lands.

Romano’s eyes darken instantly, his pupils dilating as his gaze devours every inch of bare skin revealed to him.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, raw and approving, and the sound sends a hot, electric thrill through my veins.

“Fuck, little love.” His voice is rough, wrecked, already thick with hunger. He pulls his glasses off and sets them on my desk. 

His hands go to the collar of his own shirt, but he doesn’t just pull it off— he rips it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side. The sight of him—golden skin stretched over hard muscle, broad chest rising and falling with barely contained restraint, the ink swirling down his arms and across his ribs—makes my mouth go dry.

He steps forward, closing the space between us, his bare skin brushing mine, and I shiver from the heat radiating off his body.

His hands find my waist, sliding up my sides, fingers tracing the curve beneath my ribs. His touch is light, teasing, not nearly enough.

“I swear to the gods,” I breathe, already impatient, already aching. “If you don’t touch me properly—”

Romano grins, the wicked, cocky smirk of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Patience, little love.” His voice drips with amusement, but his hands are already sliding higher, tracing the edge of my bra, his thumbs grazing over sensitive skin.

I let out a frustrated whimper, arching into him, and his control fractures just enough.

He grabs me, crushing me against him, and suddenly, his mouth is on mine again—hot, demanding, claiming.

I moan into him, fingers digging into his bare shoulders, nails scraping against the muscle there. He growls, the sound vibrating against my lips as his hands slide down, gripping my ass, lifting me effortlessly.

I don’t hesitate—I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the solid heat of him between my thighs.

“Couch.” It’s the only word I manage before he’s moving, carrying me like I weigh nothing.

He doesn’t even look where he’s going—he knows. One second, I’m wrapped around him, his mouth trailing fire down my throat. The next, I’m on my back on the couch, Romano caging me beneath him, his weight pressing me into the cushions, exactly where I want him.

His lips trail down my jaw, down my neck, teeth scraping, sucking at the most sensitive points, and I can feel myself melting beneath him, coming undone before he’s even truly begun.

I don’t want to go slow.

And from the way he’s looking at me, breathing heavily above me, neither does he.

And gods, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Romano’s weight presses me into the couch, firm, solid, exactly where I want him. His bare chest is scorching hot against mine, the feeling of his skin, his muscles shifting beneath my touch, making my entire body tighten in anticipation.

I writhe beneath him, trying to get closer, trying to create friction where I need it most, but the bastard grins against my throat, dragging his teeth over my pulse. “Impatient, little love?”

“You’re talking too much.” I snap back, digging my nails into his shoulders, and his breath hitches, his body tensing over me.

His hands slide lower, fingers brushing just under the band of my bra, teasing along the swell of my breasts. I let out a soft whimper, my back arching instinctively into his touch, silently begging for more. His lips find my collarbone, then the dip between my breasts, kissing and nipping as he moves lower, his breath scorching against my flushed skin. “Gods, you’re stunning.” His voice is almost reverent, his eyes heavy with heat and something deeper that makes my stomach flip.

I don’t have time to process it before he’s gripping my thighs, spreading me wider beneath him, slotting his body between my legs. The rough fabric of his jeans presses against my core, and I let out a broken gasp, rocking my hips up to meet him.

Romano curses, gripping my hips to still me, his fingers digging into my skin like he’s barely holding on.

“Careful, little love.” His voice is strained, his control hanging by a thread.

“Or what?” I breathe, challenging, taunting. I lift my hips again, pressing against him, feeling just how hard he is through our clothes.

The air crackles between us, and then his restraint snaps. Romano growls low in his throat, his hands sliding up my ribs, thumbs dragging beneath the lace of my bra. “Or I stop.” And then he hooks his fingers under the band of my bra, dragging it up, exposing me to him.

His breath catches, his pupils blown wide, his lips parting slightly like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Fucking perfect.” Before I can respond, before I can even think, his mouth is on me, hot and wet, tongue flicking over my nipple as he sucks me into his mouth.

A strangled moan escapes me, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He groans against me, the vibration sending a sharp spike of pleasure straight to my core.

His hands are everywhere, palming my other breast, dragging down my stomach, gripping my waist, leaving scorching paths of heat with every touch.

I am burning, unraveling, coming apart beneath him, and we are still fully dressed. That won’t do. With shaking hands, I reach between us, fingers fumbling for the button of his jeans.

Romano chuckles against my skin, nipping at my breast before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. “Eager, are we?” His voice is pure sin, deep and teasing, but there’s a wildness in his eyes, a hunger he’s barely holding back.

I pop the button open, slowly dragging the zipper down, keeping my eyes locked on his. “I told you you were talking too much.”

His eyes flash with something dark, something dangerous. “Then let me put my mouth to better use.” And with one smooth motion, he hooks his fingers in my leggings, dragging them down my legs and tossing them aside, leaving me in nothing but my underwear beneath him.

I barely get a breath in before he presses me back into the couch, his mouth capturing mine, stealing the air from my lungs.

And I am more than willing to let him.

Chapter Eleven

Romano

March 30th

2:15 P.M

Fallon’s scent is everywhere, thick and sweet as honeyed peaches, saturating the air and making my head spin. I’m drowning in her. She’s beneath me, beneath my hands, beneath my mouth, and I swear to the Gods, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. Her skin is hot under my touch, her body pliant and eager, arching into me, pulling me closer, giving herself over like she was made for me.

I barely register her fingers working my jeans open, her teasing words vibrating in my ears.

“I told you you were talking too much.”

Fuck.

She has no idea what that does to me.

Her blue eyes burn into mine, pupils wide, lips swollen from my kisses. She’s breathless, needy, so fucking perfect, and she doesn’t even try to hide how much she wants me. I want to devour her. “Then let me put my mouth to better use.”

I grip the waistband of her leggings, dragging them down in one swift motion, baring more of her to me. My chest tightens at the sight. She’s laid out beneath me, her hair a wild mess against the couch, her body flushed, trembling slightly.

I drag my fingers up her thigh, slow, teasing, feeling the way her muscles tense and shudder under my touch. “So pretty, little love,” I murmur, my voice almost unrecognizable—deep, wrecked.

I lean down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee, then another, higher this time. She whimpers, her fingers twitching like she wants to grab me, hold me where she needs me most.

I grin against her skin, teasing, testing, savoring. “You smell so fucking good,” I growl, inhaling deeply, my lips trailing fire up the soft curve of her inner thigh. 

Fallon’s breath stutters, her fingers finally snapping, burying themselves in my hair, tugging, pulling me closer. “Ro,” she gasps, pleading.

Fuck. That sound.

I’m going to ruin her.

I let out a low chuckle, nipping at the sensitive skin just beneath the band of her underwear, grinning when she shudders. “Say please, little love.”

She makes a noise that’s half frustration, half desperation, and I fucking love it. She shifts beneath me, her hips lifting in silent demand, but I press her down, keeping her still, keeping her right where I want her. She finally breaks. “Please, Romano.”

I snap.

I drag her panties down, tossing them aside, and before she can take another breath, I bury my face between her thighs.

Her back bows off the couch, a sharp, wrecked cry spilling from her lips. I grip her hips hard, holding her down, holding her open, and take what’s mine. She writhes, gasps, moans my name, and I eat it up like a man starved. I told her I needed a better taste. And I intend to savor every fucking second.

Fallon is wild beneath me, her fingers fisting in my hair, pulling hard like she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart too fast.

Oh, little love, that’s not how this works.

I flatten my tongue, dragging it through her folds, humming at the taste.

Fuck.

Sweet and sinful, just like her.

She’s drenched, her slick coating my lips, my chin, and I lap it up greedily, sucking, flicking, teasing, worshiping. Her thighs tremble against my cheeks, her body bowstring tight, her breath ragged. “Ro,” she gasps, her voice breaking, and the sound sends a sharp jolt straight to my cock.

I growl into her, sucking her clit into my mouth, swirling my tongue, holding her down when she jerks, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

“Too much?” I murmur against her, my voice rough, teasing, laced with dark amusement.

She whimpers, shaking her head.

“No, no—please don’t stop.”

Gods, she’s perfect.

I grip her thighs tighter, spreading her wider, pressing her further into the couch, keeping her exactly where I want her. I can feel her getting close, her body tensing, her moans turning into soft, desperate cries. She’s right there—

And then I stop.

Her breath catches violently, her fingers tightening in my hair, her hips rocking up instinctively, searching for friction.

“Romano!” she nearly wails, her voice high and desperate, her eyes wide and shocked when I pull away just enough to smirk up at her.

“I told you, little love,” I rasp, dragging my tongue lazily along her inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh. “You should’ve let me take my time.”

She groans in frustration, hips jerking, and I chuckle darkly, licking my lips, savoring the taste of her still lingering on my tongue. I slide up her body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up the center of her stomach, up the valley between her breasts, not stopping until I’m hovering over her.

She’s panting, flushed, her blue eyes glazed and utterly wrecked. And we’re just getting started. I grind against her, letting her feel just how hard I am through my jeans, and she lets out a shuddering gasp, her nails digging into my shoulders.

“You’re evil,” she breathes, her lips parted, trembling.

I chuckle, kissing the corner of her mouth, dragging my nose along her cheek, and inhaling deeply. “And you love it.” I let her tear my jeans open, push them down enough to free my cock, her small hands wrapping around me, squeezing just enough to make me groan. 

“I do,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to mine and biting my lower lip.

And just like that, whatever restraint I had left shatters. I pin her beneath me, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing hard.

“I hope you’re ready, little love,” I whisper, rolling my hips against her, feeling the heat of her against me.

She looks up at me, utterly unafraid, utterly wanting, utterly mine. “Stop teasing and ruin me, Romano.”

And fuck if I don’t intend to.

I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head, my grip firm but not bruising. She gasps, eyes widening, chest rising and falling quickly as her lips part in anticipation.

She loves this.

She loves being at my mercy.

And fuck, I love it too.

I take a moment to drink her in. Her flushed cheeks, the wild mess of her dark blue hair fanned out against the couch, the way her breath hitches when I grind against her, dragging the thick, aching length of my cock through her slick folds.

She whimpers, her legs twitching around my hips, her body arching toward me, but I keep my pace slow, taunting, teasing.

I lean in, my mouth hovering over hers, close enough that our lips brush when I whisper, “You think you can handle me, little love?”

She swallows hard, her hands flexing beneath my grip, but she doesn’t try to escape. No, she’s exactly where she wants to be. “I know I can.”

Oh, fuck me.

I thrust forward, sinking into her in one slow, thick stretch, letting her feel every inch as I fill her completely—her opening bumps against my slightly swelling knot. 

Fallon gasps, her body tightening around me, her fingers digging into my biceps. “Romano—”

I groan, my head dropping against her shoulder, my hands shaking with the effort it takes not to just fuck her into the cushions right then and there. She’s so goddamn perfect, so tight, so warm, wrapped around me like she was made for me. I grit my teeth, letting her adjust, my breath ragged as I press soft, reverent kisses along her collarbone. “Tell me how it feels, Little love.”

She whimpers, rolling her hips experimentally, her body squeezing me like she never wants to let go. “So good,” she whispers, her nails scratching down my back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. “More, Ro. I need more.”

Fuck.

I pull out just enough before slamming back in, dragging a cry from her lips that goes straight to my cock. My pace starts slow, deliberate, making her feel every inch of me as I take her apart piece by piece. She’s so goddamn responsive, so fucking beautiful like this, undone beneath me.

I watch her face, the way her brows draw together in pleasure, the way her mouth falls open, the way she can’t stop saying my name.

I kiss her, deep and slow, swallowing every moan, every gasp.

She’s mine. Mine to worship. Mine to ruin.

Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me in deeper, and I groan against her lips, snapping my hips harder, faster.

Fallon shatters beneath me, crying out, back arching, body pulsing around me. I growl as I thrust harder and faster. Her whimpers and moans are like music to my ears. I push her into another orgasm. It feels like her pussy is trying to suck me in and never let go. I find my own release, my rhythm stuttering as I bury myself to the hilt, locking my knot inside her. She cries out my name as she comes again, dragging me with her. My cum paints her insides, filling her up. A soft calm fills me. I manage to twist us until she is draped across my chest. We stay like that for a moment, panting, bodies locked together, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against my skin. I press a kiss to her temple, her jaw, her swollen lips.

And when she finally meets my gaze, smiling like I just gave her the world—I know I’d do it all over again.

“And they say you’re the sweet one.” She teases me. 

I can’t help but laugh. “I am the nicest of us, yes. That doesn’t mean I can’t ruin my wife when I want to.”

Jace

April 2nd

10:30 P.M

We were halfway through some ridiculous action movie Romano chose when Fallon suddenly shifted beside me. She pulled her feet from Kingston’s lap, swinging around to tuck them gently against Romano’s thighs. She chewed her lip for a second, clearly hesitant, before finally speaking.

“I...um. I don’t know anything about you,” she said softly, blue eyes searching our faces in turn. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but its vulnerability was deafening. “Not really. Not who you were before me, before this. I told myself I’d wait until you felt comfortable talking, but now I think we'll hit our fiftieth anniversary, and I’ll still be clueless. So... I’m asking.”

I glanced toward Kingston first, whose expression tightened briefly before smoothing back out into something carefully neutral. He wasn’t the type to spill secrets easily, but Fallon had changed us all in more ways than we could count.

I took a deep breath, realizing this was probably the right moment. Romano gave me a reassuring nod, his hand absentmindedly massaging Fallon’s ankles in slow circles. Voss sat silently on the other side of Kingston, his face utterly blank, though I could already see the shadows forming behind his eyes.

“All right,” I began quietly. My voice came out rougher than I’d intended, but Fallon only leaned in closer, her warmth comforting me even as memories threatened to pull me under. “We all ended up in the same group home when we were kids. Different reasons, but…” I shrugged, suddenly unsure how to continue.

“You first,” Romano prompted gently. His eyes were steady and supportive. Fallon’s expression was pure openness, so sweet it hurt.

I sighed, feeling the weight of old memories drag at me. “My parents died when I was ten. Car accident. But... it wasn’t the tragedy everyone assumed.” My gaze dropped, throat tightening. Fallon reached out, her fingers brushing against mine, grounding me instantly.

“They weren’t good people,” I admitted slowly, forcing out words I'd never shared aloud. “They were...abusive. Physically. Emotionally. You name it, they did it. It wasn’t a home—it was a hell. When they died, I didn’t even cry. I was relieved. The state put me in the group home after that, and even though it wasn’t paradise, it was safe. It gave me Voss.”

Voss snorted humorlessly, his eyes distant, haunted. Fallon’s gaze softened toward him. “You came next?”

“Yeah.” Voss’s voice was calm, almost detached. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “My parents were monsters. The kind you only read about, except it was my life.” His eyes lifted slowly to Fallon’s. “They liked to hurt me. Torture me, lock me in small spaces for days, and leave me hungry and bleeding. They broke me in ways I still haven’t fixed.” He laughed darkly, bitterness threading every word. “That’s why I’m fucked up, Fallon. I’m not wired right. Too much was taken from me.”

Fallon looked stricken, her eyes glistening. “Voss…” she started, but he shook his head softly, his expression gentle for once.

“You asked,” he murmured, voice thick. “But it’s okay. I’m used to living with ghosts.”

“Kingston and Romano arrived last,” I interjected quietly, giving Voss a chance to pull himself back from the edge. “King came from money, but his parents were cold as ice. Didn’t want anything to do with him.”

Kingston nodded once, tension radiating from every line of his body. His voice was clipped, tight. “My family had wealth, power, connections—but no love. My parents saw me as an inconvenience, a burden. I was a piece of furniture, something to show off at events, then forgotten. They eventually dropped me at the home to get rid of the nuisance altogether.”

I glanced at Romano, who gave us all a strained but steady smile. “Romano came in with Kingston. King basically adopted him from day one.”

Romano’s expression turned slightly embarrassed, but he leaned into Fallon’s touch, clearly soaking up her gentle presence. “I had good parents. Warm, loving. But I was the youngest of five boys—all alphas. My older brothers...” He faltered slightly, looking away. “They weren’t kind. I was the runt. Too soft, too weak, too nerdy. They teased me relentlessly, beat me up, and made me feel worthless every chance they got. I learned that if I smiled enough and laughed it off, they’d get bored and leave me alone. That’s how I survived—by pretending to be happy, even when I wasn’t.”

He sighs. “When my mom died of cancer, my fathers slowly faded; they died only a few days later. My brothers tossed me out on the streets. I got picked up by the same counselors who got Kingston.”

Fallon’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as she looked at each of us, absorbing the darkness we’d just laid bare. Her voice shook slightly, but her gaze was fierce.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, reaching for Romano first and cupping his face gently before turning to Kingston, then Voss, and finally resting her gaze back on me. “But thank you for telling me. I won’t waste the trust you’ve given me. I promise.”

I nodded slowly, throat thick with emotion. “We trust you completely, Fallon. And we’re all fucked-up men, but somehow you make it better.”

Voss exhaled softly, eyes shadowed but less haunted than before. “Yeah, Princess. Somehow, you’re our cure.”

The room is quiet again, but this silence feels heavier than before, weighted down with everything we’ve shared. Fallon’s curled against the couch, feet resting in Romano’s lap, his thumb gently tracing circles on her ankle, grounding her as she takes a deep, shaky breath.

"I suppose it’s my turn now," Fallon whispers, her eyes dropping to her lap, fingers nervously plucking at the sleeve of her oversized sweater. The playful, fierce woman we love seems suddenly fragile, and my protective instincts rise, wanting to shield her from whatever pain she’s clearly about to re-live.

"My parents were married, but my dad was a beta. Mom was alpha, strong, focused, and fiercely career-driven. I think she always intimidated him," Fallon begins softly, the firelight reflecting warmly off her face, making her expression seem softer yet more distant. Kingston gently tightens his arm around her shoulders, encouraging her to continue.

"My dad—he was soft-hearted, gentle. The kind of guy who’d rescue injured animals or slip candy into my pockets before school. Mom, though… She was all about achievement and reputation. She loved me in her way, but she was never affectionate. He balanced her out."

Her voice grows rough, and she hesitates briefly, swallowing hard. "One day, when I was six, he didn’t come home. I waited for him by the front door. When I asked Mom where he was, she barely looked up from her paperwork. He told me he had gone away and wouldn’t be coming back. Just like that—cold, final."

Romano softly squeezes her ankle, and Fallon’s eyes lift briefly to his, offering him a weak, grateful smile before continuing. "I found out later, when I was older, that he’d found his true mates. He and Mom weren’t bonded, just married, so they had no true tie to hold him back. He chose them, left us behind without looking back, leaving Mom buried in debt and me…" Her voice cracks slightly. "He forgot me. Just erased his own child from existence."

A tear slips quietly down her cheek, and I watch as Kingston carefully brushes it away, his movements tender, reverent. My chest tightens, fury rising at the thought of anyone—let alone her father—hurting Fallon that deeply.

"When I turned eighteen, I decided I needed closure," Fallon admits quietly, twisting her fingers tightly. "I tracked him down, expecting to find some grand life with the pack he’d chosen. Instead, I found him at a homeless shelter, abandoned again. His pack had kicked him out after their omega got pregnant—apparently, a beta’s genes weren’t good enough to pass on. Karma had clearly caught up with him."

She pauses, her breathing ragged, clearly battling guilt. "I wish I could say I was the better person. I wish I could tell you I walked away. But I didn’t." Her voice trembles, eyes glassy. "I walked right up to him, introduced myself, and when he reached out to me, trying to act as if he’d missed me as if nothing had ever happened…I told him he deserved every ounce of misery life had given him. I told him he deserved to feel the same abandonment I had and that I’d never forgive him."

Fallon exhales slowly, eyes distant now, and pain radiating off her in waves. "I found out a few months later that he killed himself after that. And even though logically I know it wasn’t my fault, I live with it. Every day. The knowledge that my last words to my father probably pushed him over the edge."

Voss shifts uncomfortably, eyes darkening with an anger that’s purely protective, the same possessive fury mirrored in all our expressions. None of us speaks, not yet, understanding Fallon needs to get this out—uninterrupted and raw.

Her voice drops to a whisper. "That’s why I usually just tell people Mom got a donor. It’s easier, cleaner. It keeps them from looking at me like I broke something that couldn’t be fixed."

Romano moves first, gently lifting Fallon’s feet so he can slide onto the couch beside her. He pulls her carefully against his chest, kissing her temple, whispering reassurance that’s too soft for me to hear. Kingston’s grip on her tightens protectively, and even Voss moves closer, as if instinctively needing to keep her safe, sheltering her between us.

"You didn’t break him, Fallon," I finally say, my voice rough with suppressed emotion, drawing her gaze toward me. "He broke you first. You’re not responsible for his choices."

She blinks, more tears spilling over, her blue eyes reflecting the firelight, heartbreakingly beautiful despite the anguish filling them. "I know that logically. But emotionally…sometimes I’m still that six-year-old waiting for someone to tell me I matter enough not to leave."

I lean forward, capturing her gaze, needing her to understand. "You matter, Fallon. To us. We won’t ever leave you."

Romano nods fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. "Never, Little Love."

"Always yours," Kingston adds, voice soft but firm, a vow he clearly intends to keep.

Voss shifts slightly, brushing his fingers across her cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. "No one leaves. Ever."

She relaxes slowly into us, the tension finally easing from her shoulders as she absorbs the weight of our promises. Fallon’s eyes close, breathing evening out, exhausted by her confessions and overwhelmed by our unwavering support.

And as she drifts off in our arms, I silently vow again—we’d keep that promise. No matter what.

Chapter Twelve

Fallon

April 11th

2:13 P.M

I blinked awake slowly, warmth wrapped around me like a comforting cocoon. My body felt heavy and relaxed in a way only Voss could make me feel. Stretching slightly, I opened my eyes to see him still asleep beside me. His features were softened and peaceful, his usually intense expression replaced by quiet vulnerability. It was a side of him rarely seen, and I savored it greedily.

We were nestled in my nest—pillows and blankets tangled around us, sheets sliding halfway off the bed. My clothes from work lay scattered in messy trails across the floor, abandoned hours ago when I'd come home intending a quick lunch break only to end up napping in bed with Voss.

I smiled softly to myself, eyes drifting over his broad, tattooed chest. He wore nothing but grey joggers that hung low on his hips, emphasizing the hard muscle beneath. My fingers twitched with the sudden urge to touch, to explore.

I shifted gently, careful not to wake him, propping myself up on one elbow to get a better look. My fingers brushed tentatively along his collarbone, skimming downward, tracing patterns across the ink decorating his skin. He didn't stir, only his breathing changing slightly as I pressed soft kisses against his shoulder, lips feather-light, teasing across the sharp line of his jaw.

When my fingertips danced lower, tracing his defined abs, a soft growl vibrated from his chest—a deep, sleepy rumble that sent tingles straight between my thighs. His muscles twitched as I ran my tongue slowly over the hard ridges of his stomach, tasting his skin, savoring the slight saltiness there.

His hand shot out suddenly, strong fingers tangling into my messy hair as his eyes fluttered open—dark, heavy-lidded, already filled with lust.

"Well, good morning, Princess," Voss rasped, voice rough from sleep, his gaze piercing me. A dark grin tugged at his lips, half sleepy and fully possessive. "Did you start without me?"

My cheeks warmed, but I smirked playfully up at him. "You looked comfortable. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Disturb me?" His hand tightened in my hair, gently tugging until I was forced to climb onto him, straddling his hips. I felt the hard press of him beneath me, evident through his joggers, making my heart race. "Disturb me anytime you want, Princess."

He sat up quickly, one hand still buried in my hair as he captured my lips roughly. He kissed me like he owned me, devouring me with every swipe of his tongue. The sensation stole the breath from my lungs, leaving me dizzy and gripping his shoulders tightly.

Voss’s free hand slipped beneath the hem of his oversized t-shirt I wore, fingers digging into my hips. I moaned softly as his thumb brushed against the lace edge of my panties.

"Already wet for me?" His voice was a dark whisper against my lips, filled with a hint of smug satisfaction. His thumb pressed against my clit through the lace, making my hips jerk forward instinctively.

"It's your fault," I teased breathlessly, rolling my hips against him, desperate for more friction. "Stop being so hot."

He laughed darkly, his hand sliding beneath my panties, fingers gliding over my slick folds. "Not my fault you're irresistible." With practiced ease, he flipped us over, pinning me beneath him in the softness of our nest.

I gasped, looking up into his intense gaze. Voss pulled the shirt off me, exposing my skin and leaving me flushed and exposed. He studied me hungrily, a slow smile curving his lips as he tugged my panties down my thighs, tossing them carelessly aside.

My body arched eagerly toward him as he leaned down, lips finding my neck, biting gently, soothing the sting with his tongue. He kissed lower, trailing down my collarbone, pausing to suck hard enough to leave a mark on the swell of my breast.

"Voss," I breathed, threading fingers through his dark curls, tugging slightly as his mouth latched onto my nipple, teeth grazing it lightly before soothing it with his tongue.

His fingers slid between my thighs, slipping inside my wetness, working me open until my thighs trembled. My hips rocked helplessly against his hand as his thumb circled my clit, sending bolts of pleasure through me.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly, making me groan at the loss. I watched, breathing heavily, as he slipped his joggers off, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the head already slick with precum. My thighs parted wider instinctively, my body craving him in a primal, overwhelming need.

His gaze never left mine as he settled between my legs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my slick opening. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he sank into me. I whimpered, feeling every inch stretching me, filling me until he was fully seated.

"Fuck, Princess," he growled, voice thick with possessiveness, eyes almost black with intensity. "You feel perfect. Like you were fucking made for me."

"I was," I panted, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, urging him to move. "Only for you."

His hips snapped forward, deep thrusts hitting all the right places, stealing the breath from me. My fingers clawed at his back, desperate to anchor myself as pleasure overwhelmed my senses.

Voss kissed me fiercely, swallowing my moans, his teeth catching my lower lip in a gentle bite. He angled his hips differently, hitting deeper, causing my body to shudder beneath him.

"Fuck, please," I begged, desperation clear in my voice, nails digging into his shoulders. My orgasm built rapidly, heat spiraling low in my belly, muscles tightening around him.

"Come for me, Princess," he commanded, voice dark and raw. "I need to feel it."

His thumb brushed my clit again, the extra sensation pushing me over the edge. Pleasure crashed through me, fierce and overwhelming. My body convulsed around him, stars bursting behind my eyelids as I cried out his name, clinging to him like he was the only anchor in my world.

With a rough growl, Voss thrust deep once more, his knot pressing insistently at my entrance. Pleasure and anticipation twisted sharply in my gut as he held my hips, pushing forward until the wide stretch burned deliciously. He surged forward again, his knot locking tightly inside me.

I gasped, the sensation pushing me into another climax, so intense my vison goes white. Voss groaned roughly as he came, his warmth spilling deep inside me, filling me until I felt it start leaking out around his knot.

“Fuck, Fallon.” Voss’s breathing was heavy, warm breath fanning my neck as he held me tight, knot deep inside me. I felt blissfully satisfied, relaxed, and safe. His fingertips traced lazy circles on my back, each touch raising tiny goosebumps.

“You know,” Voss murmured, voice sleepy, rough around the edges, “I still can’t believe you're our mate. It’s like we finally got something good we never deserved.”

I laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Funny joke, Voss.”

His whole body went rigid, and the soothing patterns stopped instantly. The silence stretched out awkwardly until I finally lifted my head, meeting his suddenly tense gaze.

The laughter died on my lips. “Voss, what’s wrong?”

His jaw clenched tightly, eyes darkening with discomfort and something else—panic. “I thought you figured it out.”

Confusion began to twist into dread, pooling in the pit of my stomach. “Figured what out?”

“You said you were made for me, and I thought. I thought you had figured it out.” Voss sat up carefully as soon as his knot released, shifting me gently to the side. He wouldn’t look at me directly, his expression of fear I'd never seen on him. He swallowed visibly, and my heart pounded.

“Voss, what are you talking about?” My voice trembled. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He shook his head slowly, eyes meeting mine with an intensity that pierced my soul. “You're our scent match, Fallon. You're our mate.”

My heart plummeted, disbelief spiraling into betrayal. I pulled away from him, feeling suddenly vulnerable and humiliated. “Are you telling me you all lied to me?”

He exhaled sharply, regret filling his eyes. “We didn’t think you would believe us.”

I pushed myself off the bed, scooping clothes from the floor, not caring what belonged to whom. “You knew the entire time?” I hissed, fury rising. My limbs shook uncontrollably as I stormed toward the bathroom.

“Fallon, wait—” He reached for me, but I jerked away violently.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped, slamming the bathroom door behind me.

Tears blurred my vision as I quickly cleaned myself up, desperately scrubbing away the feel of him, my emotions raw and overwhelming. My fingers trembled as I yanked my clothes on, fury burning hotter with every heartbeat.

When I opened the door, Voss stood waiting, eyes wild, frantic. “Fallon, please, it’s not—”

“I don’t want to hear another word,” I snarled, storming past him and down the stairs, heart hammering painfully in my chest. I can’t believe they lied. My heart feels like it's being ripped from my chest. They had a chance to tell me. It's been fucking months since we got married. Did they not tell me because then they could get rid of me later if they wanted to?

I found Kingston, Romano, and Jace gathered in the living room, laughing softly at some show. Their smiles vanished the moment they saw me, alarm flickering in their eyes when Voss barreled into the room behind me, panic evident on his usually composed face.

“Tell me the truth,” I demanded, my voice shaking, eyes blazing with betrayal and pain. “Did you know from the start I was your mate?”

Kingston stood slowly, expression guarded but eyes filled with guilt. “Fallon, listen—”

“Did. You. Know?” I shouted, voice cracking.

He glanced at Romano, then Jace, before meeting my gaze again. His jaw tightened. “Yes, we knew.”

“How?” My voice wobbled dangerously. “How could you know?”

Kingston exhaled heavily, eyes haunted. “Your mother. Your scent lingered on her clothes. We asked her about you and asked her to introduce us.”

My heart shattered. My mother knew? She knew and didn't tell me?

Kingston hesitated, then continued softly. “She refused initially, but we offered to pay off her debts. She finally agreed, allowing us to meet you. But we wanted you, Fallon. Not—”

“So you fucking bought me?” My voice was a whisper filled with loathing. I took a step back, nausea rising in my throat. “That practically makes me your whore.”

Romano flinched as though I’d slapped him. “No! Little love, it wasn’t like that—”

“You lied to me!” I screamed, tears streaming down my cheeks. “You manipulated me. I fell in love with you—all of you—for who you were without knowing about any fucking scent match. You had the advantage, the biology, and I had nothing. You deceived me.”

Turning sharply, I ran up the stairs, yanking out my phone and dialing Violet's number with shaking hands.

“Vi? Can I please stay with you for a few days? I promise I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

She sounded concerned, but immediately said yes. Grabbing a bag, I shoved clothes inside with trembling fingers, barely seeing anything through my tears. Each breath was painful, ragged. My chest burned with betrayal, anger, and crushing heartbreak.

When I returned downstairs, the four of them were blocking the front door, panic and pain stark on their faces—except Voss, whose eyes held a raw desperation I’d never seen before.

“Fallon, please,” Kingston begged, voice heavy with anguish as he blocked my path, his green eyes stormy with desperation. “We didn’t buy you. We would never do that—not like you think. Your mom was drowning in debt, and we saw a chance to help her and meet you. That’s it.”

I shook my head, bitterness burning deep in my chest. Tears blurred my vision, each breath feeling like it was tearing my chest apart. “You paid her debts to get me, Kingston! How am I supposed to feel? It makes me feel cheap—like some omega you could just buy on a whim.”

“You know it wasn’t like that, Fallon,” Romano pleaded, taking a step toward me with trembling hands outstretched, desperation radiating from every inch of him. “Please, little love. We fell for you before we even saw your face. We didn’t even know you. It was your scent—your scent drove us crazy, and when we met you, it was like finding our souls. You're everything we've dreamed of and never thought we'd deserve. We love you, Fallon. I love you.”

I shook my head, feeling tears flood my eyes. “But you lied to me! You knew I was your scent match this entire time. And no one bothered to tell me. How is that love?”

Voss suddenly surged forward, eyes wild, dark amber irises almost black with madness and pain. He looked broken, his hands clenched into fists, breathing erratic. "How dare you? How fucking dare you think you're nothing but a purchase to us? You’re not some omega we bought. You're everything. You fucking consumed every corner of my soul, Fallon! Before you, I was nothing but darkness—so hollow, so broken, nothing but a fucking shell pretending to be human. I never wanted anyone. I never cared if I lived or died, and I sure as hell didn’t believe in love until I smelled you on your mother.”

His words rushed out like knives, sharp, desperate, each syllable trembling. “You changed everything. You changed me! I've killed for you. I'd kill again without a second's hesitation. But I would die before treating you like a whore, Fallon! Don’t you see? You're my sanity. My entire fucking sanity. Without you, I will lose what's left of myself."

He grabbed his head, fingers pulling at his hair as if physically trying to keep himself together. "I love you more than breath. You saved me from the darkness eating away at me, and if you leave, I won't survive it.”

I stared at him, my heart cracking painfully, tears slipping freely down my cheeks. The agony in his eyes was so raw it stole my breath. The others closed around me, their expressions equally tormented. Kingston reached for me, his fingers brushing my cheek tenderly, voice hoarse with emotion. “Fallon, sweetheart, we never wanted to trap you. When we realized you couldn’t scent us, we decided together not to pressure you with that knowledge. We didn’t think you would believe us because of the contract.”

“But you kept it from me!” My voice broke. “It feels like a betrayal, Kingston.”

He winced, visibly hurt by the word. Jace stepped forward, quiet and grave, his voice almost a whisper yet heavy with emotion. “We were wrong, Fallon. We should have told you sooner. But we were terrified—terrified you’d think we were manipulating you if we admitted we knew from the start.”

“I love you,” Romano interjected softly, eyes pleading. “We love you, Fallon. Not because of some instinct, not just because you’re an omega—but because you’re Fallon. Smart, brave, beautiful, fierce as hell, and stubborn enough to break us all in half.”

Kingston nodded, emotion choking his usually calm voice. “I love you, little one. You’ve stolen our hearts, and I don’t want mine back. Ever.”

“I love you,” Jace said, intense blue eyes begging me to hear his truth. “And I never say anything I don’t mean.”

My knees trembled, my heart shattering into pieces as I took in their anguished faces. “I just… I need time to think.”

“Then think here,” Romano begged softly, desperation etched deeply into his features. “We won’t follow you around, won’t bother you. Just don’t leave us. Please, Fallon.”

I shook my head sadly, whispering, “I can’t. I need distance. I’m not saying I won’t come back. I need to breathe, to sort through everything.”

Without waiting for a reply, I rushed past them, slipping through their grasping hands and opening the front door before they could stop me. I heard Kingston curse softly, and Romano let out a choked sob, but it was Voss’s guttural scream—painful, wild, filled with unspeakable agony—that almost made me crumble right there on the porch.

The sound followed me, haunting every step as I ran, even as my soul begged me to turn back. How am I supposed to believe anything they say anymore?

I stumbled toward my car, my hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped my keys twice before finally managing to unlock the door. Sliding into the driver's seat, I slammed the door shut, gripping the steering wheel like it was my only tether to reality. I leaned my head back, closing my eyes tightly as my breathing came out in harsh, uneven bursts. I couldn’t shake the image of Voss's anguished face or the sound of his raw, shattered scream as I'd slipped through the door. It was a sound I knew I'd never forget, etched into my soul like a scar.

My phone buzzed in my hand, pulling me back to reality. Violet’s name flashed across the screen, and I quickly swiped to answer, needing to hear the comforting sass in her voice more than anything.

"Fallon? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?" Violet’s voice was sharp with worry, tension threading through her words. She knew something was seriously wrong, given I'd called earlier asking to stay at her place without explanation.

"I... I'm on my way, Vi," I choked out, tears threatening to spill again. My chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. "Things got bad. Really fucking bad."

"Talk to me, Fallon," she urged gently, her voice steady and soothing, an anchor in my chaos. "Tell me what happened."

“They—” My voice broke, cracking with the weight of hurt and betrayal. “They lied to me. Or maybe they didn't tell me everything. It doesn't even matter; I feel fucking betrayed.”

“What? Who? Your guys?” Violet sounded both confused and outraged on my behalf.

I swiped at the angry tears streaking down my cheeks, trying to catch my breath enough to drive. "Yeah, apparently, they've known from the very beginning that I’m their scent match. I didn’t know because, well, you know, I couldn’t smell anything. They paid off my mom's debts, Vi. They essentially bought me.”

There was stunned silence on the other end of the line for a beat before Violet hissed sharply, fury coloring her tone. "They did what?"

"They basically paid my mother off in exchange for marrying me," I admitted, my voice cracking painfully. "That’s why she pushed so hard. I feel so fucking stupid. Like...like some object they just decided they wanted."

"Oh hell no, that's not how this works," Violet growled protectively. "We both know those idiots adore you, but fuck—buying you from your mother? They better have a damn good explanation."

"They say it wasn't like that," I sniffled bitterly, finally starting my car and putting it into gear. "They said it's because we're mates. But all I heard was my mother sold me. She sold me, Violet."

She sighed heavily on the other end, a mixture of anger and heartbreak filling her voice. "Get here fast, Fallon. We'll talk it out, and I'll plot murder with you. Just...be careful. And if you feel like you're gonna lose it, pull over. Promise me."

"I promise," I whispered, grateful beyond words for her strength.

As I ended the call and started driving toward her house, I fought to silence the echoes of their desperate voices still ringing in my ears, begging me not to leave him.

Chapter Thirteen

Fallon

April 13th

5:09 P.M

I've never known guilt like this. It coils around me like a living thing, wrapping itself tightly around my heart and squeezing until breathing feels nearly impossible. Curled beneath Violet’s plush black duvet, I bury myself deeper into the comforting softness, desperately trying to hide from the ache burning through me. My chest feels hollow, empty without the familiar warmth of my pack. Without them, everything is colder, darker—lonely in a way that makes me physically ache.

I sigh softly, running a shaky hand through my tangled blue hair, a chaotic mess around my face. It matches the chaos swirling inside of me. My heart clenches painfully as I glance at the bedside table, illuminated by Violet’s dim lamp, the soft glow highlighting the photo wall across from me filled with memories of laughter and brighter days. I envy Violet’s uncomplicated life at this moment, though I know it hasn't always been easy for her, either.

Unable to help myself, I pick up my phone, heart aching with each notification I swipe through. My breath hitches as Voss’s texts flood the screen again, each one more unhinged and broken than the last. His pain is almost tangible, and I can feel it tearing through me, ripping open wounds that haven't even started healing.

I can’t fucking breathe. You took the air with you.

Did you really think you could walk away without destroying me, Fallon? Without breaking every piece of me I gave you?

I’m suffocating in this darkness. It’s dragging me under, and you’re the only light that keeps it from swallowing me whole. You’re fucking killing me, princess.

Answer me, even if it’s just to scream. To curse me. To hate me. Just don’t be silent. I’ll take your anger, your hatred. Anything but silence.

Come home. Hurt me if you need to. Punish me. Rip my fucking heart out—but just come home.

A sob escapes my throat, raw and painful, as I clutch the phone against my chest. I wish I could hate him, hate them, but instead, I just hurt. Voss’s words have shredded the protective numbness I was clinging to, exposing all my wounded pieces, and I feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly miserable without them.

My breath catches again when I move onto Kingston’s texts, his usual icy mask clearly cracked wide open, his desperation seeping through.

Fallon, please talk to us. Yell, scream, throw things, do whatever you need to do—just don’t shut us out.

I should have told you sooner. We all should have. I never meant to make you feel bought. You’re priceless, little one. Please come home.

I close my eyes against the tears, my body shaking as I flip to Jace’s messages. His usually stoic personality makes each vulnerable word stab deeper into my heart.

I miss you, kitten. The house feels empty without your sass. Please don’t stay away.

Please tell me what I need to do to make this right. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you the world if you’ll let me. Just don’t give up on us.

Finally, I brave Romano’s messages, knowing they’ll destroy me the most.

Little Love, I know you’re hurting. But so am I. You’re my everything. Please don’t take yourself away from me.

I can’t stop pacing. The house feels wrong. I keep thinking I see you, hear you laughing, but you’re not here. It’s killing me.

I choke back another sob, dropping the phone back onto the bed beside me. My body curls into itself, trembling with silent cries. They love me. I know they love me—I never doubted that. But they bought me from my mother like a goddamned commodity, and they hid it from me. The betrayal cuts deep, but even through the hurt, my body aches to feel their arms around me again.

The door creaks open slowly, the dim hallway light slipping in before Violet steps inside, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing me with a stern but worried expression. Her purple hair is piled into a messy bun, and she’s dressed casually in leggings and a loose, oversized sweatshirt.

“Alright, enough is enough,” she announces firmly. “You can’t keep hiding in here and wallowing. Get up, shower, get dressed. We’re going out for ice cream.”

I groan, pulling the duvet tighter around me, but she isn’t having it. Violet marches over and tugs the blankets away, giving me a stern look that softens slightly at my miserable expression.

“Come on, Fallon,” she says more gently. “You can’t stay here forever. You look like hell, and if we don’t at least get you sugar, I’m afraid you’ll wither away into a ghost. So up!”

Sighing dramatically, I push myself upright, my legs shaky beneath me. Violet wraps her arms around me briefly in a comforting hug. “It’s going to be okay, you know. Whatever happens, you have me.”

I manage a watery smile, squeezing her hand tightly. “Thank you, Vi.”

She nods once, determined. “Now let’s go drown your misery in a milkshake-like the adults we are.”

Laughing softly despite the lingering ache in my chest, I get up and head towards the bathroom, hoping the ice cream will numb some of this pain—or at least distract me from the chaos that’s waiting for me back home. She’s right. Moping won’t fix anything; despite it all, I don’t want to leave them. Looking at my phone for a moment, I send a group text. 

I'm okay. Physically, at least. I just needed some space to breathe, but I miss you so much that it's killing me. I'll come home tomorrow—we can talk then. Please don't do anything stupid until I get there. I love you guys.

Fallon

April13th

7:59 P.M

The chilly night air bites at my skin as Violet and I step out onto the deserted sidewalk, leaving behind the cozy warmth of the ice cream shop. I pull my jacket tighter around me, savoring the lingering taste of strawberry milkshake on my tongue. Despite the heaviness that still lingers in my chest, the evening with Violet had been exactly what I needed.

“Thanks for dragging my miserable ass out, Vi.” I bump my shoulder against hers affectionately, glancing up at her profile bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

She snorts, tugging her scarf higher around her neck. "Someone had to. Watching you mope around was depressing as fuck. Next time, at least put some eyeliner on and commit to the goth aesthetic."

I laugh, the first real, unburdened laugh I've had in days. It feels good to smile again, even if the ache in my chest hasn’t fully disappeared. We walk down the deserted sidewalk, our heels clicking softly against the cracked pavement. The neighborhood is unusually quiet tonight, shadows stretching long and thin beneath the sparse streetlamps.

Violet parked around the corner, a side street with fewer lights, and as we round it, my laughter dies abruptly. The hairs at the back of my neck lift in warning. A chill trickles down my spine, making goosebumps rise along my arms beneath my sweater.

“Vi,” I whisper urgently, my body tensing with sudden apprehension. "Do you feel that?"

She pauses, fumbling distractedly in her oversized bag, fishing out her keys, seemingly oblivious. "Feel what? It's freezing, Fallon. I told you we should've—"

Her voice fades to nothing when a large, rough hand clamps over my mouth, yanking me backward. Panic explodes inside me, and I kick back, adrenaline surging like fire through my veins. Violet spins sharply, her eyes widening in horror as she screams, the shrill sound echoing off the brick buildings. Her keys tumble from her trembling fingers, clattering harshly to the sidewalk, metallic echoes slicing through the silence.

"Fallon!" Violet lunges toward me, but another figure blocks her path. She's knocked aside, stumbling against the hood of the car.

I bite hard into the palm covering my mouth, tasting blood, feeling satisfaction when the man curses violently, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench away. I stumble forward, gasping for breath, heart pounding wildly in my chest as Violet shouts my name again, desperate and fearful.

Just as I spin around to fight, pain explodes at the side of my neck—a needle stabbing deep. Cold terror floods me, overwhelming the fight within as a burning sensation spreads rapidly through my bloodstream, robbing strength from my limbs. I blink hard, vision blurring. I sway, reaching out for Violet, but the world is already slipping away from me.

“Fallon!” Violet’s anguished scream echoes sharply through the night, slicing through me as my knees collapse. She scrambles toward me, only to be grabbed by another set of hands.

The drug surges brutally through my body, leaving me weightless and helpless. My vision darkens, streetlights blurring into vague pools of muted color as the ground rushes up. Violet's screams, stopping abruptly, are the last sounds that reach my fading consciousness. My name spills weakly from her, and the sinister, cruel laughter of our attackers echoes ominously through the darkness.

Jace

April 14th

2:06 P.M

I've lost track of how many times I've paced from one end of the living room to the other, my pulse roaring in my ears, the gut-deep dread growing heavier with each unanswered call. My chest feels tight like there's a fist squeezing relentlessly at my heart, slowly driving me insane. I glance at Romano, who's staring desperately at his phone as if sheer willpower could make it ring.

Kingston sits rigidly on the couch, his usual calm completely shredded, knuckles white from gripping his phone. His normally pristine appearance is disheveled—his dark shirt is rumpled, top buttons undone, sleeves hastily rolled up. Anxiety rolls off him in waves.

Voss is the most unsettling of us all. He stands near the window, utterly motionless, eyes vacant and lifeless. I've seen that look before—just never directed inward. He's breaking, and we’re helpless to stop it.

“It’s been too long,” Romano growls, anxiety thickening his usually cheerful voice. “Why isn’t she answering?”

Kingston sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched so tightly I worried his teeth might crack. “Maybe she’s still angry. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.”

“No,” Voss speaks, his voice icy, deadly quiet, pulling everyone's attention instantly. He doesn’t even look our way, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the window. “She wouldn’t punish us like this. She’s angry, but she isn’t cruel.”

I nod slowly, dread pooling heavier in my gut. He's right. Fallon isn't the type to ignore us this long. My thoughts spiral, dread coiling tighter.

“Did you hear anything from Violet?” I ask Romano, voice tight with tension.

“Nothing. Violet’s phone is off now too. Fuck.” He stands abruptly, pacing in tight, frantic circles, his fingers pulling roughly at his messy black hair. His glasses sliding almost off his face.

Voss has been silently staring out the window this whole time, but suddenly he moves, turning toward us slowly. His expression is blank, utterly devoid of warmth. The look in his eyes chills my blood—it's like seeing into an endless, empty void.

“Something happened to her.” His voice is cold, a stark contrast to the fear now obvious in his eyes. “This isn’t her ignoring us.”

Kingston’s entire body stiffens. “You think she’s been taken?”

Voss’s eyes darken further, his expression turning deadly, a silent confirmation. His fists clench and unclench like he’s seconds away from snapping completely.

Kingston wastes no time pulling out his phone again. “I’m calling Henry. If something’s happened, he might know.”

We’re silent, waiting anxiously until Henry answers. His familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room on speaker, calm but cautious.

“Henry, is Violet with you?” Kingston’s tone is clipped, almost desperate.

“No. I’m still with Odette.” Henry’s voice immediately sharpens, alert. “She was with Fallon. She told me they’d be together at her place. Did something happen?”

“We can’t reach either of them. Fallon hasn’t responded, and Violet’s phone is off. Can you locate them?”

“I’ll try, fucking hell,” Henry curses sharply. “I'll call you back.”

The line goes dead, silence stretching until Romano breaks it, voice edged with panic. “What if they’ve taken both of them?”

Kingston immediately shifts into command mode, standing swiftly, every muscle taut with urgency. “Romano, get eyes on security footage around Violet’s place. Jace, start making calls—every informant, every associate. Someone knows something. I texted Colby asking if she was there as well. They said no.”

The doorbell chimes through the house. He strides quickly to the door, yanking it open as Colby and John come rushing inside, both tense and visibly shaken.

“We were close when you texted.” Colby rumbles, voice thick with worry. “You think they have Fallon?”

Kingston gives a terse nod. “And Violet.”

John curses harshly, his fists clenched in helpless rage. Colby’s face pales visibly, his throat working as he swallows heavily. “Tell us what you need us to do.”

Within minutes, maps are spread across the table, marked up with every location we've already raided and several new targets we’ve yet to investigate. Romano returns, a haunted expression etched deep into his features as he silently hands over his tablet. Grainy security footage plays silently—Fallon and Violet laughing, completely unaware of the figures approaching behind them.

My heart stops as I watch the short struggle. Fallon fights like hell, rage and pride surging through me despite the terror choking my breath. She struggles until she’s limp, Violet’s frantic scream echoing from the phone, desperate and heart-wrenching.

Voss is barely holding on to control, his breath heavy, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Kingston’s eyes darken dangerously, his voice icy, unforgiving. “Everyone, now. We hunt them down. No mercy.”

Just as we move into action, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I almost ignore it, but the caller ID makes me pause—Fox, an old friend from foster care, is now part of an elite commando pack.

I answer, putting it on speaker. “Fox, this isn’t a good—”

“Jace, we need to talk.” His voice is serious, clipped. “We just got intel about omega kidnappings in the area looking for someone specific. I think we have something you'll want to hear.”

Kingston nods sharply, relief flashing briefly through his eyes. “Come over immediately. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“On our way.”

I end the call, breathing heavily as hope briefly flares within me. We move as one, unified in our desperation. Whatever it takes, whoever we have to kill—we’ll bring our girls home.

Fallon

April 14th maybe?

time unknown

My head pounds violently, each heartbeat sending sharp, punishing jolts of pain ricocheting through my skull. It feels like someone’s driving nails behind my eyes. Groaning weakly, I roll onto my side, instantly choking on the gritty filth coating the floor beneath me. It smells musty and vile, the scent nauseatingly unfamiliar.

Wait. Smells?

Confusion spikes through my foggy brain, mixing unpleasantly with my pounding headache. I’ve never smelled anything before. Panic claws at my chest as I slowly drag myself upright, fighting through dizziness that threatens to shove me back down. The metallic tang of copper floods my senses, thick and heavy, making bile rise in my throat.

Copper means blood.

Oh God—blood.

I reach toward my face with shaking hands, gently prodding around my nose. Pain explodes instantly, a searing, sharp agony so intense my vision blurs. I choke back a cry, my stomach turning violently. My hand comes away coated in crusted blood, dark and flaking against my trembling fingertips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. My nose feels slightly crooked, tender, and swollen like an overly ripe plum. A cold, terrified realization hits me: it’s definitely broken.

Panic takes hold, my breath coming faster, ragged. My heart pounds louder in my ears. Memories flash of every lousy action movie I’ve ever seen, heroes grimly forcing bones back into place, and I nearly gag. I can’t—I just fucking can’t do it. Yet, deep down, I know I have no choice. Either fix it now or suffer worse later.

Shaking violently, I brace my back against the wall, breathing heavily, fighting off nausea. Gathering what little courage I have, I place trembling fingers on either side of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding wildly as sweat beads across my forehead.

“One, two—fuck!”

I snap it back into place with a sickening crack. White-hot pain blinds me for a second, flooding every nerve-ending in agony so intense it rips a scream from deep in my chest. I slump forward, gasping, nearly retching from the sheer brutality of the pain.

“Fuck! Shit! Motherfucker!” My voice rasps harshly, a torrent of profanity pouring from my mouth, echoing around the dark, disgusting room.

Slowly, the immediate agony fades into a dull, relentless throb. With blurred vision, I lift my head and take stock of where I am for the first time.

The room is beyond filthy—a crumbling nightmare comes to life. Cracked plaster hangs from stained walls, dark mold crawling upward in ugly patches. The floor is covered in grime, littered with garbage, half-rotten food, empty bottles, and things I don't want to identify. The single dirty mattress in the corner smells strongly of decay, mold, and urine. The sourness of fear and misery hangs heavy in the air, suffocating, mixing nauseatingly with blood.

Blood I can still smell, sharp and real.

I jerk my head up at a small whimper, my pulse spiking anew. Across the room, huddled tightly together in a terrified knot, sit four other omegas. Male and female—faces pale beneath dirt-streaked skin, bruises dark and angry against their fragile bodies. Their clothes hang loose, as though they haven’t eaten properly in weeks. Each pair of eyes staring back at me holds raw, naked fear, pleading silently for help I don’t know if I can give.

A deep, raw ache blooms in my chest, gnawing at my insides with relentless fear. Is this really how it ends? Trapped in a filthy room, helpless and at the mercy of whoever took us? The dread tightens painfully in my throat, but before panic can consume me completely, a soft groan pulls my attention back.

Turning sharply, I see Violet sprawled on the floor beside me. Her petite frame is curled defensively inward, violet hair matted and tangled around her face. Her usually crisp blouse is now ripped at the collar, dirt and grime are smeared along her sleeves, and her jeans are torn and filthy from being dragged or thrown into this place.

“Vi,” I whisper hoarsely, crawling to her side and shaking her gently. Relief floods me as her eyes flutter open, clouded and heavy from the drug. “Violet, wake up. Come on, I need you with me.”

Her eyes blink rapidly, confusion quickly giving way to alarm as she takes in our surroundings. “Fallon?” she murmurs thickly, her voice rough. “What—where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, unable to keep the tremble from my voice. “We were drugged, and…I woke up here.”

Violet struggles to sit up, gripping my arm tightly as she scans the grim room in horror. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice cracks, and she looks down at her torn clothes, panic flaring across her face. My heart races as I glance down at myself, suddenly realizing the state of my own clothes—my sweater ripped at the hem and shoulder, my jeans dirty and torn at the knee. Panic spikes hard and sharp inside me.

“Oh god,” I whisper, terror seizing my heart. My stomach twists painfully. Did someone touch me while I was out? My hands tremble as I quickly check myself, fingers shaking, nausea rising. But my body doesn't feel violated; there's no unusual tenderness or pain. The relief almost buckles my knees, leaving me breathless.

“I think they just dragged us in here,” I say, my voice shaky with residual fear. Violet nods slowly, relief apparent in her wide eyes.

Taking a steadying breath, I straighten my shoulders, forcing confidence into my voice even though my insides still churn violently. “Vi, it’s going to be okay. My pack—they’ll find us. They won't rest until they do. Plus, I can’t forgive them if they don’t.”

Violet stares at me, the uncertainty in her gaze slowly giving way to fierce determination. She nods firmly, squeezing my hand so tightly it almost hurts. “Of course they will. Those men would burn down the entire world to get you back.”

Her certainty bolsters me, chasing away the last threads of doubt. I hold onto her hand, anchoring myself in her belief, and turn to the terrified group of omegas across the room. They're watching us anxiously, huddled so tightly together it seems as though they’re trying to become one entity.

I soften my expression, taking a cautious step toward them. “Hey,” I say gently, crouching slightly to make myself less threatening. “I’m Fallon. This is my friend, Violet. We’re going to find a way out of here, okay?”

They exchange wary looks. Fear etched into every tired face before one of them—a thin young man with messy, tangled blond hair and dark bruises shadowing his pale cheek—clears his throat. His voice is hesitant, trembling, barely audible in the oppressive silence. “Y-your pack…do you really think they’ll find us? Are they that powerful?”

I offer him a reassuring smile, hoping to calm some of the fear radiating from him. “They are. Believe me—they won’t stop until they do.”

He swallows hard, eyes darting anxiously between Violet and me as though trying to assess whether we’re telling the truth. “Who’s your pack?”

Pride swells in my chest, momentarily overwhelming the fear clawing at my gut. “I’m married to the Rosetti pack.”

A wave of shocked recognition sweeps through the small group. Wide-eyed stares meet mine, disbelief giving way to cautious hope. The blond omega’s jaw goes slack, and a girl with auburn hair and hollow, sunken eyes shifts closer to him, grabbing his arm.

“The Rosetti pack?” she whispers in disbelief. Her voice trembles with awe and a hint of desperation. “Like—the Rosetti Grey Solutions pack?”

Chapter Fourteen

Fallon

April 15th, by now

time unknown

I almost laugh at that but nod gently instead. “Yes, exactly them. And believe me, if anyone can find us, it's them. I promise. They have already rescued quite a lot of omegas and shut down holding houses.”

The blond male omega nods shakily, visibly trying to steady himself as he introduces himself. “I’m Elias,” he murmurs, then gestures weakly toward the auburn-haired girl. “This is Paige.” Paige manages a timid wave. He continues, pointing out each of the others, in turn—a quiet girl named Ana with dark curls and a redhead with a nasty cut across her cheek named Sophia. They all look back at me with varying degrees of hope and exhaustion.

“You said your pack has already rescued others?” Paige asks softly, eyes wide with cautious curiosity.

I nod, forcing confidence into my tone. “Yes, in the last month, we’ve found and rescued omegas from three different locations around the city.”

Elias's eyes widen suddenly as if connecting dots in his mind. “Wait, that was you? A guard was talking on the phone outside our room maybe a week or so ago. He was terrified and said someone was ‘picking off locations’ around the city. They thought it was another mafia group moving in on their territory.”

This time, I laugh softly and bitterly, amused despite the situation. “No mafia. Just my very determined husbands.”

The omegas exchange hesitant glances, hope cautiously taking root in their weary faces.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, before turning to Violet, who’s watching me with a quiet fierceness. “All right. First things first. We have to figure out if there's any way out of here.”

Violet nods firmly, already gathering herself. She’s pale, bruised, and shaken—but the spark in her eyes tells me she's far from defeated. We share a look, both understanding that we’ll face it together whatever comes next.

With a surge of determination, I step toward the door, ready to find any weakness we can exploit. My pack will find us, but I’m not about to sit helplessly and wait.

Reaching out, I twist the handle—locked. Of course, it is.

Frustration surges through me, white-hot and suffocating. I clench my jaw, exhaling sharply through my nose before turning to Violet. “Vi, please, tell me you’ve got a bobby pin on you.”

She’s already patting herself down, fingers searching every pocket—pockets we both know are empty. Her lips press into a grim line before she sighs, meeting my gaze with an apologetic wince. “Sorry, Fallon. Nothing.”

“Fuck.” The curse leaves my lips like a growl, followed immediately by a low, rapid stream of obscenities that would probably earn a round of applause from Voss. I press my fingers against my temples, trying to push away the lingering fog of the drug. Panic is a luxury I can’t afford right now.

I take a steadying breath, inhaling sharply through my nose—still sore as hell, but at least functional—and exhaling slowly through my mouth. Get it together. A locked door isn’t the end. We’ve faced worse.

“Alright,” I say, turning toward the group, voice low and firm. “We’re not sitting around waiting to see what happens next. Everyone start looking—anything sharp, a nail, a piece of metal, anything that could help us pick the lock.”

Violet nods immediately, already dropping to her knees as she sifts carefully through the scattered debris on the floor. The others hesitate for a brief second before slowly following her lead, their movements sluggish from exhaustion but fueled by the faintest flicker of hope.

I scan the room, forcing myself to focus despite the dull ache in my head and the underlying terror clawing at my chest. We have to move fast. We have to be ready.

Then, the sound of sharp, deliberate footsteps echo from beyond the door, heels clicking ominously against the hard floor.

I freeze.

A shiver lances down my spine, my blood running cold as my pulse kicks into a panicked rhythm. My mind clears in an instant, the adrenaline slicing through the lingering grogginess of the drug. Without hesitation, I flick my hand toward the others, silently gesturing for them to move back against the wall.

Violet grabs Elias’ wrist, tugging him with her as they huddle in the corner. Paige presses against Ana and Sophia, eyes wide with fear, their thin frames trembling. The whole room is holding its breath.

I remain standing in the center, feet planted firmly, fists curled at my sides. My heart pounds like a war drum against my ribs, but I don’t move. I refuse to cower.

The footsteps stop just outside.

A long, agonizing pause.

Then, the door swings open dramatically.

My breath catches, my spine stiffening as my mind races through possibilities—who it could be, what fresh hell they’re about to unleash.

Then I see her.

And rage explodes in my chest like a supernova.

Of all people, Marline saunters in, looking every bit as polished and smug as the last time I saw her. She’s a stark contrast to the filth-stained room around her—her black pencil skirt perfectly tailored, white silk blouse immaculately pressed, the pearls around her throat gleaming under the dim light like a noose she doesn’t know she’s already wearing. Her blond hair is twisted into a severe updo, and every strand is secured with precision as if she hasn’t spent the last many hours orchestrating kidnappings.

Her icy gaze meets mine with barely concealed contempt, lips twisting into a cruel smile as she sweeps her gaze over me.

“Oh, Fallon Creed,” she purrs, mockery dripping from every syllable. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Something deep inside me snaps.

The shock of seeing her fades fast, burned away by the white-hot fury coursing through my veins. My lips curl into a sharp smirk as I fold my arms, tilting my head with mock amusement. “Marline.” I drawl her name out slowly, savoring the way her face twitches at my tone. “Still desperate, I see. Kidnapping your former boss because you couldn’t handle rejection? That’s low. Even for you.”

Her lips twist into a bitter smirk, though the jealousy burning in her eyes betrays her. She takes a slow, measured step toward me, her heels clicking against the grimy floor as if she thinks she’s the one in control. “You think you’re special just because they married you? It should have been me.”

I snort, unable to hold back the pure derision clawing up my throat. “Oh, honey, please. You couldn’t handle one of them, let alone all four. They aren’t exactly fans of shrill, insecure little girls who play dress-up and pretend to be something they’re not.”

Her face contorts with barely contained rage, jealousy flaring hot in her narrowed gaze. “They would have chosen me if you hadn’t interfered, you worthless omega.”

I take a step closer, watching her stiffen. “You never had a chance, Marline.” My voice is a deadly purr, sickly sweet and dripping with venom. “My pack doesn’t settle for weak little betas drowning in their own desperation. They don’t sniff around for scraps—they claim what’s theirs. And honestly?” I give her a slow, pitiful shake of my head. “It’s embarrassing how badly you wanted something that was never yours to begin with.”

Her face goes red, hatred practically rolling off her in waves. She hisses through clenched teeth, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You smug little bitch! Do you really think they give a damn about you? They bought you. That’s all you are—a free hole they can knot into when it’s convenient.”

How did she know about that? Fuck do we have a spy?

Something dark twists in my chest, but I shove it down, burying the ugly feeling beneath the absolute certainty that she’s just trying to get under my skin. Instead of reacting, I give her a chilling, slow smile, letting the weight of my next words sink in deep.

“Oh, Marline,” I whisper, stepping even closer, watching with satisfaction as she unconsciously leans back, her eyes flickering with unease. “You have no idea how badly you’ve fucked up. My pack will tear this city apart looking for me. You can run, you can hide, but there’s nowhere in this world you’ll be safe from them.”

She scoffs, though I can see the flicker of doubt behind her arrogant mask. “They’ll have to find you first.”

I lean in just enough for my breath to ghost over her cheek, my voice dropping to something dark and foreboding. “Do you remember Voss?” Her body tenses, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “Sweet, unhinged, psychotic Voss—the one even the worst criminals whisper about in fear? Do you really think you’re safe from him?”

She swallows, hard. But I’m not done.

“I’ve watched him break men for far less than what you’ve done. And you know what?” My smile turns wicked, dangerous. “He enjoyed it. Every second of it. He smiled as he carved them apart, as they begged him for mercy that never came. And me?” I chuckle, my voice like poisoned honey. “I’ll be right there beside him, watching every moment of your slow, agonizing end. And when he’s done?” I tilt my head, letting my words cut like a blade. “He’ll take me right there, with you bleeding out, watching, knowing you never even came close to being good enough for them.”

Marline’s breath stutters, her mask cracking, but I press in the final blow.

“And when we’re finished?” My gaze darkens, voice soft but full of promise. “I’ll carve that useless heart right out of your chest myself. But let’s be honest—you don’t need it. You clearly don’t have one.”

The room is thick with tension, the air crackling with something raw and dangerous. Marline’s lips part, a tremble in her breath, but before she can react, before she can spit out whatever venom is left on her tongue, she lunges for me.

I see it coming a second before it happens. I duck, her hand swiping through the air where my face had been, and without hesitation, I strike. My fist slams into her throat, a perfect, brutal hit to her windpipe. She chokes, stumbling back, her hands flying up to clutch at her neck as she gasps for air.

“You bitch!” she wheezes, eyes watering as she staggers.

Before I can react again, a guard rushes into the room, moving fast. Too fast. His fist collides with my ribs before I can fully dodge, and a sharp burst of pain explodes through my side as I hit the ground, gasping. I try to push up, but he’s already pulling Marline toward the door, his other hand hovering over his weapon.

Marline coughs, struggling to speak but managing a raspy, hateful laugh as she leans into him for support. “Enjoy your last moments, Fallon,” she sneers, voice raw but venomous. “I’ll make sure to deliver your remains to them when I’m done personally.”

With a final smirk, she stumbles out the door, the heavy slam of metal ringing in my ears.

Violet is beside me a second later, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Shit, Fallon, are you okay?”

I spit out a mouthful of blood, grinning despite the pain. “Yeah,” I rasp. “But I can’t wait to get out of here so I can kill that bitch myself.”

Violet stares at me for a second before letting out a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh. “Goddamn, Fallon.”

A voice breaks through the tense silence.

“Holy shit” Elias speaks up at last, his voice still shaky but holding the slightest flicker of something… admiration?

I glance up at him, then at the others who are staring at me with something close to awe.

He gives a tired, knowing laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have to worry about your pack finding us,” he murmurs. “Because if they don’t, you’ll get us out of here yourself.”

Violet squeezes my shoulder gently, leaning in close. “Did you mean it? The carving-her-heart-out part?”

I snort weakly, exhaustion and pain mingling with my lingering rage. “Mostly, yeah. I figure she’s not using it.”

Violet grins sharply. “That’s my girl.”

Voss

April 17th

2:04 A.M

From my position concealed by the shadows, I glare at the building ahead, every muscle in my body coiled tight with barely restrained violence. It’s a fucking insult—this place. Unlike the crumbling, piss-stained hellholes we’ve ripped apart before, this one still stands strong. Lived-in. The walls aren’t rotting. The structure isn’t sagging under the weight of filth and decay. No, this place is solid. Secure. And right now, it holds the one thing keeping what’s left of my fucking soul tethered to this earth.

Fallon.

Fury rages inside me, dark and unrelenting, twisting through my veins until my vision pulses red. The moment she walked out of our front door, I lost whatever good there was inside me. Now, I’m just this—feral, unhinged, a monster with only one purpose. Get her back. And every single motherfucker inside this building is going to bleed for daring to take what’s mine.

Kingston kneels beside me, his face carved from stone, green eyes scanning the entrance with a calculating sharpness. His fury isn’t loud or messy—it’s the kind that strikes when you least expect it, a slow-brewing storm that will tear everything apart when it finally unleashes.

Jace stands on the other side, his massive frame a wall of barely contained rage, fingers flexing at his sides, itching to wrap around the throat of whoever took her. His blue eyes are dark and cold, the kind of dead-eyed calm that means something awful is about to happen.

Romano is silent, his usual energy replaced by something sharper and deadlier. The man who laughs, who fills a room with warmth, is nowhere to be found. In his place is a predator—a quiet, calculating killer who will smile while he cuts them down.

And then there’s our backup—Fox’s pack.

Fox is crouched low, blond hair barely visible beneath his tactical hood, lean frame tense but utterly still. The man moves like a fucking ghost, silent and deadly, his presence more of a shadow than flesh.

Dare stands beside him, all muscle and restrained chaos, his sharp features twisted into something almost gleeful. The bastard enjoys this. Enjoys the hunt. And right now, that thrill is aimed at the same target as ours.

Jex stands behind them, massive and menacing, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the building with an expression of pure destruction waiting to be unleashed. He’s like Jace; he's only meaner and more ruthless. And right now, he looks like he’d tear through a fucking wall just to get inside.

I breathe deep, inhaling the night air, the distant scent of cigarette smoke from the guards posted outside, the oil and sweat that cling to this place. But beneath it, beneath all of it, there’s something else.

A whisper of honeyed peaches.

My entire body locks up. It’s faint—so fucking faint—but it’s there. Fallon is here.

And she’s alive.

The coil of rage inside me winds tighter, snapping and baring its fangs.

“We go in silent,” Kingston murmurs, low and controlled, but there’s a lethal promise in his tone. “Guards first. Take them out before they can make a sound.”

“Then we gut the rest,” Jace adds, his voice flat, as if we’re discussing nothing more than the weather.

Fox smirks. “We’ll sweep the perimeter first. If there’s an escape route, we need to block it.”

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, feeling the shift in my muscles, the need for violence clawing at my skin.

My mate is in that fucking building.

And I will kill every last one of them to get her back.

Kingston lifts his hand, signaling silence as we watch the guard rotation. These bastards think they’re untouchable—think their walls, their locked doors, and their pathetic little security system make them safe. Arrogance is a fatal disease, and tonight, we’re the cure.

I count their movements, track their habits, watching how they shift lazily in place, oblivious to the predators lurking just beyond the shadows. They’ve gotten comfortable. Cocky. They won’t even see it coming.

Kingston’s fist closes.

Move.

We surge forward in perfect sync, a deadly force swallowing the night. Footsteps silent. No whispers. No unnecessary breaths. We don’t exist in this moment—we are ghosts, reapers slipping through the dark with vengeance laced in our bones.

Dare strikes first, his knife flashing in the dim light before the first guard crumbles, a lifeless heap dragged swiftly into the bushes. Fox neutralizes another in a seamless, practiced movement—silent, efficient, leaving nothing but a corpse cooling on the pavement. Jex and Jace dismantle the team guarding the perimeter, not a single sound escaping as bodies drop one after the other, their deaths fast, methodical.

I don’t even register the lives I take along the way. They’re insignificant. Background noise. Nothing but obstacles between me and what’s mine.

I slip inside first, blade in hand, my vision honed on nothing but destruction. The interior is a strange contrast—part warehouse, part opulent estate. The walls are lined with sleek, modern furnishings and expensive art that doesn’t belong in a place like this. But the polished floors and curated décor don’t matter.

What matters is that she’s here.

That she’s breathing.

That I can find her before these bastards get the chance to realize their mistake.

The scent of blood clings to the air, mixing with the faintest trace of something sweeter—honeyed peaches. It’s distant, diluted by filth and fear, but it’s enough to tighten every muscle in my body.

They took her.

They’ll suffer.

We slip through the corridors like death itself, the silence only broken by the occasional grunt as another body collapses under our hands. My blade sings, dipping in and out of flesh, slicing through tendons, spilling warm blood against my gloves, my arms, and my chest. I don’t flinch. I don’t slow. I don’t blink.

I barely even fucking breathe.

The blood pools around my boots, slick and warm, but I don’t stop. Jace and Kingston move beside me like phantoms—quiet, lethal, a promise of carnage in their every movement. Romano’s usual lightness has been swallowed by the same thing that’s consuming all of us—rage, fury, the kind of cold, calculated violence that doesn’t end until there’s nothing left standing.

The men in this building made the mistake of taking what belonged to us.

Now they get to die for it.

Kingston’s raised fist halts us instantly, and the group stills as one. Every muscle in my body locks, my focus tunneling to the large guard standing in the open doorway ahead. His broad back blocks my view, but I can see the heavy metal door propped wide open, leading into whatever hell Fallon has been trapped in. My grip tightens around the knife in my hand, my pulse thundering in my ears. Every part of me is screaming to move—kill, reclaim, destroy—but I force myself to wait, to listen.

A laugh rings out from inside the room, sharp, fearless, and dripping in mockery. My breath catches, something in my chest snapping loose. Fallon. My omega. She’s alive. And from the sound of it, she’s pissed as hell.

“I feel so bad for you,” she drawls, voice rich with amusement and not a damn ounce of fear.

The guard stiffens, his boots scraping slightly against the floor. “What the fuck are you talking about, omega?” His tone is gruff and agitated.

“You know I’m married to the Rosetti pack, right?” She lets the words hang, and my lips curl at the cocky edge in her voice. That’s my girl.

A beat of silence. Then, ever so slightly, the guard tenses.

Fallon chuckles darkly. “Or did your bitch of a boss forget to mention that?”

The scent of his unease reaches me, sour and growing stronger by the second.

“You really should just let us go,” she continues smoothly, her words light but laced with venom. “Because the moment my pack finds you, they’ll slit your throat without hesitation.”

I can almost hear the smirk in her voice, and I can see that fire blazing in her wild blue eyes, even from here.

The guard growls a curse, shifting his weight as if considering his options, but Fallon only laughs louder, boldly mocking him. “Oh, did that upset you? Poor baby.” There’s a cruel, amused lilt to her voice that has my blood rushing hot. “Do you really think I’m lying? My pack will come, and you’ll pray for mercy when they do. But you won’t get it.”

That’s it.

That’s my fucking cue.

Kingston’s sharp gaze snaps to mine, already knowing I’ve reached my limit. He gives me a single, short nod.

Soundless as a shadow, I move.

The guard doesn’t even register my presence until my blade is at his throat.

He tries to suck in a breath, but it’s already too late. With a swift, brutal drag, I open his jugular, and warm blood sprays in a sharp arc, splattering across the room. His body hits the ground in a wet heap.

And then I see her.

Fallon stands in the center of the filthy space, the smear of fresh blood painting her pale skin and tattered clothes. Her blue hair is tangled and wild, but those bright eyes—those fierce, alive eyes—lock onto mine.

Shock flickers across her face for a split second, but then, she laughs.

Not just any laugh—triumphant. Wild. Victorious.

She looks at the dead guard crumpled at my feet and smirks, breathless and defiant. “Told you so.”

My last shred of restraint shatters.

In two strides, I reach her, yanking her into my arms, crushing her against me. My body trembles, my mind fraying at the edges as I inhale her scent—honeyed peaches, thick and intoxicating, cutting through the stench of this place. She’s real. She’s breathing. She’s here.

I cup the back of her head, tilting her face up to mine before claiming her mouth in a bruising, desperate kiss. A choked sound escapes her, and then she’s kissing me back just as fiercely, her fingers fisting in my blood-soaked shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.

She tastes like fire and salvation.

Her nails scrape against my scalp, making me growl into her mouth. I don’t care that we’re standing in a room full of hostages. I don’t care that there’s blood on the floor, that my hands are still stained red. All I care about is her.

Her body presses against mine, warm and solid, proof that she’s alive, and for the first time in days, I fucking breathe.

Footsteps storm into the room, but I barely register them, my focus locked on the woman in my arms. The woman who is my entire fucking world.

She exhales a shaky breath, tilting her forehead against mine, fingers tracing absently along my jawline. “I missed you, V.”

My throat tightens painfully. She has no fucking idea.

I press a kiss to her temple, murmuring hoarsely, “Never again. Never leaving my sight.”

Movement in my periphery finally drags my attention back to the others.

Kingston. Romano. Jace.

They don’t hesitate.

In an instant, they’re surrounding her, wrapping her in fierce, desperate embraces. Romano murmurs rapid, sweet reassurances against her hair, his usual brightness tinged with raw relief. Jace takes her hands, pressing reverent kisses to her bruised knuckles like he’s silently making a promise. Kingston cups her face, his lips brushing across her forehead, his usual restraint cracked wide open, emotions laid bare.

She laughs softly, swallowed up by them, us, and everything.

Violet stands frozen, her wide eyes bouncing between Fallon and the four of us as if she’s witnessing something sacred. Then, before anyone can react, three more figures enter the room.

Fox, Dare, and Jex.

They pause mid-step, their postures stiffening slightly as their gazes land on Violet. Her stunned expression mirrors theirs.

I don’t have time to think about it because Jex moves instinctively, positioning himself slightly in front of her, his body language screaming protectiveness.

I arch a brow. Interesting.

Fox, ever efficient, shakes off the moment and starts ushering the terrified omegas toward the exit, his sharp, commanding voice cutting through the chaos. Dare quickly follows suit, his usual smirk replaced by quiet determination as he guides the trembling group into motion.

Jex lingers, his broad frame towering near Violet. His voice is gruff but gentle when he asks, “You okay?”

Violet blinks at him, clearly rattled, but slowly, she nods. Then, quieter, she murmurs, “I am now.”

I’ll unpack that later.

Right now, Fallon is turning back to me.

Her fingers graze my cheek, smudging away the blood staining my skin. Her gaze flickers over my face, searching, reassuring herself that I’m okay, too.

A slow smirk curves her lips. “Nice entrance.”

I lean in, letting my lips ghost over hers, the rawness between us still burning hot.

“Only for you, Princess.”

Chapter Fifteen

Fallon

April 17th

5:07 A.M

“God, I’d marry that shower if I could,” I mumble, stepping into the living room, still scrubbing at my damp hair with a towel. My body feels lighter and cleaner, but I can’t seem to wash away the tension still coiled deep inside me, not after everything.

Romano’s oversized shirt drapes over my frame, but it doesn’t quite cover as much as I’d like, leaving my tiny sleep shorts peeking out beneath. I’m hyper-aware of how exposed I am, but before I can adjust, strong hands grip my waist, sweeping me off my feet.

A startled gasp escapes me, but the moment I land, Kingston’s solid warmth envelops me. He pulls me into his lap, arms locking around me like a cage—like he’s afraid I might slip away again. His grip is firm, but not suffocating, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to remind himself that I’m real.

Voss immediately claims my legs, dragging them into his lap as his arm coils around my calves, anchoring me in place. His hold is almost desperate, possessive in a way that makes my chest ache. Jace and Romano shift closer, their eyes dark and unreadable, still cautious despite the relief simmering beneath the surface.

They don’t trust that I’m staying.

And hell, can I blame them?

I exhale deeply, pressing back into Kingston’s chest, letting the firm, steady rise and fall of his breathing ground me. I should say something—reassure them, tell them I’m not leaving. But before I can, something hits me.

Hard.

I breathe in again, this time more deeply, intending to steady myself—but instead, I freeze.

My body tenses as an onslaught of scents floods my senses.

The first one wraps around me instantly, clean, crisp, fresh rain and pine. Kingston. It’s grounding, stormy, commanding—just like him. It crashes into me like a wave, so familiar yet so new, and I barely contain the sharp breath that hitches in my throat.

Then Jace—warm cedarwood and citrus, something sharp and clean beneath it, as if laced with electricity. It prickles my skin and makes my chest tighten. My gaze snaps to his, locking onto his stormy blue eyes across the room. The way he’s watching me as if he already knows something is shifting, sends a jolt of adrenaline through me.

Beside me, Voss shifts, his grip tightening just slightly, but I feel it. Him.
Dark amber and spice.

It’s intoxicating, laced with heat and danger. It seeps into my skin, curling around my lungs like smoke, rich and all-consuming. I shiver, not from fear but from something much, much deeper.

And then—Romano.

He’s looking up at me from where he’s sitting on the floor, eyes soft, adoring—like he’s staring at something sacred. And his scent—**smoked leather and vetiver, deep, warm, and endlessly inviting—**washes over me like a slow burn, curling around my senses.

Oh, god.

My stomach drops. My skin flushes hot, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs so violently it feels like my body is trying to make room for this revelation.

I can smell them.

Not just smell them—feel them. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place, like something inevitable finally making itself known.

I’ve never felt more whole in my life.

Shock, awe, and a deep, sudden possessiveness surge inside me, flooding me so quickly that I almost feel dizzy.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, barely realizing I’ve said it out loud. My voice is a whisper of wonder and disbelief. “We really are mates.”

Everything around me stops.

Kingston goes rigid beneath me, his fingers tightening on my hips like a vice. I feel the rapid, pounding thud of his heart against my back. His voice is tight and controlled, and he is almost afraid to hope.

“What did you just say?”

I twist slightly, needing to see their faces, needing them to understand what I’m feeling. My chest tightens, my throat burning with too many emotions at once—joy, longing, and the lingering pain of how close I came to never realizing this at all.

“You were right,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “You’re my scent-matches. I don’t know how my nose got broken. But when I woke up, I could smell.” I turn to look at Voss. “I pushed it back in myself.”

He grins at me, looking proud. I don’t tell him I freaked out the whole time.

Romano’s brows pull together in a mixture of confusion and wonder. “But…why didn’t you notice it sooner?”

“Because all I could smell was blood.” I close my eyes for half a second, the memories pressing in, trying to drag me under. I force them back. Not now. Not when I’m finally home.

“It was like I practically snorted it.” My voice trembles slightly, the weight of how close I was to never realizing this—never coming back to them fully—settling heavily in my chest.

The silence that follows is thick and loaded.

Kingston’s grip tightens, his breath shuddering softly against my hair. His voice is raw, barely above a whisper.

“Does…does this mean you’re staying? With us?”

The question should annoy me, but it doesn’t.

Because even though I know they love me, even though I love them, a part of them is still scared. A part that thinks I might still walk away.

They don’t trust this moment won’t break apart.

I shift in Kingston’s lap, reaching down to squeeze Romano’s hand resting on my thigh, his skin warm beneath my fingertips. My free hand reaches out, threading into Voss’ hair, soothing the tension there.

I turn to Jace last, meeting his sharp blue eyes as I answer, making sure they all hear me.

“I was always going to stay.” My voice is soft but firm, absolute. “Even before this, I already chose you.”

The relief that crashes through the room is tangible.

Kingston exhales deeply, burying his face into my neck and gripping me like steel. Voss lets out a low, almost pained sound before gripping my ankles tighter, dragging them closer into his lap like he still doesn’t quite believe it.

Romano nuzzles his face into my knee, whispering something too soft for me to hear.

And Jace—Jace looks at me—a storm of emotion behind his eyes. “I love you—all four of you. You’re mine as much as I’m yours.”

Kingston exhales sharply, relief and joy washing over his face, softening those usually stoic features. “Fuck, little one. You have no idea how much we needed to hear that.”

Romano’s eyes widen, hope shining through his glasses as he grins like a lovesick fool. “We love you too, Little Love—more than anything.”

Jace’s deep voice is steady and firm, but his eyes glow with barely restrained emotion. “Always, Kitten. You’re ours forever.”

Voss shifts my legs gently, pulling me even closer, his amber eyes intense with raw, naked vulnerability. “I don’t exist without you, Fallon. You’re the only light I have. I fucking love you.”

I swallow hard, emotion tightening my throat. “I love you all so much.”

Jace moves forward slightly. His voice is suddenly softer, gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Fallon…baby…can you tell us anything?”

The raw tenderness in his voice breaks my heart all over again. I breathe deep, preparing myself, clinging tighter to Kingston’s comforting strength as I start to speak. “It was Marline. She was behind everything.”

Their reactions are immediate. Romano growls low in his chest, eyes flashing with fury, while Kingston’s grip tightens protectively. Jace’s calm slips, his fists clenching tightly as he takes deep, steadying breaths. But it’s Voss who trembles with barely leashed rage, eyes dark and cold, voice a low promise of destruction.

“I’m still not sure what she is doing with the omegas, but I know why she targeted me. Seems someone thought that if I hadn’t come into the picture, she would be married to you guys and be the queen of the Rosetti pack.” and just like that, the mood changes again.

Jace groans, and Romano fake gags. I almost laugh at the look of utter disgust on Voss’ face, and I’m sure Kingston feels the same way. 

“So Bitchface definitely got her wake-up call,” I mutter softly, leaning deeper into Kingston’s warmth, savoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. “She fucked up when she took me and Violet—big-time.”

I feel Kingston’s chest rumble gently beneath me as he chuckles darkly, brushing his thumb soothingly across my hip. He changed into dark-colored joggers and a black long-sleeve tee. The sleeves rolled to expose his muscular forearms, a picture of sexiness now softened by the tired lines around his eyes. 

Across from us, Romano sprawls on the floor, legs stretched out comfortably, his black joggers and nerdy graphic tee making him look far younger than his thirty-three years. He smiles up at me, amusement and relief dancing behind his glasses. Beside me, Voss sits silently, his presence comforting yet dark, his tactical gear replaced by simple black sweats and a snug black t-shirt that clings to his lean frame, highlighting the subtle power beneath. His eyes are sharp and alert, his fingers possessively brushing my ankles.

Jace stands near the fireplace, his massive body relaxed but still exuding protective dominance. He is dressed casually in gray sweats and a fitted white tee that stretches perfectly over his broad chest and shoulders. He watches me carefully, concern shadowing his usually stoic face.

“I never doubted for a second that you’d find me,” I continue, smiling softly, warmth filling my chest as I meet their eyes. “But those other omegas…”

My voice trails off as sadness steals over me again, the ache in my heart sharp and persistent. Remembering their frightened eyes, their helplessness, and despair leaves an ugly feeling twisting in my gut. “Some of them have nobody. No packs, no families—no one to even miss them. Those omega centers are a sick joke. They don’t care; they don’t protect them. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the centers themselves were involved in trafficking. They’re easy prey.”

Kingston’s grip tightens around me, his voice quietly menacing as he responds. “That’s definitely something we’ll be looking into, little one. I promise.”

I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of their pain like a physical burden. “I just…wanted so badly to take care of them, to make sure they never had to return to a place like that.”

“Then why don’t you?” Romano’s voice breaks through my sadness, his head tilted in a way that makes him look like an adorably confused puppy, though his eyes sparkle with a sudden excitement.

I stare at him blankly, uncertain what he means. “Rom, how exactly would I do that? There are so many of them. It’s not as simple as taking them home like stray kittens.”

Romano leans forward, his expression earnest and thoughtful. “We could always buy a property—like an old hotel or apartment building. Renovate it completely, tailor it exactly for their needs. It’d be a safe haven, somewhere they can rebuild their lives without fear. They’d be protected, supported, and cared for.”

My mouth falls open, eyes wide as I stare at him, realization dawning like the rising sun. A fierce joy replaces my sadness, hope flooding through me like a wave. “Romano, that’s fucking genius!”

He beams brightly, clearly proud of himself, while Kingston nods thoughtfully, already calculating possibilities. Jace’s face softens into a smile, his eyes warm with approval as he nods quietly. Even Voss’ usually hardened expression relaxes slightly, a hint of admiration in his gaze as he gently squeezes my leg.

“This could actually work,” Kingston murmurs, excitement threading through his usually composed voice. “You have the resources, Fallon. We have the connections. Together, we could give those omegas a real chance at life.”

My heart leaps in my chest, relief and purpose flooding my veins. I smile brightly, feeling tears sting the backs of my eyes—tears of joy, hope, and overwhelming love for these four incredible alphas.

“We’re doing this,” I say firmly, determination burning fiercely inside me. “We’re giving them what they deserve—safety, love, and a home.”

Romano reaches up, gently squeezing my hand. “You’ll be their guardian angel, Little Love.”

I laugh softly, joy washing away the lingering shadows of fear and sadness. “Only if you’re right beside me.”

Kingston’s lips brush tenderly against my temple, his voice deep with emotion. “Always, little one.”

Chapter Sixteen

Kingston

May 2nd

10:32 A.M

“Yes, Mom, I’m still fine. And yes, I’ll be at brunch on Sunday,” Fallon sighs into her phone, rolling her eyes dramatically in my direction. She’s perched on one of the stools at our kitchen island, her delicate fingers wrapped around a steaming ceramic mug. Her slender legs are folded beneath her, and the faded denim of her tight jeans hugs every tempting curve, accentuating the softness of her hips and the lush contours of her thighs.

I lean against the counter, fully intending to focus on the stack of reports Jace dropped off earlier, but Fallon steals every ounce of my attention without even trying. Her loose crop top rides are just high enough to reveal a strip of soft, tantalizing skin—skin I've kissed, bitten, and traced with my fingertips a hundred times yet still can't seem to get enough of it. My gaze trails upward to her vivid blue hair, casually twisted into a messy bun atop her head, leaving a few silky strands free to frame her face. She looks effortlessly breathtaking, as though she’s just rolled out of bed—but knowing exactly how she ended up tangled in those sheets makes my cock swell painfully against my tailored slacks.

My pulse thrums with a familiar ache as memories from last night—hell, from every night of the past three months—rush through my mind. Every time I knot her, every breathy moan she releases beneath me, every heated look she tosses over her shoulder when she's driving me to the edge...it all echoes relentlessly, driving me mad.

I'm so distracted by my own thoughts and the hypnotic sway of her hips as she shifts slightly that I completely miss Fallon ending her call until she laughs softly, amusement brightening her eyes. She leans forward on her elbows, chin propped lightly in her palm, watching me with a knowing smirk.

"Enjoying the view, King?" Her voice is teasing and confident, and that damned nickname sends a rush of heat straight through my veins.

I grin slowly, allowing myself a rare moment of relaxation, savoring the easy flirtation that comes naturally with her now. She’s softened me in ways I’d never expected, broken through walls I didn't realize I'd built, and yet I welcome it. Hell, I crave it.

"Every damn day," I reply, my voice low and rough, eyes locked on hers. "Though you already knew that, didn't you, Little one?"

Her cheeks flush just slightly, a telltale warmth that makes my chest tighten with possessive satisfaction. Fallon lifts her mug, hiding her smile behind it, but not before I catch the sparkle of affection and mischief in her eyes.

She has no idea just how deeply she's etched herself into my soul—or maybe she does, and that's exactly why she smiles at me like she holds every secret I’ve ever kept.

Romano bursts into the kitchen with his usual exuberance, practically vibrating with energy as he strides across the room. He’s dressed casually in black joggers and a faded black tee that proudly declares in bold, white letters: I Speak Fluent Nerd. He looks so effortlessly youthful and happy, it's hard to believe he's the same man who could dismantle someone’s entire digital existence in seconds.

“Good morning, Little Love!” Romano sings brightly, his voice cheerful and affectionate. Fallon immediately lights up as he swoops down, cupping her delicate face in his large hands, peppering kisses along her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her giggle echoes softly through the kitchen, a warm, melodic sound that soothes a part of my soul I never knew needed healing.

She melts easily into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face affectionately against his skin. For a moment, it's just them—soft touches, whispered laughter, and gentle intimacy that fills the room with warmth. But Romano suddenly pauses, pulling back just enough to frown softly as he brushes her hair from her forehead.

“Mm, Fallon, you feel warm,” he murmurs, brows drawing together in concern. He gently presses the back of his hand to her forehead, worry flickering briefly in his usually carefree eyes. “Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?”

Immediately, my senses sharpen, alpha instincts roaring to life at his words. My posture straightens, eyes narrowing slightly as I study Fallon more closely. Romano’s right—there’s a faint sheen on her skin, subtle but noticeable. Her cheeks are flushed a shade deeper than usual, her bright eyes glazed slightly, as though feverish.

Before either of us can fully panic, Fallon sighs softly, clearly unconcerned by Romano’s concern. Instead, she buries her face in his chest, breathing deeply, her voice dropping to a gentle purr that does wicked things to my pulse.

“Mm, you smell so good right now,” she murmurs, inhaling deeply, rubbing her cheek affectionately against his chest. Her eyes flutter closed as if savoring something irresistible. “God, I could just…lick you.”

Romano’s eyes instantly snap to mine, widening in alarm as understanding dawns. Fuck. His fingers tighten slightly on Fallon’s waist, holding her as if afraid she’ll slip through his grasp. Panic and excitement flash through his gaze simultaneously.

“Uh, Kingston,” he says slowly, carefully, every muscle visibly tensed. His voice holds a strained edge. “Maybe we should call the others. Like—now.”

My heart immediately races, a surge of adrenaline flooding through me, equal parts dread and anticipation. “What’s happening?” I ask, voice rougher than I intended, already pulling my phone from my pocket. Voss and Jace are still outtracking down Marline, hunting leads that have kept them out since early morning. My fingers type rapidly, sending urgent messages demanding they return immediately.

Romano swallows visibly, his grip firm but gentle as he holds Fallon steady. He meets my gaze directly, unspoken meaning passing between us in an instant. His words confirm the suspicion that had already begun to stir deep inside me.

“She’s going into heat.”

A sharp wave of heat slams through my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs as Romano’s words sink in. Fallon is going into heat.

I grip the edge of the marble countertop so hard my knuckles turn white. The reality hit me like a freight train. Fallon sits perched on the edge of the stool, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, eyes wide and glazed with an innocent confusion she doesn’t yet fully grasp. Her sweet, luscious scent of honeyed peaches—suddenly floods the kitchen, growing stronger by the second, wrapping around me like a vice. My cock instantly throbs, painfully rigid beneath my slacks.

“Fuck,” I growl softly, dragging in ragged breaths, fighting to maintain some shred of control. She shifts slightly, completely oblivious to how precarious my control has become, looking utterly enticing with her messy blue hair and flushed cheeks. The sight of her glassy, heated eyes makes my hands twitch at my sides, the primal urge to claim her, protect her, and knot her nearly overwhelming me.

She giggles softly, pressing her face into Romano’s chest again, breathing him in deeply with a dreamy sigh. Her eyes flutter closed, expression blissful, utterly unaware of the frantic, desperate energy vibrating through the room.

“You smell so good, Rom,” she murmurs sweetly, her voice edged with a sleepy sensuality that sends another shot of lust straight down my spine. Romano’s wide eyes meet mine again, panic and excitement warring openly on his face as he tries—and fails—to mask his reaction.

“Kingston…” he choked out urgently, his voice low and strained, a mixture of panic and eagerness dancing behind his eyes. “Seriously. Get Voss and Jace back here now.”

My pulse pounds furiously, blood roaring through my veins as I try to get my head on straight. “Fuck, right,” I grunt, turning sharply to rummage frantically through the cabinets, mentally cataloging everything we’ll need—water, high-calorie snacks, nutrient-rich drinks, painkillers for the aches I know will follow, everything that might keep our omega comfortable during what will probably be an intense heat. My mind spins, worry clawing beneath my excitement.

“Romano,” I say, forcing authority into my voice despite the hoarseness betraying my own frantic anticipation, “Take her upstairs. Have her start setting up her nest—clothes, pillows, anything she needs. Keep her comfortable. I’ll handle supplies.”

Romano nods swiftly, relief flashing briefly across his face at being given a clear direction. He gently sweeps Fallon into his arms, and she laughs delightedly, looping her arms around his neck. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest at the sight—fuck, she’s perfect, beautiful, mine. Ours.

My hand shakes slightly as I grab my phone, urgently sending off messages to Voss and Jace, barely coherent through my trembling fingers. Seconds feel like hours before a reply vibrates in my palm.

Voss’s response makes me snort, even through the fog of adrenaline and need:

On our way. Do NOT start without me.

Jace follows swiftly after, more serious but just as urgent:

Ten minutes out. Make sure she’s okay.

I exhale roughly, relief flooding through my chest as I set the phone aside, quickly placing orders for water, nutrient-rich drinks, snacks, and anything else I can think of. My mind races, my heart hammering with equal parts excitement and anxiety.

This is our omega’s first heat—and our first heat as a pack. None of us have done this before. It’s uncharted territory, something that would normally terrify me. But I know we’ll do whatever it takes to get her through this. We’ll learn together and fumble through it if we have to because the alternative is unthinkable.

Fallon is ours. We’ve fought for her, bled for her, would die for her. And now, we will care for her in the most primal way, proving that we are worthy of the precious gift fate gave us.

I grab my phone again, ordering snacks, bottled water, nutrient-rich drinks, and a stack of towels. The frantic pounding of my heart eases a bit once everything is handled. We can do this.

Jace

May 2nd

11:01 A.M

The front door crashes open with enough force to shake the walls, announcing our arrival louder than necessary. Voss nearly takes the damn thing off its hinges in his rush to get inside. I’m barely a step behind him, chest heaving from sprinting from the driveway. Kingston’s in the kitchen, tense as hell, looking like he just survived an apocalypse. His hair’s a mess from nervously tugging at it.

“Where the fuck is she?” Voss demands, his voice a low, frantic growl. He’s practically vibrating, ready to bolt upstairs and kick down doors until he finds Fallon. He looks ready to tear apart anything—or anyone—standing between him and Fallon. Hell, I wouldn’t get in his way right now either.

Kingston waves his hand toward the stairs. “She’s upstairs, building her nest. Romano’s keeping an eye on her.” He pauses, looking like he swallowed a glass. “I ordered supplies. Hopefully, it is enough to get us through this. I'm not exactly experienced with omegas in heat.”

“None of us are,” I grunt, sharing a glance with Voss. His dark hair’s pulled back haphazardly, strands slipping loose around his sharp, intense face. He looks like death warmed over but somehow pulls off lethal casualness in his black shirt and pants. I’m not much better—dark jeans, a black tee, and an expression that probably screams barely controlled panic.

Voss takes a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair, causing the messy bun to unravel even more. “Do you think she’ll want the bond? After the way, she reacted about the scent-match thing—”

I interrupt, forcing my voice to remain steady despite my own unease. “If she wants it, she’ll tell us. The last thing we need to do is spook her again.”

Kingston sighs heavily, his jaw ticking with tension. “She’s our mate. It has to be her decision. We’ll ask her, but no pressure.” He shoots Voss a pointed look. “That means no sudden declarations, no shouting, and for the love of God, no kidnapping.”

Voss’s eyes flash, narrowing dangerously, but the corner of his mouth twitches into something almost resembling a smile. “No promises,” he growls softly, making Kingston roll his eyes.

We move up the staircase quickly. Footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Romano is standing guard in the hallway, looking simultaneously nervous and excited, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He seems relieved and a little manic as he meets our eyes.

“She kicked me out,” Romano whispers dramatically, bouncing on his heels. “Said if I didn't get out of her way, she’d bite me.”

Voss smirks wickedly, cocking an eyebrow. “And that’s a threat?”

Romano shrugs sheepishly. “Not exactly, but I figured it wasn’t a good time to call her bluff. Her exact words were, ‘get out or I’ll bite you—hard—and not in the fun way.’”

I shake my head, chuckling despite the tightness in my chest. Fuck, I love that woman. And now, with her scent wrapping around us like a living thing, driving every alpha instinct I have into overdrive, it takes all my control not to burst into the room and beg for her forgiveness all over again.

Kingston steps forward, gently knocking on the doorframe. “Fallon, sweetheart? Can we come in?”

There’s a pause before her breathless voice floats out, sending a fresh wave of desire shooting through me. “Yes, come in. Hurry. Please.”

Voss doesn’t wait for another invitation, shoving past all of us to push open the door. My heart pounds frantically as we follow close behind.

Stepping into Fallon's nest feels like crossing into an entirely different world—one woven from softness, warmth, and a fuck-ton of fairy lights. The sheer curtains draped around the bed make everything feel dreamy, almost unreal. Twinkling strands of tiny lights cast shadows over piles of plush blankets and mountains of pillows Fallon carefully arranged, transforming this room into her sanctuary. The sweet scent of honeyed peaches fills every inch of the air, potent and dizzying enough that my head spins for a second. I clear my throat nervously, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of my black T-shirt, suddenly feeling overdressed.

Fallon sits in the middle of the bed, entirely naked and unashamed, her creamy skin flushed and glowing, her wild blue hair tumbling down her shoulders in a messy cascade. Slick glistens enticingly on her thighs, making my mouth water and my cock strain painfully against my jeans. Voss makes a low, rough growl beside me, his dark eyes locked hungrily on her, body practically vibrating with barely restrained need.

My pulse is pounding in my ears, and nerves jitter through me as I hesitate at the threshold, swallowing hard. Clearing my throat awkwardly, I force out, “Kitten, can we...can we join you?”

Fallon blinks up at me, blue eyes glazed with lust but still beautifully clear as they meet mine, filled with warmth and undeniable affection. Her voice is soft but firm, steadying my own scattered nerves. “Please. I need all of you. Now.”

Relief and desire crash through me, momentarily stealing my breath, and I almost stumble forward. But first, I force myself to hold back, needing clarity from her before crossing this irreversible line.

“Fallon,” I start cautiously, clearing my throat again when it comes out as an embarrassing croak. “Are there any limits you have? Are you comfortable with two of us—or more—at once?”

She flashes me a playful grin, eyes sparkling mischievously despite the flushed heat in her cheeks. “I’m very, very okay with two—or more. You should know that by now, Jace.”

Romano’s snicker behind me cuts through the tense anticipation. Kingston shoots him a glare, but I can’t hold back a relieved chuckle. “Noted,” I reply dryly, fighting a smile. Then, with more hesitation, I clear my throat again, my chest tightening anxiously. “One more thing. Do you…would you want to bond with us? Permanently?”

The room falls utterly silent for a heartbeat. My breath held painfully tight. Fallon’s blue eyes widen, reflecting vulnerability and longing, before determination replaces it entirely.

“I’m yours,” she whispers softly but fiercely, turning slightly to look directly at each of us, eyes glistening with sincerity. “I want this. I want you. All of you.”

Kingston’s tense shoulders visibly relax, Romano beams with happiness, bouncing impatiently at my side, and even Voss lets out a relieved, shaky breath, the raw edge of desperation fading slightly from his dark gaze.

“I love you,” Fallon says again, louder, voice unwavering. “I want the bond.”

Fallon

May 2nd

11:30 A.M

My entire body is molten, burning with a feverish need I've never felt so intensely. Slick runs down my thighs, making me tremble from sheer, aching desire. Surrounded by my alphas, their scents intoxicating and addictive, all I can think is—more. I need them deeper, closer, harder. Every instinct screams for me to be claimed, to bond completely.

Kingston captures my face gently, his green eyes blazing with raw, possessive hunger. "You sure about this, little one?"

"Gods, yes," I breathe, desperately pulling him closer. "Knot me, bite me—I need everything, King."

He growls, the sound vibrating straight to my core as his mouth crashes onto mine. He kisses me hungrily, devouring my moans until I’m dizzy. Without hesitation, he pushes into me with a deep, slow thrust, stretching me beautifully, filling every empty space inside. Pleasure floods me instantly, making my back arch sharply.

"Fuck," he groans, gripping my hips tighter as he thrusts deeply again, harder this time. "You were fucking made for us."

Voss presses against my back, his cock grinding against my ass as his lips trail hot, possessive kisses along my neck. "Our beautiful little mate," he rasps darkly, one hand sliding between Kingston and me to tease my clit mercilessly. "You gonna scream for us, princess?"

“Yes,” I moan loudly, hips bucking urgently into Kingston's thrusts. My fingers dig sharply into his broad shoulders. "I want all of you. Gods, harder—"

Romano’s mouth closes around my nipple, hot and wet, sucking gently. His tongue flicks teasingly, shooting electricity through me. Jace mirrors him, biting softly at my other breast, pulling gasps from deep within my throat.

Kingston picks up his pace, thrusting fiercely now, hips snapping forward roughly. His grip bruises my hips deliciously, and his eyes burn into mine with feral dominance. "You're ours," he growls roughly, leaning in close, breath hot against my skin. "Always ours, Fallon. You're going to wear my fucking mark for the world to see."

“Yes," I beg shamelessly, voice breaking with need. "Please—bite me, King. Claim me."

He snarls, teeth sinking sharply into the curve of my shoulder, pain and ecstasy exploding simultaneously through my body. His knot swells rapidly, locking deep inside me, stretching me impossibly, deliciously full. His tongue swipes lovingly across the mark, instantly sealing it. Pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my orgasm intense and blinding.

Kingston's deep groan rumbles through me, warmth flooding my core as he empties himself, gently shifting us both to lie comfortably on our sides while we’re locked together. I lick a stipe up his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. Placing a gentle kiss on his neck, I bite, claiming him back. The bond flairs to life, and a crashing wave of pure love and possession hits me. Kingston feels solid in my chest, grounding me.

As his knot slowly goes down, Voss moves in swiftly, his hands possessively exploring every inch of my trembling body. He flips me over, positioning me on all fours, his cock sliding smoothly inside from behind, pushing deeper than ever.

"Oh fuck," he growls darkly, slamming into me powerfully, rough and utterly primal. "Feel how your body takes me, princess? So fucking tight. You belong to us—to me."

I moan wildly, lost to sensation, clenching around him. "Gods, Voss—fuck me harder. Fill me up."

He thrusts fiercely, fingers gripping my hips so tightly I'm sure he'll leave bruises—bruises I'll proudly wear. I twist slightly, biting down sharply along the strong line of his jaw, feeling blood bloom on my tongue, marking him blatantly, visibly mine. He snarls roughly, thrusts stuttering with pleasure.

"Fuck, Fallon—yes. Fucking claim me." He knots me deeply, his cock swelling until I’m fully stretched around him. He pulls me upright against his chest. One arm banded possessively beneath my breasts. His teeth pierce gently below my collarbone, sealing his mark permanently into my skin. "Mine forever."

"Forever," I whisper breathlessly, coming apart in his arms, pleasure cascading through me in waves. The bond booms like thunder in my chest. Dark possession fills me, followed by so much love that it brings a tear to my eye. Gods, I had no idea. He told me how much he needed me, but now I can feel it.

Chapter Seventeen

Fallon

May 2nd

Time unknown

Romano moves forward first, his eyes dark with hunger as he pulls me effortlessly into his lap. I settle onto him, thighs trembling with anticipation. His mouth finds mine, hot and demanding, tongue sweeping in possessively.

"You've got no fucking idea how long I've waited for this, little love," he growls roughly, hands gripping my ass, pulling me tighter against his hardened length. "How long I've wanted you to mark me. Make me yours."

Heat pools sharply in my belly, slick and cum dripping down my thighs as he positions himself, pushing deep into me with a slow, torturous thrust that makes my eyes roll back in pleasure. My nails rake across his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he fills me completely, stretching me in the best possible way.

"God, Romano," I moan, grinding down on him eagerly, desperate for more friction. His hips surge upward, meeting mine with a deliciously punishing rhythm, his cock hitting every perfect spot.

"That's it," he snarls, teeth grazing my collarbone. "Take me, claim me. Make me yours." I gasp when he leans forward, his teeth teasing the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

"Yes," I breathe shakily, tangling my fingers roughly in his hair and sharply pulling his head to the side. He groans approvingly, urging me on. I bite down on his shoulder, hard enough to break the skin, tasting the coppery tang of his blood, sealing him irrevocably as mine. Romano lets out a primal growl, thrusting up sharply, his knot swelling instantly, locking us together.

He flips me onto my back, pinning me beneath him, biting firmly at my neck, embedding his own claim into my skin. He pulls back just enough to whisper, "You're mine forever, Fallon." The bond with him slides in soft. It's like sunshine warming my chest with so much love.

I come apart beneath him, pleasure surging wildly through me as he fills me completely, his knot pulsing deep inside me, painting my insides with his seed.

Jace doesn't wait long after Romano’s knot goes down, impatience radiating from every tense muscle in his massive frame. Romano eases back, giving him room. Jace drags me closer, his grip firm yet gentle as he settles me against his broad chest.

"Kitten, you have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs darkly, lips trailing heated kisses down my throat, lingering at the sensitive new marks from my other mates. "You're gonna wear my fucking mark too."

His voice alone makes my core clench with want, and I whimper softly, my thighs trembling with exhaustion and anticipation. "Please, Jace, take me," I plead breathlessly, hips already rocking toward him desperately.

He chuckles darkly, his mouth trailing hot, teasing kisses along my neck, pausing to nip at sensitive skin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll fill you up nice and good." His fingers grip my hips, aligning my body perfectly over his thick cock, his entry slow and torturous. I gasp, moaning loudly as he stretches me again, filling me until I can't breathe.

"Gods, yes—more," I whimper shamelessly, fingers digging into his arms. His thrusts turn rougher, deeper, more possessive as he fucks into me relentlessly, voice rough in my ear.

"You like that, baby? Feeling every inch of my cock?" His voice drips with dark amusement and fierce desire, driving me wild.

"Yes," I sob, nails dragging down his muscular back. "More. Please give me your knot. Fill me, mark me—fuck, Jace—"

He snarls possessively, sinking his teeth deep into my neck, marking me right above Romano's bite, claiming me fiercely. Pain and pleasure explode through me, and I cry out, coming apart around him. Jace groans roughly, teeth clenched around my flesh as his knot swells, locking us together. Heat floods my core, and I cling to him, shuddering in release.

I grab his arm, biting into his bicep, marking him as mine. The bond unfurls, coming to life. The feeling of strong, steady, and safe fills me.

"I love you all."

In his embrace, surrounded by the others, claimed and bonded, I finally drift into a contented sleep, secure in the knowledge that from this moment on, we are bound together, unbreakable and eternal.

Fallon

May?

Time unknown

Romano’s lips brush against mine, gentle but teasing. "Open wide, little love," he whispers, slipping a juicy strawberry between my lips. I chew slowly, savoring the sweetness, eyes drifting shut when his tongue darts out to lick away the juice running down my chin.

"Good girl," he praises, nipping at my jaw before kissing me hungrily, tangling his tongue with mine. My breath quickens, the heat inside me flaring hot again.

Before I know it, he's settled between my thighs, his tongue working me relentlessly, drawing out my release until I'm shaking, gasping his name. He rises slowly, licking his lips with a satisfied grin.

"My turn," he smirks, guiding my mouth to his cock. I eagerly take him in, sucking him deep until he's groaning, knot pulsing, filling my throat as I swallow every drop.

Kingston's fingers tighten possessively in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat as he drives deep inside me from behind. Each powerful thrust pins me into the mattress. My cries muffled against the sheets.

"You feel so perfect, little one," he growls into my ear, teeth grazing my earlobe. "Mine to fuck. Mine to knot."

His hand slides beneath me, skillful fingers circling my clit, driving me to a violent climax. I scream his name as he knots me, teeth sinking gently into my shoulder to deepen our bond.

Voss reclines on the bed, gripping my hips firmly as he guides me down onto his thick cock. The stretch makes my head spin, and I gasp sharply, nails clawing at his chest. Before I can adjust, Romano steps behind me, pressing gentle kisses along my spine, whispering dark encouragement as he slicks my ass with lube.

"Relax for me, little love," Romano murmurs, his voice deceptively sweet. "We're gonna fill you until you can't think."

He slowly pushes inside, stretching me until I'm completely overwhelmed. Sandwiched tightly between them, I’m utterly helpless as they both begin to move, fucking me in tandem, filling every inch until I shatter between them.

Jace gently eases me into the bathtub, hot water soothing my aching muscles. He sits behind me, powerful thighs surrounding mine, carefully washing my body, murmuring praise as he rinses shampoo from my hair.

"You doing okay, kitten?" he asks softly, pressing gentle kisses along my shoulder.

"Better now," I sigh, leaning back against his chest, savoring his warmth.

Later, I’m on all fours, gripping sheets tightly, Jace's large hands gripping my hips, spreading me open as his thick cock slowly pushes into my ass. The stretch is overwhelming and perfect, making me moan loudly into the mattress.

“That's right, kitten, take all of me," he growls, thrusting deep and slow, building me higher until I'm begging for his knot. When he finally gives it, locking us together, he reaches around to play with my clit, driving me to a violent climax that leaves me boneless beneath him.

"Open your mouth, kitten," Jace commands roughly, gripping my chin. I obey instantly, taking his cock between my lips, moaning as he fucks my mouth with firm, steady thrusts. Tears blur my vision, saliva running down my chin.

"Good fucking girl," he praises, thumb brushing away the tears. "So eager to take me."

When he finally knots my throat, he grips the headboard, eyes locked on mine, watching intently as I swallow everything he gives me.

Pinned between Kingston’s powerful chest and Jace’s solid body, my senses spiral. Kingston thrusts deep inside me, filling me completely, his voice rasping darkly in my ear.

"Take us both like the good omega you are."

Jace’s hands are gentle but commanding, gripping my hips, spreading me wide as he presses slowly into my ass. Their rhythms sync perfectly, bodies moving as one until my cries echo through the room. Both knot me simultaneously, their bite marks sealing the bond as my climax leaves me trembling and utterly claimed.

Voss holds me securely in the shower, washing dried sweat and cum gently from my skin, his touch reverent yet possessive. "You smell like pure heaven, Princess," he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. I shiver, pressing back against his firm body, feeling his cock hardening again against my lower back.

Later, he's lying beneath me, eyes dark with desire as I sink down onto his cock, riding him hard, my breasts bouncing with each movement. He grips my hips fiercely, guiding me roughly, his knot swelling, locking me tightly to him.

“God, Voss—” I gasp, clenching around him, pleasure racing up my spine.

"Mine," he growls, pulling me down for a fierce kiss, teeth scraping my lips. "Always mine."

"Always," I echo breathlessly, losing myself in his heat.

Romano's mouth trails teasing kisses down my stomach, his tongue flicking wickedly over my clit before thrusting deeply inside me. My fingers twist in his hair as he devours me, eyes shining up at me playfully, refusing to stop until I'm shaking, begging desperately.

"You taste sweeter every time," he whispers against my thigh, eyes mischievous.

I gasp, pulling him upward roughly, desperate for his cock. Romano grins wickedly, pushing into me hard, forcing the air from my lungs as he fucks me roughly, his thumb relentlessly teasing my clit until I scream out his name.

Face down on the bed, wrists pinned above my head by one of Voss’ large hands, my body trembles beneath his unyielding grip. He pounds into me mercilessly from behind. Each thrust is fierce and possessive.

"This is what you want, isn’t it, princess?" he snarls against my neck, teeth grazing the bond mark on my skin. "My knot stretching you open, keeping you full and dripping."

I whimper beneath him, pleasure-pain tearing through me, hips lifting to meet every savage stroke. When he finally bites down, marking me visibly on my throat, I shatter around him, climaxing violently as his knot locks us firmly together.

I'm sprawled, exhausted, yet satisfied across the tangled sheets of my nest. Romano carefully feeds me bites of ripe mango while Jace holds a cup of cool water to my lips. Voss lounges nearby, watching with protective satisfaction. Kingston gently massages lotion into my calves, easing the lingering soreness.

“Any more, and you’ll break me,” I teased softly.

Romano chuckles, leaning in to kiss my temple. “We’d never let you break, little love. But we'll always push you to your limits.”

Hands everywhere, mouths exploring my body, I'm overwhelmed and consumed by sensation. Romano kisses me deeply, Jace teasingly sucks my nipples, Kingston slides carefully into my ass while Voss plunges inside my dripping pussy.

"Such a greedy omega," Kingston murmurs, voice thick with approval, gripping my hips firmly as he moves steadily. Voss fucks me harder, growling possessively, holding my gaze as he fills me again and again.

Romano and Jace whisper dirty encouragements, touching and tasting until my body writhes uncontrollably between them. I'm theirs completely, blissfully lost as they fill me, knot me, mark me, again and again, until pleasure and exhaustion blend into one.

Fallon

Probable still May

Time unknown

I wake slowly, cocooned by warmth and limbs tangled around me. Kingston’s heavy armrests possessively over my waist and Romano’s head is nestled against my shoulder, breathing evenly. Jace is sprawled behind me, his chest pressed firmly to my back, one large hand resting on my hip. Voss’s legs tangle with mine, his arm stretching across Jace to touch me as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

A sense of calm washes over me. My heat is finally broken, my mind blissfully clear, even though my body aches in places I didn’t know existed. I grimace, feeling sticky, sweaty, and covered in a mixture of our fluids. As comforting as their presence is, the desperate need for cleanliness outweighs the urge to stay cuddled in this comforting knot.

Carefully, I peel myself free from the tangled heap of alphas. Romano grumbles softly, his hand reaching out instinctively to grab at me, but settles once I brush my fingertips across his cheek. I slip quietly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and releasing a long, relieved breath.

Stepping into the shower feels like pure heaven. Hot water cascades over me, soothing aching muscles and washing away sweat and slick and dried cum. I lean against the tile, eyes closed, letting the heat seep into my bones, enjoying the brief solitude.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startles me, cool air briefly slipping into the steam-filled room. I smile softly when Voss joins me, stepping into the spacious shower behind me, his hands resting gently on my hips.

“Just so we’re clear,” I say tiredly, leaning back against his solid chest, “my vagina is officially out of service for the next few days.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating warmly against my skin. “Understood, Princess. I’m here purely to take care of you.”

True to his word, he takes the shampoo bottle from my hand, helping to gently lather my long hair. The slide of his fingertips massaging my scalp makes me sigh softly in appreciation. He asks me about The House of Creed. and what started it. I tell him the story behind it. Growing up, wanting to be a princess, pretending to marry my stuffed animals. “For me, it was always about the dress.” I murmur to him. 

Voss carefully rinses out the conditioner as I stand lazily beneath the spray, relaxed and thoroughly pampered. He grabs a washcloth, gently scrubbing my body until every inch of me feels refreshed and new again.

After quickly washing himself, he steps out first, wrapping a towel around his hips. Reaching back inside, he gathers me into another plush towel, carefully drying me off with gentle strokes before helping me slip into my fluffy emerald-green robe. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, tenderness softening his usually fierce features.

“All done,” he murmurs. “Feeling better?”

I nod, smiling sleepily. “Much.”

Romano appears in the doorway, eyes soft, offering a gentle smile as he holds out a hand to me. Voss squeezes my hip gently and steps aside, giving Romano room to sweep me into the bedroom. I sit obediently on the padded vanity stool, and Romano combs through my wet hair with a practiced, gentle hand. He dries my hair with a blow dryer, carefully detangling and smoothing each strand until it falls soft and silky around my shoulders.

“You’re good at this,” I murmur, relaxed, almost drifting off again.

Romano chuckles warmly. “Anything for you, little love.”

When he’s finished, he guides me gently downstairs, his hand warm and steady against my lower back. Kingston waits patiently on the plush leather couch, his hair damp. even exhausted, I can appreciate how gorgeous he is in nothing but a pair of sweets. Romano nudges me down beside him, and Kingston instantly draws my legs into his lap, his touch careful, possessive, and soothing. 

He picks up a basket full of oils and lotions from the coffee table, warming the lotion in his hands before gently working it into my aching calves and thighs, kneading away lingering tension from my muscles. His touch is firm but tender, sending shivers of relaxation through my limbs.

“Feel good?” Kingston asks, voice deep, eyes filled with gentle affection.

“So good,” I sigh contentedly, letting my head fall back against the cushions.

Before I can drift off entirely, Jace strides into the living room, his powerful presence commanding attention. He gently scoops me up, laughing softly at my startled squeak, and carries me into the kitchen. Setting me carefully onto a stool, he slides a towering plate of fluffy pancakes drizzled in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries in front of me.

My stomach rumbles in appreciation as my eyes widen with delight. “You guys spoil me way too much.”

Romano leans against the doorway, smiling warmly. “Impossible.”

“You deserve every second of it,” Voss adds, settling onto the stool beside me. His expression is softer than I’ve ever seen, love shining clear in his dark eyes.

Kingston and Jace exchange amused smiles, both watching me with indulgent affection. Kingston’s fingers brush gently through my now-dry hair. “Get used to it, little one. Spoiling you is our new favorite hobby.”

Despite my blush, I grin brightly at all four of them, warmth spreading through my chest. “Fine, I suppose I’ll allow it—but only because I love you all.”

The beaming smiles they give me in response make my heart ache with love.

“Good,” Kingston says firmly, eyes filled with devotion. “Because we love you, too. Always.”

Romano

May 15th

4:26 P.M

“Holy shit—holy fucking shit! Guys, get your asses up here! Now!” My voice is loud enough to echo off my tech room's sleek, metal-and-glass walls.

Immediately, a rush of heavy footsteps pounds up the stairs, sounding like an entire stampede headed my way. The door swings open violently as my packmates burst in—Kingston leading, fierce and alert; Jace tense with controlled readiness; Voss prowls like a predator, his dark eyes already blazing with intensity. Fallon stumbles in last, her blue eyes wide, her cheeks flushed from sprinting after them. Her silky blue hair cascades around her shoulders, tousled from running.

“Either you guys need shorter legs, or I desperately need better stamina,” she pants, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Holy fuck, I’m dying.”

I laugh at her exaggerated dramatics, loving how even now, amidst chaos, she always makes me smile. But my expression quickly sobers as I spin back to the multiple glowing monitors and intricate tracking systems before me.

“I finally found out what they’re doing with the missing omegas.” My voice turns sharp, rage simmering just beneath the surface. The silence that settles over the room feels charged, almost electric, as everyone shifts forward, alert and tense.

Kingston steps closer, placing a firm hand on Fallon’s lower back, grounding her as he braces for whatever I’m about to reveal. Jace folds his arms, jaw ticking, clearly sensing it won’t be good. Voss’s eyes narrow dangerously, fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically, already prepared for violence.

“I had some searches programmed to tag any mentions of our trigger words: missing omegas, kidnapping, trafficking,” I explain rapidly, fingers flying over my keyboard as the information flashes vividly on the screen. “I found multiple references to auctions happening in discreet locations. They’re auctioning off omegas like merchandise.”

The reaction is instant. Fallon’s voice cracks through the room, sharp and powerful. “Auctions?” She practically spits the word, anger making her voice tremble with fury. Her petite frame radiates such strength and rage it sends chills down my spine. “They’re auctioning off omegas like fucking animals?”

“Yes, Little Love,” I say gently, my voice softening instinctively. “And there’s more.” Her eyes meet mine, fierce yet vulnerable. “I found Marline. She’s been hiding in plain sight, right under our noses.”

Fallon’s expression transforms instantly—her eyes darkening, the sapphire turning to ice, a cruel smile pulling at her lips. It’s so beautifully deadly I instantly go rock hard, my cock painfully pressing against the zipper of my jeans. Before I realize it, I’m reaching for her, pulling her flush against my chest, crushing my lips to hers in a bruising, possessive kiss. She moans softly, nails digging into my shoulders as she kisses me back hungrily.

When we finally break apart, both breathless and panting, her gaze sweeps across all of us, her voice dropping low and lethal. “The next time we fuck, we’ll be covered in that bitch’s blood.”

Her words slice through the tension, sharp and deliciously violent. Without another word, Fallon strides confidently from the room, head held high, shoulders squared like the queen she is.

The door clicks shut behind her, and we’re left standing in stunned silence. Voss growls deeply, visibly aroused and adjusting himself in his too-tight black jeans, eyes wild. “Fuck, that’s our Queen,” he snarls appreciatively.

Kingston huffs a dark laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his jacket, slipping effortlessly back into his role as leader. “Romano, send us Marline’s location. Now.”

I nod sharply, typing the information swiftly, knowing exactly what fate awaits her at the hands of my brothers. I don’t envy her. Jace claps me on the shoulder, giving me a firm squeeze. “Good work, brother.”

They head out, already shifting into the deadly, efficient hunters they are, the door slamming firmly behind them. Alone now, I glance down, rubbing my hand over my erection through my jeans, smirking ruefully.

Damn right she’s our Queen. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.

Epilogue

Jace

May 18th

10:23 P.M

It took almost two days of patient, precise surveillance to finally catch Marline. She’d been hiding like a rat, scrambling from hole to hole, never staying long enough for us to get a grip on her movements. But tonight, her luck ran dry. I caught her trying to sneak back into her shitty little motel room. The look of shock and pure terror in her eyes when I grabbed her was fucking satisfying.

Now, I storm into the familiar shadows of our pit with Marline thrown unceremoniously over my shoulder like worthless trash. She squirms frantically, thrashing against me, but her hands are tightly bound behind her back, and the rag muffles her screams stuffed roughly into her mouth. She’s fucking helpless, just like the omegas she’d helped kidnap.

I toss her to the ground, watching coldly as she hits the concrete floor with a satisfying thud. Her previously polished appearance is completely shattered—now she’s a pathetic mess. Dirt and dried blood smear her pale skin, her designer dress filthy and torn at the hem, exposing bruised knees from her struggles. Her face is swollen, makeup smudged grotesquely around panicked, tear-reddened eyes, and the once-perfect blonde hair is tangled and wild, strands plastered to her forehead with sweat.

Marline’s eyes dart frantically around the room, widened with desperation, making my alpha hum with satisfaction. The realization of just how deeply she fucked up finally sinks in. She tries to wriggle away, a useless attempt to escape her fate, but one growl from Voss freezes her in place, trembling violently.

Fallon steps confidently into the room, chin high, her icy gaze locked onto Marline’s shaking form. Her presence radiates regal authority, fury rolling off her in tangible waves. My beautiful omega, strong and vicious, every inch our Queen. She stops mere inches from Marline, who tries and fails miserably to glare back defiantly.

Marco, ever reliable, quietly steps to the door, leaning casually against the frame as he folds his arms, standing guard so no one disturbs our work. His dark suit is pristine, and his calm eyes are coldly observing as always.

I glance back at Marline. She flinches violently when Fallon crouches beside her, a dark, dangerous smile curling her lips. Fallon’s voice is deceptively soft, venom lacing every syllable.

“Well, look at you, Marline,” she taunts quietly, mockingly sympathetic. “Not so confident now, are you?”

Marline whimpers pathetically, trying to inch away, but Romano steps forward with a fierce grin, blocking her retreat. Fallon reaches out slowly, deliberately, gripping Marline’s chin hard, forcing her terrified gaze upwards.

“Do you remember what I said I would do to you?”

Marline shakes her head violently, pleading garbled nonsense around the rag stuffed into her mouth, tears streaming down her filthy cheeks. Fallon removes the rag from Marline’s mouth. “Try again. I won't let my mates touch you if you get it right.” 

“Y...You said.” She swallows hard. “You said you would carve my heart from my chest.” 

Fallon releases her roughly, standing gracefully, dusting off her hands like she touched something vile. “Very good.” 

Turning her gaze to us, Fallon smiles darkly, possessively. “She’s all yours, boys.”

“You said they wouldn’t touch me!” Marline starts protesting until Fallon turns back around. 

“I lied.”

My alpha snarls hungrily at the invitation. Kingston and Voss step forward immediately, eyes blazing with promised violence. Romano slips a possessive arm around Fallon’s waist, pulling her protectively to him, murmuring something that makes her grin wickedly. “Don’t forget her heart is mine.”

I crack my knuckles slowly, feeling the brutal anticipation hum through my veins. It’s time this bitch pays.

Voss

May 20th

12:23 A.M

Moonlight spills softly through the sheer curtains, painting Fallon’s creamy skin with silver shadows that ripple gently as she breathes. Her long, dark blue hair gleams in the dim light, tangled around her shoulders like silk. For the first time in my life, the dark shadows that linger inside me feel subdued, almost content. I run my fingertips slowly along her spine, savoring the softness of her bare skin and the way her body relaxes further into mine with every touch.

“We still need to figure out how to shut down those auctions,” she whispers quietly, her voice barely audible. She shifts gently, careful not to wake the others, who are all tangled peacefully around us, deep asleep in the warmth of our nest.

My chest tightens, the familiar fury simmering beneath my skin. But tonight, with Fallon’s small frame wrapped protectively in my arms, it’s easier to keep that rage at bay. Pressing my lips gently to her shoulder, I whisper against her skin, “We will, Princess. How could we possibly fail with you by our side?”

She sighs softly, worry lining her pretty face even in the dim moonlight. I brush my knuckles along her cheek, feeling the tension there. Her eyes were normally bright and fearless, and she clouded slightly.

“I’m worried about Odette,” she admits, voice hushed. “Every time I call, she’s short with me. Always busy. It’s like she’s pulling away, and it scares me, V.” Her voice cracks just slightly. “I know Violet’s doing okay, but even she seems distracted lately. With the auctions still happening…” Her voice trails off, heavy with anxiety.

I draw her closer, my large hand stroking gently down her back, soothing her fears as best I can. “Hey, don’t worry, Princess,” I murmur quietly, lips brushing her temple. “You said Odette still has Henry, right? And that man would rip apart anyone who tried to hurt her.”

She nods slowly, a small smile finally curving her lips. “Yeah. Henry’s her permanent bodyguard now, especially since I have all four of you.”

I chuckle softly, my chest vibrating gently against her. “Exactly. And besides, Fallon, you’re our fierce little badass. Or should I officially upgrade you to Queen?”

She giggles softly, the sound delicate and sweet as I nuzzle her neck, my beard tickling her tender skin until she squirms. She slaps playfully at my chest before settling comfortably against me again. I hesitate briefly before deciding to share my suspicions.

“You know, Princess, I think I know what’s going on with Violet.”

She tilts her chin up instantly, her blue eyes brightening, hopeful, and curious even in the dark. “Really? What?”

I brush her hair gently behind her ear, trailing soft kisses along her jawline. “Remember the commandos who helped us rescue you? Jex, Dare, and Fox?”

She shivers slightly at my kisses, her breath catching. “Yes, of course. They were really nice—and, admittedly, a little terrifying.”

I growl playfully, pulling her tighter against my chest. She laughs again, a musical sound that fills my chest with warmth. “Well, I was completely focused on you when we burst into that room,” I confess quietly, “but I didn’t miss the looks of absolute shock and recognition on their faces when they saw Violet. Especially Jex—he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He hovered around her the entire time, protective in a way I’ve only seen scent-matched Alphas behave.”

Fallon’s eyes widen with excitement, sparkling in the moonlight. “Oh my god! You really think they’re Violet’s scent matches?”

“Almost positive,” I murmur softly. “And gods help them—they’re gonna have their hands full. I’m pretty sure Violet’s filter is permanently set to sarcastic and violent.”

She bursts into another quiet giggle, eyes dancing with joy at the thought. It makes my heart squeeze painfully with how much I adore this woman. I pull her even closer, burying my face against her hair, breathing deeply of her honeyed peach scent.

“I love you, Fallon,” I whisper fiercely, possessively. “My Queen. Forever and always yours.”

She smiles warmly, cupping my jaw tenderly, her gaze softening with absolute trust. “I love you too, Voss. Forever and always yours.”

Wrapped securely around each other, we finally let the quiet darkness carry us to sleep, our hearts beating in perfect sync.

To Be Continued in Violet’s Story…Knot Broken

Acknowledgments

Writing a book may be solitary, but getting it across the finish line certainly isn't.

To my family and friends—thank you for tolerating me during my caffeine-induced breakdowns, 3 a.m. plot spirals, and constant questions about fictional knot logistics. You're my real heroes.

To my readers—you delightful group of degenerates—thank you for embracing my morally questionable alphas, stubborn omegas, and the unapologetic chaos of my imagination. You make writing worth every sleepless night.

Lastly, a heartfelt thanks to coffee, sarcasm, and questionable life choices—the holy trinity of romance authors everywhere.