Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
AXEL
I head up along the windy path to our home, every muscle coiled tight as I scan the perimeter, the woods pressing close around the house. No one’s around; no one followed us. Which is great, not to mention the storm’s stopped. Still, the scar above my eye twinges—an old souvenir from my cage-fighting days that still acts up when adrenaline hits my system. In front of me, Logan moves silently, much to his ex-military training, the Omega girl limp over his broad shoulder, her white-blonde braid swaying with each step.
The sedative should keep her under for at least another hour or two, but I know to never underestimate an Omega’s biology. My knuckles crack reflexively as I remember how she fought us in the woods, all fire and defiance, despite being cornered by two Alphas twice her size.
The scent of her still clings to me—sun-ripened peaches and spring rain on white flowers. It lingers, as if I can’t shake it off. I roll my shoulders, trying to push away thoughts of another Omega who needs saving . Focus on the job, not the merchandise.
"Clear?" Logan’s voice is barely above a whisper, his steel-gray eyes alert as they sweep the tree line. The silver chain at his neck catches the sunlight—his partner’s dog tags from his special ops days. He never talks about how he got them or why he wears them, but some ghosts don’t need explaining.
I scan the motion sensors I installed along the property line—all green. Being paranoid keeps you alive.
"Clear."
Sure enough, Nash is at the door in seconds, opening it for us. He does another sweep of the perimeter behind us before letting us in. He’s still wearing his expensive hoodie, dark jeans, and that perpetually messy dirty blonde hair that makes him look younger than he is. The calculating intelligence behind his easy smile reminds me why we never underestimate him.
"Okay, the package is secure." He pulls the door wider for us to step through, fingers drumming against the wood in that restless way of his.
"Sleeping Beauty’s out cold," Logan confirms, adjusting his grip. In the warm light of the great room, I can’t help but notice how small she looks against his frame and how delicate her features are despite all that fire we saw in the woods. A bruise is forming on her cheek where that Nexus guard hit her, and something dark and protective stirs in my chest.
The door shuts.
I yank off my balaclava, running a hand through my sweat-dampened black hair. "Fuck, I hate these things. Feel like I’m suffocating." The cabin’s familiar scents wash over me—leather from the massive sectional, cedar from the exposed beams, and coffee from Nash’s ever-running machine. Home.
Logan heads upstairs to let our target sleep it off.
The main room stretches out before us—simple furnishings, thick rugs, plush throws, and a stone fireplace that dominates one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the mountain view, though the smart glass is currently tinted for privacy so no one can see inside–day or night. The open floor plan flows into the kitchen. My father would probably roll in his grave if he could see what we’ve done with his mountain retreat.
I head straight for the industrial fridge, grabbing a bottle of water while Nash leans against the granite island, arms crossed over his chest. The geometric tattoo on his forearm peeks out from beneath his sleeve.
"So, it went well then?"
I drain half the bottle before answering.
"We got her. That’s what matters. Even if we had to crash the Nexus bus." The water doesn’t wash away the lingering taste of adrenaline or the memory of her scent mixing with mine when I held her.
"I don’t remember that being part of the plan." One blonde eyebrow arches over his glasses. Nash has the look he gets when he thinks we’re being reckless, the same look he had when Logan suggested we take that job in Singapore last year. We should have listened to him then, then I wouldn’t have a pain in my knee that likes to flare up every time it gets freezing cold.
"We needed to stop them somehow." I shrug, putting the bottle back next to the steaks marinating for dinner. The kitchen is all stainless steel, but the six-burner range reminds me of Sunday mornings and pancakes before everything went to hell. "No one died… that I’m aware of."
Logan’s boots sound on the hardwood as he returns. He’s removed his tactical gear, now in his dark Henley and jeans. The scar near his collarbone catches my attention, a souvenir from our first retrieval that went sideways in Bangkok. "She’s secured in the east bedroom. Still out cold."
"And you’re sure she’s our girl? We were told there would be four Omegas on that bus." Nash’s fingers drum against the granite. That restless energy of his always gets worse when he’s worried. "Did she confirm she’s Casey Anderson?"
I crash onto the leather sectional, and they follow me into the main room as I throw one arm over my eyes.
"Fuck, these kidnappings are exhausting." A flash of memory hits me—my sister’s face the last time I saw her before corrupt officials made her disappear. I shove the thought away as quickly as it came.
"Axel." There’s an edge to Nash’s voice now. I lower my arm, catching him running his fingers through his messy hair. "What if you grabbed the wrong Omega?"
"It’s definitely her," Logan interjects, dropping into the armchair across from me. His gray eyes are troubled as he absently touches the chain at his neck. "Same face, same height, same build, same distinctive coloring as the photo we saw of her. Plus, she was exactly where Julian said she’d be, with those three other Omegas on the bus heading to the Nexus facility."
"Trust me," I add, remembering the way she sassed us earlier. "An Omega that fierce? That’s definitely Julian Hayes’ runaway." The words taste bitter. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have questioned it—just another job, just another paycheck—but something about this one feels wrong.
"Fine." Nash moves to the dining table where three monitors are set up, his own version of mission control. "You better be right. Julian’s not exactly known for his forgiving nature."
"Speaking of our illustrious client." Logan leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Anyone else think it’s weird how specific he was about the capture parameters?"
I sit up, remembering the cold smile on Julian’s face during our briefing. The way he described exactly how we should handle his Omega as roughly as we needed. The predatory gleam in his eyes when we discussed potential risks.
"You mean the part where he seemed disappointed we wouldn’t rough her when he asked us to?"
"Exactly." Logan rolls his shoulder. "Most clients who hire us to retrieve people want them unharmed. Julian practically got hard at the thought of her getting hurt."
"Maybe he’s into that kind of thing," Nash suggests, but his frowning expression says he’s not convinced. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he works. "Some Alphas like their Omegas a little broken."
"No." The word comes out as a growl, surprising even me. Both of them look over, and I force myself to relax. The rage that’s simmering under my skin threatens to boil over. "Something’s off about this whole thing. The way he talks about her, as if she’s property who ran away rather than his fated mate."
"Since when do you care about Omega rights?" Nash’s tone is careful, probing.
"I don’t. I do. Fuck you." Even as I say it, I remember the defiance in her gaze as she fought us. The way she protected her friends, trying to draw us away from them. Not exactly the behavior of an Omega desperately in need of rescue or one to put up with a man like Julian.
Nash shrugs and pulls up the schematics on his center screen, something about document retrieval from a secured facility. I’m only half listening as he details security positions and access points to Logan, who joins him. They’re already on another topic of order—our next job.
My mind keeps drifting to the Omega sleeping upstairs, to the fire in her eyes even as the sedative took hold. To the bruise on her cheek and the terror in her voice when she saw the Nexus guard. To Julian’s cold smile and carefully manicured hands that have never seen a day of honest work. To my sister, who I lost all those years ago to such men.
Nash’s fingers dance across his keyboard, multiple screens casting a blue glow across his face. "The Muso brothers sent through the plans," he says, pointing to various spots on the blueprint that dominates his center monitor. "Initial survey looks clean."
I finally go and join them, studying the layout.
"Security’s tighter than it should be for a simple document retrieval." Nash pushes his glasses up. "Guards here and here." His finger traces two points. "Building system needs to be dismantled. Should be an easy job—twenty grand for some paperwork to be retrieved."
I crack my knuckles. "Should?"
Logan flops down on one of the chairs. "Layout?"
"Three floors, underground parking." Nash pulls up another schematic. "Guards in the foyer 24/7. Side entrance here," he points to a narrow corridor. "But it’s manned by two armed guards in constant communication with the front."
"Communication patterns?" Logan’s gone into tactical mode, his gray eyes sharp.
"Regular check-ins every fifteen minutes. Can’t just take them out quietly and move on. We’ll need a distraction. And one of us will stay there and respond to the front team."
"No deaths," I remind them, though I don’t need to. It’s our one rule, the line we won’t cross. We find things, we retrieve things for people, we even occasionally acquire things through questionable means, but we don’t kill.
"Never said anything about deaths." Nash’s lips quirk. "But we’ll need something big enough to draw attention without raising alarms. Maybe if we?—"
Logan opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by his phone ringing.
"Julian!" Logan’s voice is neutral as he answers, but I see his knuckles whiten around the phone. "Yeah?" His tone shifts to that neutral tone he uses with clients he doesn’t trust. "There’s been a complication... No, we don’t have her yet." His jaw tightens. "With all due respect, Mr. Hayes, calling us so quickly could draw unwanted attention… That was the agreement."
His lips pinch as he listens to the asshole on the phone.
"We do this our way or not at all. Don’t call again. We’ll contact you when it’s done." A muscle jumps in his jaw. "We keep our word. Make sure you keep yours."
He hangs up, and the silence in the room is heavy enough to choke on.
"So, you have doubts, too, then?" I ask.
"Fucker wanted to know why we haven’t delivered his Omega yet." Logan’s gray eyes darken as he stares at the phone like it might bite him. "I don’t trust him, either." He meets my gaze.
A chill runs down my spine as I remember the way Julian’s perfect white teeth flashed when he described how his Omega needed to be taught some lessons. A similar phrase I heard from the men who took my sister. My gut hardens, fury racing through my veins.
"We’re not handing her over until we speak with her," I say, surprised by the steel in my own voice.
"Agreed." Logan nods, and I see the soldier in him, the one who still believes in protecting the innocent. "She’s safe upstairs. She’s not going anywhere until we figure this out."
"Figure what out?" Nash pushes away from his computers and stares at us, seeing he’s been quiet. "We were hired to do a job. Simple retrieval."
"Nothing’s simple with Julian Hayes," Logan mutters. "But what’s an extra day?"
I rub my jaw, thinking about the dig we did into Hayes before taking this job. On paper, he’s corporate America’s favorite success story—the ruthless but brilliant Alpha who turns failing companies into gold. But scratch that polished surface and things get darker. Three of his latest acquisitions had mysterious fires right before he made his offers. Another had its Omega owner sign over everything after her brother had an accident . The gangs that show up to negotiate with stubborn sellers always trace back to dead ends. And here we are, hunting down his runaway Omega like good little soldiers. I had a bad feeling about taking his job from the beginning, but we ended up accepting it because of the half-million-dollar payment.
Logan and Nash go back to the building schematics on the screen, but my mind keeps circling back to the Omega upstairs and what she’s got herself wrapped in.
In our line of work, secrets don’t just cost lives—they destroy everything.