Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
LOGAN
I check the hallway one last time before entering the office. Old habits die hard—clear the space, secure the perimeter, maintain control. Some lessons you never unlearn, no matter how far you get from the battlefield.
Nash is pouring himself two fingers of aged whiskey from the crystal decanter on the mahogany sidebar. Axel paces near the window—the man never could stay still when his mind’s working overtime.
I lock the door and activate the security monitors. The main screen on the wall flickers to life, showing various angles of the house. My attention catches on the feed from the great room, where our unexpected complication is sprawled across the leather couch.
She’s kicked off her boots, one bare foot dangling over the armrest while she stares unseeing at some show. The TV light plays across features that belong on a surfboard advertisement—sun-kissed skin, high cheekbones, and white-blonde hair—but there’s steel under that beach-girl exterior. I saw it in the way she faced down three Alphas without flinching, in how she’s already planning her next move. She’s savvy and a survivalist, and I admire that so much in her.
"Well?" Nash breaks the silence, coming to study the screen too. "We doing this?"
I lean against my desk, crossing my arms. "It’s half a million dollars we will lose from Julian."
"Fuck." Axel stops pacing, running a hand through his hair. "That’s a good chunk of our retirement money."
"Julian’s already paid half," Nash adds, but there’s tension in his comment. "The rest on delivery."
"Return it." My response comes out like gravel. "All of it."
"Logan—" Nash starts, but I cut him off.
"You heard her out there. You saw her face when she talked about him." My fingers find the dog tags at my neck—not mine, but a reminder of promises kept and broken. Last time I didn’t trust my gut instinct, a close friend paid the price… My chest tightens. "We’re not sending her back to that."
"It’s not that simple." Nash sets his glass down on the other end of my table, then removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "This job could set us up. Fewer risky heists, no more walking the line between legal and... our jobs. We could finally be done."
"There are other missions we can take. There always will be." Axel drops into a chair, his expression dark. "But taking a leaf from Nash’s book, if we cross Julian Hayes, our reputation…"
"Fuck our reputation." The words come out sharper than intended. "And fuck Julian Hayes."
"He’ll retaliate," Nash points out. "Start asking questions about our business. About us. Send his goons after us until he’s won."
"Let him try." A smile pulls at my mouth, nothing pleasant about it. "Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with an entitled assholes who thinks money makes them untouchable."
On the screen, Casey shifts, pulling her knees up to her chest. It’s a defensive posture I’ve seen too many times in war zones— someone trying to make themselves smaller, less of a target. The bruise on her cheek stands out stark against her skin.
"Fine, so if we help her, then we need to be smart about this." Nash’s fingers tap against his desk. "Julian has connections. Real ones, not the paid-for kind. If we burn him, we need a plan."
"We always have a plan." Axel’s knuckles crack as he flexes his hands. "Usually several."
"Speaking of plans," Nash glances at the monitor. "Then what about her offer?"
"No." The word comes out automatically, Alpha-firm. "We’re not involving her in the heist."
"Hear me out. If you insist on not handing her over, maybe she might come in handy. The security at this place we’re going to hit... it’s not just about cameras and alarm systems. The human element is our biggest obstacle. But an Omega in distress? That changes the equation entirely."
"You want to use her as bait?" Axel asks, his brow furrowing.
"I want to consider all our options." Nash states, "You’ve seen how she handles herself. She’s not some pampered princess who’s going to fall apart under pressure."
"She also has no clue about how to pull off a heist." I push off the desk, pacing now myself. "One wrong move in there and?—"
"Maybe Nash is onto something. We train her." Axel leans forward, intense. "Give her the basics, see how she handles it. If she can’t cut it, fine. But if she can..."
"We keep it professional." Nash shrugs, but there’s something careful in his tone. "She needs protection, and we need a distraction. Simple transaction to make up for the one we are about to lose."
I glance at the monitor again. Nothing simple about this situation. Especially not the way Axel keeps watching her on the screen or how Nash’s usual tactical detachment reveals his protective edge.
"Nexus is another concern," I say, redirecting. "They’ll be looking for her, too."
"More reason to keep her close." Nash takes another sip of his drink. "We can hide her movements better if we know where she is. And our security systems are better than anything they’ve got."
"You’re taking her side now?" There’s no heat in my words. Nash has always had a soft spot for strays, even if he pretends otherwise.
"I’m taking the side of not getting our asses handed to us by corporate security because we tried to strong-arm our way past trained guards in the past, and it backfired." He pulls up files on his laptop; I assume information on the heist. "These guys guarding the building are ex-military, Logan. They won’t fall for standard tactics."
"But they’ll fall all over themselves to help a distressed Omega," Axel finishes. "Especially one who looks like that."
I shoot him a look, but he just grins, unrepentant. "Focus."
"I am damn focused on solving our problem. Give her two weeks of training. If she can’t handle it, we find another way. If she can..." He shrugs. "We get our payday without anyone dying, and she gets protection from Julian. Everyone wins."
"Except Julian, and us not getting that paycheck from him," Nash adds dryly.
"As I said, fuck Julian," I say firmly. "We’ll get more jobs. And from the moment we met up with him, we all agreed—there was always something off about him."
I study the monitors again. Casey shifted, curled into the corner of the couch now. Even through the camera, I spot the tension in her shoulders and the way she turns her head toward the exits. Training tells me that’s good situational awareness. Something primal inside me wants to remove whatever put that wariness there.
"Two weeks," I say finally. "We test her abilities, her commitment. First sign of trouble, we abort her joining us on the heist." That will give us enough time to better understand her situation and what we’re dealing with.
"Agreed," Nash says, shoving his phone into his back pocket. "I’ll start background checks and see what else we can dig up on her. And Julian."
"I’ll handle the training schedule." Axel stands, stretching. "Hand-to-hand first, then basic evasion techniques."
"No." Something in my tone makes them both look over. "We’ll handle her together, each of us training her in something different to see how she reacts."
They exchange looks but don’t argue. They know that tone—the one that says I’m not just speaking as their friend but as the Alpha who’s kept us alive through worse situations than this.
"Nash." He glances up. "Move her to the east wing guest room. Better security, more comfort."
"Going soft, old man?" But he’s already pulling up the house systems back on his phone.
"Professional courtesy." The words taste like a lie. Nothing professional about the way my instincts react when she’s near. "We’re not animals."
Axel watches the screen, where Casey’s finally dozed off, her features softened in sleep. "We’re three Alphas taking in a runaway Omega with a psychotic ex while planning a major heist and probably starting a war with one of the most powerful men in the city." He grins, wild and sharp. "What could possibly go wrong?"
Everything . Everything could go wrong. As I watch her curl tighter into herself, something in my chest tightens. The same instinct that kept me alive through three tours screams that this girl needs protection—real protection, not a business arrangement.
I reach for my dog tags again, remembering the last time I ignored those instincts. The price paid in blood and regret.
Not this time.
Axel and Nash file out without another word, but I linger, watching the screen where Casey stirs, her hand reaching unconsciously for something to hold on to and finding nothing.
Just for a little while, I tell myself. Just until we figure out a better solution. Just until she’s safe.
As I finally head out of my office, I stroll back to the main room and into the hallway, shoulder against the frame, taking time to really observe our unexpected complication.
Casey hasn’t moved from the couch, but there’s nothing relaxed in her posture. Her eyes are open. Her fingers trace patterns on the leather arm, seemingly idle movements that I recognize as someone mapping escape routes. The TV flickers, casting shadows across features that hold too much wariness for someone so young. Every few minutes, her head turns to the windows, to the doors, and back to where I stand. Never still, never letting her guard down.
It’s the shadows under her eyes that hold my attention—the kind that speak of too many nights worrying, maybe crying, too many days looking over her shoulder. I’ve seen that look before in places where peace was another lie people told themselves.
She shifts, pulling her knees closer to her chest, and I catch the slight tremor in her hands before she hides it. Playing brave while terrified—another thing I recognize too well.
"You often watch girls? It’s creepy." Her voice carries forced lightness, but she doesn’t turn around.
"I’ve been called worse." I step into the room, deliberately keeping my footsteps audible. She tenses anyway, fingers curling into the couch cushions.
"So, what’s the verdict?" Still facing away, using the window’s reflection to track my movement. Smart girl. "When do you hand me over to Julian?"
"We don’t."
She flinches slightly.
I ease into an opposite couch, maintaining a clear space between us.
"You’ll stay here. For now."
That gets her attention. She turns slowly, eyes narrowing as she studies me.
"Just like that?"
"With rules."
"Of course." A bitter smile touches her lips. "There are always rules for Omegas."
"These are to keep you safe." And us sane, but that’s not something she needs to hear. "No going outside without one of us. No phone calls. No visitors."
"No escape attempts?" There’s a challenge in her tone, but underneath it, fear.
"Would you believe me if I said you don’t need to escape?"
She meets my eyes then, really looks at me, and I see the moment she decides to be honest. "No. I wouldn’t."
The raw truth in those words hits harder than any challenge could. Her fingers find her hair, twisting the ends as silence stretches between us.
"Rule number four," I say finally. "No going into the east wing basement."
Something flickers across her face—curiosity warring with caution. "Why? What’s down there?"
"That’s not your concern." I grin.
She swallows. "Very Bluebeard of you."
"This isn’t a fairy tale," I remind her of the danger she is in if Julian is determined to find her.
"No," she whispers, more to herself than me. "It really isn’t."
The TV drones on, neither of us paying attention. She’s drawn up tighter now, making herself smaller in that instinctive way Omegas have when they feel threatened, but her chin stays lifted, defiant despite her fear.
"Why?" she asks suddenly. "Why help me? You don’t know me."
"We are learning enough to see that the rumors might be real." About Julian. About how he terrifies this Omega. The rage rises that we made a deal with him in the first place, how the money made us blind-sighted, but I force it down. Not the time.
"Do you?" Color touches her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. "Or do you just think you do?"
"I know you’re running from something worse than us."
Her breath catches. For a moment, I think she might cry, but she masters it.
She looks away first, fingers still working that hair.
"Thank you," she says finally, barely above a whisper. "I know I’ll be out of your way soon. I... I’m kind of stuck right now."
"You’re safe here. We’ll figure out the rest."
"Safe?" A harsh laugh escapes her. "With three strange Alphas in the middle of nowhere?"
"Safer than with Julian."
She flinches at the name, and I curse myself. She rallies, lifting her chin.
"The devils I don’t know?"
"Something like that."
Silence falls again, heavier this time. She’s studying me, really looking, and I force myself to let her. To not react to having an Omega’s full attention or admit that I enjoy it a bit too much.
"You’ll need to learn some basic self-defense," I say finally. "In case things go wrong."
"Things meaning Julian?"
"Among others." I clear my throat.
She nods slowly, but her hands have started shaking again. "He won’t stop looking."
"Let me worry about Julian."
"That’s what everyone says." Her voice cracks slightly. " Let me handle it. Let me protect you. But in the end..." She trails off, but I hear the rest, anyway. In the end, you can only count on yourself.
"Get some rest," I say, standing. "Nash is setting up a room for you in the east wing and will show it to you."
"Above or below the forbidden basement?"
I chuckle and move toward the kitchen, needing distance from the way she’s starting to feel less like a delicious complication and more like something inviting.
"Let me put dinner on."
"Logan?" Her voice stops me at the doorway. Smaller now, less certain. "Thank you. Really."
I glance back, and for a moment, I see what Julian must have seen—a rare Omega, one so bright that he tried to possess, to break—but where he saw something to control, I see something to protect.
Damn it.
I head into the kitchen without responding, her quiet presence following me like a shadow. It’s only temporary, I remind myself.
But as I dive into the fridge, that combat-honed instinct whispers a warning—nothing about this situation is temporary. And nothing about this girl is just anything.