27. Willow
WILLOW
W illow took a step forward, her socks silent against the cool tile, though the heat rising in her chest was anything but quiet. She could feel it, thick and bitter, crawling up her throat. Her eyes bounced between Milo and Lachlan, locking on the former.
“You don’t get to keep me in the dark,” she said, voice trembling at first, but growing steadier with every word. “If there’s danger, if something’s happening, I deserve to know.”
Milo’s jaw flexed. His arms crossed over his chest, his whole posture shifting into something immovable. “The less you know, the safer you are.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Willow stalked closer, planting herself in front of him, eyes blazing. “I’m not a child. I’ve been kidnapped, locked away, and dragged into your world without a choice. I have a right to know why you’re doing this to me.”
Lachlan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, this is a whole lot of tension I don’t need before noon,” he mumbled, edging toward the door. “I’m gonna… give you two some space.”
He slipped out, disappearing into the house, leaving Willow and Milo locked in a standoff.
“I won’t lie to you,” Milo said quietly, but the finality in his voice was unmistakable. “But I won’t tell you everything, either. Not yet.”
Willow shook her head, lips parted in disbelief. “Why not?”
“Because it’ll just scare you, Willow. There’s nothing you can do except stay here and make the best of it.” He stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I need you to trust me, baby. I promise.”
“ Trust you?” she echoed, her voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. “That’s rich, Milo. Really.” Her arms crossed over her chest like armor, trembling as she held herself together by sheer force of will. “You ripped me out of my life, kept me in the dark, and now you want trust from me?”
She took a shaky breath, but didn’t give him time to respond.
“I might—might—be able to forgive you for all of it. The kidnapping. The secrets. The manipulation. But only if you start talking to me like I matter. Like I’m a person, not some fragile thing you want to protect.
” Her voice thickened, tinged with desperation now.
“I don’t need you to shield me. I need answers. I deserve that much.”
Dread was clawing its way up her spine, cold and relentless. The kind of dread that whispered worst-case scenarios into her thoughts until they took root and grew thorns.
If Milo didn’t give her something soon, she was going to spiral.
“Is someone after me? Is Poppy in danger?” Willow’s voice was sharp, each word laced with rising panic.
Poppy .
The thought of her sister hit like a gut punch, her chest tightening with guilt.
She hadn’t been thinking about her enough.
Not like she should’ve.But how could she, trapped in this nightmare with her emotions twisted up in knots and her sense of reality fraying at the edges? Still, it didn’t excuse it.
Milo just stood there, silent.
He looked like a kicked dog—eyes soft, brow tight, the weight of the world painted across his face. That expression only made her angrier. She didn’t want pity. She wanted the truth. Her lips parted to unleash another wave of demands, but he cut her off before she could even inhale.
“Look, Willow. There are some people, some very bad people, who might want to get their hands on you. But we’ve got it handled. Poppy is fine. Arlo will move her to a secure location if necessary.”
Willow stared at him, pulse thudding in her ears.
Some very bad people.
The words settled like lead in her stomach, coiling tighter with each passing second. He’d said it so casually, like he was begging her to stay calm. Like he hadn’t just confirmed her worst fear in a tone better suited for weather reports.
Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. If the head of the fucking werewolf mafia thought they were bad, then what kind of monsters were they really?
This was a man who could break someone in half without blinking. A man who had served in the military and who now ran a criminal empire. And he was afraid?
Her knees felt weak.
She wanted to believe him—wanted to cling to the idea that Poppy was safe. That Arlo would protect her. But Willow’s trust had been scraped raw, and every new truth felt like a lemon being pressed into the wound.
Still, the look in Milo’s eyes… It begged her to believe that he’d keep her safe. And she wanted so desperately to give him that faith .
Willow swallowed the lump in her throat, the tension pressing hard against her ribcage. Her voice came out low, barely more than a whisper.
“Who’s after me, Milo?”
He hesitated, jaw tightening just enough for her to notice.
“It’s a long story,” he said quietly. “Go to the dining room. It’ll be more comfortable. Give me a minute and I’ll be there. I’ll tell you everything I can.”
Her body moved before her mind could object, and she walked across the kitchen and into the dining room as though in a trance.
Once there, she sat down, hands in her lap, fingers twisting together anxiously.
A few quiet minutes passed before Milo stepped into the dining room, a plate held in one hand.
He set it in front of her without a word—slices of white cheese, thin rounds of salami, a neat stack of crackers, and a small bunch of grapes.
Willow arched a brow, staring at the spread like it had personally offended her.
“Really?” she muttered. “A snack plate? Is this one last-ditch effort to distract me?”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night,” Milo replied, unbothered. “You need something in your stomach.”
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers twitched toward the food anyway. “Well, maybe dinner would’ve gone smoother if a certain someone hadn’t tried to pick on somebody half his size.”
His mouth twitched, just enough for her to know he was fighting a laugh.
Still, she plucked a grape from the plate, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. Sweet. Cold. Perfect. Her stomach gave a grumble, and she scowled at the sound. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t have to.
Swallowing, she leaned back in the chair and narrowed her eyes.
“Alright. Let’s hear it.”
Milo cleared his throat and leaned forward. His fingers threaded together, forearms braced on the table as if grounding himself before dropping a weight between them.
“We’re not the only…” His jaw flexed. “Uh, ‘werewolf mafia’ in the city.”
Willow gave a noncommittal, “Mm-hmm,” before saying, “I’m aware.” Her tone invited him to keep talking, even if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest.
“The city’s split into two territories. Ours, and the other run by a man named Colin McGarvey. He’s Alpha of his pack, and they deal in…” Milo’s gaze slid away, his mo uth twisting uncomfortably. “A different currency than we do.”
She bit into a cracker topped with cheese, the crunch loud in the silence. Her brows drew together, a faint unease prickling in her chest. “What do you mean by a different currency?”
“They deal in people.”
Her chewing stopped. The taste in her mouth turned to ash.
“Like… prostitution?” The word came out as a whisper. “Or what?”
“And more.” His voice was steady, but there was venom in it. “The organ trade. Black market. They feed on the shit we won’t, and they’ve grown fatter than we should’ve let them on our scraps.”
Willow’s blood iced over. Forced sex work. Organs taken from a body that still breathed. They were the kind of nightmares you kept at arm’s length, horrors that lived behind a television screen—never something she had looked in the eye.
“And they want me?” Her voice was barely there. “Why?”
“Because you matter to me,” Milo said grimly, “and they want more ground. Their leader, McGarvey, has got some stupid fucking fantasy that he’s going to take this city and crown himself king.”
She stared down at the plate. The food blurred, her stomach churning, but she’d at least managed to choke down half.
“What happens if they get me?” The question slipped out, brittle with dread.
“You won’t ever have to find out.” His eyes locked on hers, hard and unyielding. “I will never let that happen, Willow.”
She wanted to believe him. Part of her ached to step into his arms, to let his strength wrap around her like armor, to never leave that fortress once she was inside it.
But the other part, the part that remembered she’d been kidnapped, was ice and dread.
A gang of ruthless sociopathic werewolves was planning a hostage situation with her as the bargaining chip, and she didn’t know how to carry that. The entire thing felt absurd.
A sigh escaped her as she leaned back, slipping her hand from under his, folding both in her lap. The exhaustion came all at once, bone-deep.
“I think I need a nap,” she murmured with a humorless laugh.
“I think that’s smart,” he said. “But afterwards, I was thinking we could get you out of the house for a little while.”
One brow lifted, but she didn’t bother asking where. The only thing she wanted now was the oblivion of sleep. She’d gotten the answers she’d chased so desperately, but—like a dog finally catching a car—she had no idea what to do with them.