Chapter 38 – JUNIPER
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
JUNIPER
T he mansion has too many fucking rooms. I've been wandering for an hour, and I swear I keep finding new ones like the place breeds them when I'm not looking.
There's a library that smells like leather and pretension, a music room with a piano that looks like a great surface to get fucked on, and what appears to be a meditation room that Carlisle definitely uses for something that isn't meditation.
The shadows trail behind me, equally bored, making up stories about what happened in each room.
According to them, the meditation room is where Carlisle practices his murder poses, and honestly?
I can see it. A few of them are so pretzely in my mind's eye that it makes me giggle, and I'm glad I'm alone at the moment.
I'm about to give up and go annoy Felix when I hear voices drifting from somewhere down the east wing. The alphas' voices. Hmm.
They're planning something without you.
"Like hell they are," I mutter, creeping closer.
The door to what must be their new war room is cracked open, because apparently these master tacticians never learned basic operational security.
Or maybe they've just learned their lesson about me and locked doors.
I press myself against the wall, channeling every ounce of assassin training into being invisible.
"—been three weeks and we've got fuck all," Bane's voice rumbles through the gap. "Whoever's behind this has gone to ground."
"Or they're waiting," Carlisle suggests, and I can hear him doing that thing where he flips his knife while talking. The soft whisper of metal through air is distinctive. "Patience is a virtue in our line of work."
"Your line of work," Archer corrects. "The rest of us prefer more direct approaches."
"Like what? Knocking on doors asking 'excuse me, did you hire two incredibly attractive assassins to kill us?'" Carlisle's voice drips sarcasm. "Very tactical."
I've heard enough. These idiots are planning something, and they're doing it without their two resident experts in clandestine murder. Time to collect my partner in crime.
Felix is exactly where I left him three hours ago, sprawled on our bed with a book that's definitely not the same one from this morning because the cover's different.
He's plowed through at least four novels in the last few days, which means he's suddenly either really into post-apocalyptic fiction or he's avoiding thinking about something.
"They're plotting without us," I announce, bouncing onto the bed hard enough to make him lose his place.
He doesn't even look up. "The alphas plot things every five minutes. It's their favorite hobby after brooding and flexing unnecessarily."
"This is different. War room plotting. Mission plotting. The kind where they use their serious voices and Carlisle stops making jokes about dismemberment."
That gets his attention. Silver eyes flick up to meet mine, and there's that spark of interest that makes my heart do somersaults. "War room?"
"The fancy one with the mahogany table and the maps that make them feel like they're planning a full-scale invasion instead of beating up drug dealers."
He sets the book aside with the kind of care that means he was on a good part but his curiosity wins. "Lead the way."
We move through the hallway like smoke, years of practice making our footsteps silent on the obscenely expensive hardwood. The voices get clearer as we approach, and I hear Elias say something about "calculated risk" which is doctor-speak for "terrible idea but fuck it."
"—could work," Bane's saying as we reach the door. "If we make ourselves visible enough, run a big enough operation?—"
"We paint a target on our backs," Archer finishes. "Again."
"We already have targets on our backs," Carlisle points out. "Might as well make them neon."
"The question is where," Elias says, and I can hear papers rustling. "It needs to be something big enough to draw attention but not so big we can't control the variables."
"The auction," Bane says, and there's something in his voice that makes the shadows perk up. "The underground one next week. Every piece of shit in the trafficking world will be there."
"Including whoever's been protecting these operations," Carlisle adds. "Our mysterious benefactor might even make an appearance."
"It's perfect," Archer agrees, though he doesn't sound happy about it. "We hit it, make a scene, and see who comes crawling out of the woodwork."
"We'd need bait," Elias says carefully. "Something to make it irresistible. An omega would?—"
"No." Bane's voice goes hard. "We're not using Juniper."
"I wasn't suggesting?—"
"Good. Because it's not happening."
Carlisle chuckles, low and knowing. "Speaking of our hellcat, we seem to have an audience."
Fucking psychopath and his supernatural awareness. Felix and I exchange a look—his says busted , mine says fuck it —and we stroll through the door like we own the place.
"Planning a party without the guests of honor?" I ask, dropping into an empty chair with zero grace. "I'm wounded. Devastated. My feelings may never recover."
Bane has the decency to look slightly guilty. His massive frame shifts in his chair, and he runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Old habits die hard. We're used to working as a unit."
"A unit that's apparently allergic to sharing intelligence," Felix observes, leaning against the wall in his signature 'I'm too cool for furniture' pose.
"We were going to brief you once we had a solid plan," Archer says, which is such military bullshit that I actually laugh.
"Brief us? What are we, the press corps?
" I lean forward, fixing each of them with a look that's probably scarier than I intend.
"Listen up. Felix and I aren't housepets you keep informed out of courtesy.
We're the deadliest motherfuckers in this room, and if you're planning something that involves the killers coming after us, we want in. "
"Juniper—" Elias starts, using his doctor voice.
"Don't 'Juniper' me with your reasonable tone and your concerned eyes." I stand up, pacing now because sitting still when I'm pissed is impossible. "If you think I'm hanging up my assassin pants to play housewife just because I let you get me through one heat, you're out of your fucking minds."
Elias's lips twitch into a smirk. "What exactly do assassin pants look like?"
"Tight," I say, running my hands down my thighs for emphasis. "Really fucking tight. I might even let you see them if you stop acting like overprotective alpha holes."
Carlisle barks out a laugh. "She has a point. The plan would benefit from an omega. Especially one who can handle herself."
"I don't like it," Archer says immediately. "Using our mate as bait?—"
"Oh, soldier boy." I move to his chair, draping myself across the arm with theatrical flair. "I make the best kind of bait. The kind that shoots back."
"And stabs," Felix adds helpfully. "Don't forget the stabbing."
"And occasionally drops chandeliers on people," Carlisle contributes, that dangerous smile playing at his lips.
Bane sighs, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. "We're not going to win this one, are we?"
Felix pushes off from the wall. "No. Absolutely not. You might as well accept it now and save yourselves the argument."
"Fine." Bane's shoulders slump in defeat, but there's something that might be pride in his eyes when he looks at me. "But we're still alphas, and you're still our omega. There need to be ground rules to keep you safe."
"Ground rules," I repeat, tasting the words like they're particularly boring vegetables. "Fine. We'll do it the boring, safe, rule-following way. But if anyone tries to wrap me in bubble wrap, I'm setting something on fire."
"The warehouse incident," Felix mutters.
"That was one time and you've never let me hear the end of it!"
Carlisle slides a folder across the table, and I snatch it up before anyone can change their mind. Inside are surveillance photos, building schematics, and a guest list that reads like a who's who of people I'd happily feed their own intestines.
"The auction happens in six days," Bane explains, shifting into mission mode. "It's supposed to be exclusive. Mostly trafficking kingpins, corrupt officials, the kind of people our usual operations can't touch."
"The untouchables," I say, scanning the list. "How exciting."
"They'll be auctioning omegas," Elias says quietly, and the temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. "High-end trafficking. The kind where?—"
"Where they go for millions and disappear forever," I finish, my voice flat. I know exactly what kind of auction this is. The Serpents' Den used to send omegas to them sometimes. The ones who never came back.
Felix moves closer, not touching but close enough that I can feel his presence. The others might not notice, but I know he's ready to pull me out if this gets too heavy. If the shadows start getting too loud.
Right now, though, they're perfectly content with the promise of fresh blood. Giddy, really.
"The plan is simple," Bane continues, professional now. "We infiltrate, identify major players, and make enough noise that whoever's protecting these operations has to respond."
"And by 'make noise' you mean..." I prompt.
"Kill everyone who deserves it, free the victims, and burn the place to the ground," Carlisle says cheerfully.
"Now you're speaking my language." I flip through more photos, recognizing some faces, making mental notes about others. "So where do Felix and I come in?"
"You'd go in as merchandise," Archer says, and he looks like the words physically pain him. "With Felix as your handler. It's the only way to get you both inside without raising suspicions."
"Merchandise," I repeat, testing the word. It tastes like old memories and bile. "Been a while since anyone's tried to sell me."
The room goes very still. Even Carlisle stops playing with his knife.
"If this is too much—" Bane starts.
"It's not." I cut him off, steel in my voice. "I've been bought and sold before. Only difference is this time, I get to kill everyone involved."
"That's... one way to process trauma," Elias observes.
"It's therapeutic," I assure him. "Very cathartic. You should try it sometime, Doctor."
Felix pulls me aside while the others start discussing logistics, his hand on my elbow gentle but insistent. We end up in the corner, far enough for privacy but close enough that I can still hear Carlisle suggesting increasingly creative ways to make an entrance.
"Juney," Felix says quietly, those silver eyes searching mine. "There's a chance we could run into people from our past at something like this."
I flinch in spite of myself. "You mean?—"
"Evan might be there. Or his associates. People who knew us from before." His hand finds mine, squeezing once. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"
The shadows whisper possibilities, showing me faces I've tried to forget, rooms I never wanted to see again. But underneath the fear is something else. Something sharp and eager and tasting like vengeance.
"I'm looking forward to it," I tell him, and mean every word. "Anyone from that life who recognizes us? They're not walking away from that auction."
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Alright. But we do this smart. No unnecessary risks."
"When have I ever taken unnecessary risks?" I ask innocently, batting my lashes.
"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?"
"Ass." I pull him down for a scolding kiss. When we break apart, we're both breathing harder. "It'll be good to get back out in the field. I'm going stir-crazy in this glass palace."
"Weren't you the one who was wary about even taking this job?" he challenges.
I blow a strand of hair out of my face. "That was forever ago." I glance back at the alphas, who are now arguing about extraction routes. "Besides, don't you miss it? The adrenaline? The planning? That moment right before everything goes sideways?"
His lips quirk in that almost-smile that makes my insides go liquid. "I miss working with you. The rest is just noise."
"Sap," I accuse, but I'm grinning.
"If you two are done making out," Carlisle calls without looking up from his maps, "we have murder to plan."
"It's not murder if they deserve it," I correct, pulling Felix back to the table. "It's justice with extra blood."
"Vigilante justice," Archer corrects.
"The best kind," Bane agrees.
As we settle in to plan an operation that will probably end in blood and fire and at least three building code violations, I can't help the excitement building in my chest. The shadows are singing now, pleased at the prospect of retribution, of finally getting back to what we do best.
Felix and I might be many things. Damaged, dangerous, more than a little unhinged. But we're also really fucking good at what we do. And what we do is remove problems from the world, one bullet at a time. And for once, we have a pack to do it with.
I just hope it's enough to show Felix he doesn't have to do everything on his own. We don't have to lose ourselves just to belong to this pack. We've just found pieces we didn't know were out there.