Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LEVI
The next morning is slow, the kind of quiet that settles after an emotionally draining day. The kitchen still carries the lingering scent of last night’s dinner—Marry Me Steak Tacos with red beans and rice, the richness of the spices woven into the air. Sasha outdid herself, proving once again that she’s more than just a killer with a sharp tongue. She has a way of making a meal feel like an event, like something worth savoring. Even the Sangria Margarita she threw together had just the right amount of warmth, the kind that settled deep in your bones and took the edge off without dulling your instincts.
Allegra left not long after, her sharp eyes softening with relief every time they landed on Flynn. Our omega barely made it upstairs before crashing, exhaustion dragging him under the second his head hit the pillow. He’d fought hard just to get here, to see his sister, to breathe without the weight of the past crushing him. None of us blamed him for shutting down. None of us pushed. He deserved a moment to exist without expectation.
Sunlight streams through the blinds, painting golden lines across the hardwood. The scent of coffee drifts through the air, warm and familiar, a lazy promise of routine. I let myself hope—just for a second—that this could be our new normal. That after we deal with the Foundation, after we take care of Tom, maybe peace won’t feel so damn fragile.
Flynn’s still upstairs, resting, and I wouldn’t dream of disturbing him.
Sasha is curled up in the corner of the couch, a book open in her lap, though she’s not really reading. Her fingers tap idly against the worn leather of the cover, her gaze distant. I don’t have to ask what’s on her mind. I feel it too—that waiting, the uneasy stillness before something shifts.
Stone sits on the other end of the couch with his phone in one hand, a coffee mug in the other. His brow is furrowed, the tension flickering in his jaw, his fingers tightening subtly around the ceramic.
I open my mouth to ask, but before I can, the phone rings.
Sasha’s gaze snaps up. I check the screen, then silently mouth ‘Acid’ to her.
I don’t hesitate. “Yeah?”
Acid’s voice is clipped, serious. “Got a weird-ass call and email from the Foundation’s head office.”
My stomach drops.
He continues. “They said they had pictures of someone from the club being where they shouldn’t be. We’re on lockdown, so I figured I’d ask—do you know anything about this?”
Fuck.
“Can you forward it to me?” My voice is steady, even though I feel anything but.
“Already sent.” A pause. Then, he lowers his voice, “Levi, this shit feels off. Keep your head up and eyes open.”
I hang up, heading to the kitchen, drop my coffee onto the counter, and open my laptop. Sasha gets up, coming to stand behind me. I don’t have to tell her anything—she knows. Acid wouldn’t call unless it was bad.
Stone comes in right behind her, his jaw tight like he’s bracing for a blow. He doesn’t ask questions. Not yet.
The email pops up. Forwarded Message. I click it open, and my gut twists.
A recording.
I press play.
Tom’s voice slides through the speakers like oil.
“Someone was naughty.”
My fingers curl into fists.
“I know you’ve got something that belongs to me.”
Sasha inhales sharply.
“You took a damaged product,” Tom continues, voice calm, clinical. “But I’ll be generous. Return him to the Foundation. Keep him, and we both know how this ends. You can’t fix what’s already broken.”
The recording ends.
Silence hangs in the room, heavy as a noose.
Sasha’s the first to break it, her voice low and edged with something lethal. “So. That asshole’s making his move.” Not just making a move. He’s throwing down a gauntlet.
Tom isn’t some ghost from the past. He’s here. He’s running the Foundation. And now, he’s coming for what he thinks is his.
My gut tightens, rage curling through me like wildfire. No one threatens our omega and lives.
Sasha crosses her arms, eyes locked on the laptop like she could set it on fire with a glare alone. “We should’ve put him in the ground when he fucked with Nadia.”
She’s not wrong. But she’s not exactly right either. It wasn’t the time.
I exhale slow and steady, trying to leash the fury clawing at my ribs. “He knows the Carlisle Pack is dead.”
“And he knows Flynn’s missing.”
Her gaze flicks toward the stairs, like she can already hear Flynn’s panicked breathing, the way he’d fold in on himself if he knew what was coming. Thankfully, he is still upstairs, tucked away in the sanctuary of his bedroom, completely unaware of the shitstorm that just got dropped in our laps. If he’d heard that call, he’d be a fucking mess.
I shut the laptop and push to my feet, rubbing a hand down my face. “We lock this down. Now.”
Stone nods without hesitation. “Security, cameras, safehouses, backup—whatever it takes.”
“And Flynn?” Sasha asks.
“We don’t tell him.”
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp. “Levi?—”
“He’s already barely holding it together,” I cut in. “This will break him. We handle it. He doesn’t need to know until we’ve got a plan in place.”
Her jaw tightens, muscles flexing as she weighs the argument. It takes her a second, but then she exhales through her nose and gives a short nod. “He deserves to know. No secrets. No hiding.”
I hold her gaze for a beat before nodding. She’s right. This is his fight, too. He deserves the truth.
I take a slow, steady breath, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. I meet her gaze, my jaw clenched tight. “You’re right,” I say, voice low but sharp.
“No mercy,” Stone says, voice low, but there’s no mistaking the conviction in it. It’s the only way this ends. Either we crush Tom’s plans now, or we let him destroy everything we’ve worked to protect. And I’m not about to let that happen.
Sasha’s silence is heavy. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, but the tension in her shoulders says it all. She’s in. We’re all in.
Her sour lime scent cuts through the bonfire smell filling the room, sharp and bright, like her decision just settled into the air around us.
Just then, the sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks the moment, and Flynn’s groggy voice drifts down to us. “Good morning,” he says, his voice thick with sleep, eyes still half-lidded as he rounds the corner.
But when his eyes meet ours—stone-faced, tense, a weight in the air—his expression shifts immediately. The sleepiness fades, replaced by an edge of concern. His gaze flicks between us, catching the tension in our stances. No doubt the maelstrom of our scents will set him on edge, his instincts demanding he ease his alphas or run.
He stops in his tracks, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, panic creeping in. “What’s going on?” His voice tightens, anxiety threading through it. “Oh god, is it Allegra?”
He looks ready to bolt, his muscles coiled, waiting for confirmation that something is wrong.
“No, no, pretty boy,” Sasha says quickly, her hand grazing his cheek in a calming gesture. “Allegra’s safe.”
His shoulders sag in visible relief, but the wariness doesn’t leave his face. He senses something is still not right; something’s off. Sasha wraps her arms around him, her voice calm but steady. “But we do have news, Flynn. And you need to hear it.”
Flynn’s gaze flicks back to us, searching our faces for the truth. He knows we’re not just standing here, waiting for him to wake up, without something serious on our minds.
“Tell me,” he says, his tone now strained with worry. He’s still trying to piece it together, but he’s starting to understand that whatever it is, it’s not good.
I step forward, my voice low, but direct. “Tom knows Carlisle Pack is gone and you’re missing. He’s demanding your return.”
Flynn swallows hard, his breath hitching as the weight of it sinks in. His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “You’re taking me to him?”
The words shake as they leave his mouth, and I see the panic rising in his eyes. The fear he’s tried so hard to bury comes rushing back—memories of being hunted, of feeling trapped.
His scent shifts. What was once bright and sweet is now bitter. Like oranges left out in the sun too long, starting to rot. It fills the space between us, and my heart clenches.
Sasha’s grip tightens on his arm, her touch a grounding force. “Hey, listen to me,” she says softly, but with a firmness that cuts through the tension. “You’re not alone in this. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Not now. Not ever. And we sure as hell aren’t dropping you anywhere.”
Flynn’s gaze flicks to her, the terror in his eyes softening just a fraction. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath, and I can tell he’s fighting to keep it together. He’s been here before—he knows what it feels like to be caught in the crossfire, and it’s never easy to shake that fear.
Sasha doesn’t let go. She steps even closer, her voice unwavering. “We’ve got you, Flynn. We won’t let him get to you. You’re safe here. We’re not running. We’re standing our ground. And we’re doing it together.”
Flynn’s shoulders slump just slightly, his breath a little steadier now, though the fear still lingers in his eyes. He looks at all of us—Stone, Sasha, and me—and the strength in our gazes, the solidarity between us, finally breaks through his walls. This time, he’s not facing this alone. We’re all in.
I step forward, my voice firm as I place a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “You’re ours to protect. Anyone who comes for you has to go through all of us first.”
Flynn looks at us, the weight of the moment settling in. His eyes flick to each of us, a tremble running through him as he takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay,” he whispers, the word small, but powerful, and we know what it means. “Okay.”