Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
jake
I have no words for what’s ripping through me when I see Felton standing there, trying to remove that chair from the door.
Failure. Raw, crushing failure sits like a stone in my gut.
I failed her.
The thought loops in my head, relentless. We let her walk away alone. Left her when she was vulnerable, when she needed us most—when my Alpha instincts were screaming not to. And now—
What if he really hurt her?
The questions tear through me like claws. My Alpha is boiling with rage and fear—pure, primal fury at the idea of anyone hurting our Omega. At this bastard putting his hands on her, trapping her, terrorizing her while we were—
I will never make this up to her.
The thought crashes into me with devastating certainty. Even if she’s physically okay, even if we get her out of there right now, how do I ever apologize for not being there? For not protecting her when she needed it most?
Felton looks up as we approach. For half a second—just a fraction of a moment—there’s fear in his eyes. Raw, genuine fear.
Good. He should be afraid. Deathly afraid. If he had any idea what I want to do to him, he’d be pissing himself.
But then that fear is gone from his eyes, replaced by something sick. Something triumphant. A smile spreads across his face that makes me want to put my fist through it until there’s nothing left but blood and broken bone.
And I understand—truly understand for the first time—the true depths of his obsession with her.
Why? The question flashes through my mind in the liminal space between rage and action. Why has no one seen this? How has he been APbrA staff for twenty fucking years—at least—and no one ever caught this?
How many other Omegas has he done this to? How many has he hurt?
The questions exist for only a heartbeat, suspended between Mark’s fear and his triumph, between my horror and my fury.
Then he opens his mouth.
“Too late, boys.”
The words are smug. Satisfied. Like he’s already won.
I’m about to launch myself at him—to tear him apart with my bare hands—when Beau lunges first.
“What the fuck did you do?” The roar that comes out of him doesn’t sound human. It’s all Alpha, all rage, all lethal promise. “Where is she?”
Beau’s hand closes around Felton’s collar, and suddenly the bastard’s toes are barely touching the ground. Beau slams him against the wall hard enough that his head bounces off the cinderblock. Hard enough that I feel the impact in my own bones, hear the sickening crack of skull meeting concrete.
Felton’s face starts turning red. Then purple.
I realize distantly that Beau is choking him—his grip on the collar twisted so tight it’s cutting off his air completely.
I don’t care. I want to watch him turn blue. I want to see the life drain out of his eyes. I want to help Beau squeeze until—
“Beau.” Charlie’s voice cuts through the red haze as he rushes over. “You can’t. Not like this. Let him go.”
But I’m not looking at them anymore. I’m looking at the door. At the chair that was wedged under it. At the makeshift bolt Felton rigged.
She’s in there.
The realization washes over me like ice water. Willa is on the other side of that door.
I kick the chair out of the way with enough force that it skitters down the hallway and clangs against the far wall. My hands shake as I wrench the door open, and her scent overwhelms me.
Thick and cloying, her normally sweet buttercup and honey scent turned sour and acrid. It burns my nose and makes my eyes water. The wrongness of it, her distress soaks into every fiber of my heart.
When my eyes land on her, she’s on the floor, as far away from the door as the tiny space allows. Curled into herself on her side, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her body. Trying to make herself as small as possible. As protected as possible.
Alone. She was alone and terrified and—
“Willa!”
I’m across the small space in two strides, dropping to my knees beside her. I gather her into my arms, pulling her against my chest. She’s so hot I can feel it through both our shirts. Her body’s on fire.
But she responds to me lifting her. Some instinct recognizing pack, recognizing safety. She burrows into my chest, making a small sound that breaks my heart into pieces.
“I’ve got you, Wildcat. I’ve got you.” I hold her in a death grip against my heart, and the protective rage that floods through me is overwhelming. How anyone could hurt her—could hurt any Omega—is so fucked up I can’t even process.
“Beau! Charlie!” My voice comes out rough. “We need to get her out of here. Now!”
Behind me, I hear Charlie having to physically pull Beau off Felton. Hear the struggle, the snarls, Beau’s reluctance to let go of the useless sack of shit.
I glance back just long enough to see Felton slumped on the floor, bleeding from his nose. Maybe his mouth, too. Unconscious.
But alive.
Part of me wishes he wasn’t.
“Jake.” Charlie’s voice is tight. “We need to call security.”
“She can’t wait.” I’m already standing, Willa cradled against my chest. “I’m taking her out of here. You handle security.”
“Jake—”
“She. Can’t. Wait.” Each word is bitten off. Final. “Look at her, Charlie. She needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like him.”
Charlie looks at Willa, and his expression cracks. “Okay. Go. We’ll handle this.”
I don’t wait for Beau to chime in. I carry Willa through the service corridor toward the back entrance, silently thanking the stars that it’s so close. There’s no way I’m taking her through the crowds at the main entrance.
She’s shaking in my arms. Making small sounds of distress that tear at me. I keep murmuring to her—nonsense words, soothing sounds, anything to let her know she’s not alone anymore.
“I’m so sorry, Wills. I’m so fucking sorry. I should have been there. Should have protected you. But I’ve got you now. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”
The back service entrance is just up ahead, and I shoulder through the door into the parking lot. Willa shivers, burrowing deeper into my chest as the cold air hits us both.
Charlie’s Land Rover is parked in the competitor section. I make it there in what feels like seconds, my legs eating up the distance.
I try to lay her in the back seat, thinking she’ll be more comfortable stretched out. But the moment I start to pull away, her hands fist in my shirt, and she makes a sound of pure distress.
“No, no, don’t.” Her voice is barely there, weak and hoarse. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. Never leaving. Just trying to get you comfortable.”
“Don’t leave,” she repeats, and the desperation in it destroys me.
“Okay. Okay, I won’t.”
I pull her back out and position her in the front passenger seat so she’s partially in my lap. Her head rests against my thigh, my arm wrapped around her ribs, holding her close. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but she settles immediately, some of the tension leaving her body.
Beau and Charlie’s shirts are still in the back from earlier. I reach over and grab them, draping them over Willa like blankets. Pack scent. She needs to be surrounded by pack scent.
I take a minute to text Beau and Charlie with my other hand and tell them to meet us at the hotel as soon as they can.
I briefly let go of her to start the engine and shift into gear.
The whole way, I keep up a steady stream of words, probably nonsense, but she seems to respond to my voice, seems to calm slightly when I talk.
“You’re going to be okay. We’re going to take care of you. Whatever you need, whatever it takes. I’m so sorry, Wills.” I’ll never be done apologizing to this beautiful woman.
The Hotel Silverado appears ahead, and I pull up to the entrance, not caring about parking regulations. I get out and quickly make my way to the other side, pulling Willa into my arms. A valet starts toward us, and I throw him the keys.
“Sir, is everythi—” the woman behind the counter starts, but I cut her off.
“I need you to send up a heat specialist. Room 424,” I tell the front desk clerk, who takes one look at Willa in my arms and pales. “Now,” I bark when she doesn’t move.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. We have medical staff on call—I’ll send them up immediately.”
“Someone who knows Omega heat protocols.”
“We— Yes, we have someone on call. I’ll contact them right away.”
“Good,” I say, making my way to the elevator. Willa has fallen asleep—at least I hope that’s all it is.
The ride up is agony. Willa’s fever is getting worse, and she’s growing more restless in her sleep. I can feel each shuddering movement against my chest.
“Almost there, love. Just hold on a little longer.”
I fish the key card out of my pocket and shoulder through the door, carrying Willa straight to the massive bed.
This time, when I lay her down, she doesn’t fight it. Just curls into the pillows, small and vulnerable and burning up.
My phone buzzes.
Beau: On our way. Security has Felton. Police called. Might be a while still…
Charlie: Is she okay?
I text back one-handed while stripping off my jacket, adding it to the nest of blankets around Willa.
Jake: At the hotel. Medical is on the way up. Keep you posted.
I don’t know what else to do. Stand there, helpless, watching her shake and burn and suffer. Every instinct in me is screaming to fix this, to make it better, but I don’t know how. I work on taking off her coat, shoes, and socks. I tuck a sweat-soaked strand of hair behind her ear.
The knock on the door comes exactly ten minutes later. When I open it, a woman in her late forties—professional, with a commanding presence—stands there.
“I’m Dr. Reeves. I understand we have an Omega-related issue?”
“Yes. In here.” I lead her to the bedroom, grateful beyond words that she’s here.
Dr. Reeves takes one look at Willa, and her expression goes soft. She moves quickly but carefully, kneeling by the side of the bed.
“How long has she been like this?”
“I don’t know exactly. At least an hour. Maybe more. She was—” I have to force the words out. “Wasn’t with us when it started.”