Chapter 16 – ROMAN
CHAPTER 16
ROMAN
I pace the length of Braxley's obscenely large living room, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel a headache building at my temples. It's been over an hour since Bella, Cole, Troy, and Savva left, and with each passing minute, my anxiety ratchets up another notch.
They should be back by now.
What if something's happened?
What if Cole lost control again?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the spiraling thoughts. They're fine. They have to be. Troy and Savva are more than capable of handling any situation that might arise.
And Bella...
Our scent match. The omega we're supposed to protect, not fall for.
Fuck.
How did we end up in this mess?
"You're going to wear a hole in that fancy carpet if you keep that up," Liam's voice breaks through my brooding. He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with both amusement and concern.
Mostly amusement.
I grunt in response, not breaking my stride. "They should have checked in by now."
Liam shrugs, the movement making the tattoos on his neck shift like living things. "You know how Troy gets when he's having fun. Probably lost track of time."
"That's not an excuse," I snap, more harshly than I intend. "We have protocols for a reason."
Liam's eyes narrow slightly, and I brace myself for an argument. But before he can respond, Braxley's bitching cuts through the tension like nails on a chalkboard.
"Ugh, are they still not back?" he complains, sauntering into the room with his phone held out in front of him, no doubt taking videos for his adoring followers. "This is so unprofessional. I have a very important unboxing video to film, and I can't concentrate with all this... drama."
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that punching our client in his perfectly sculpted face would be bad for business.
No matter how satisfying it might be.
"Like, is there a way to have just the four of you and get rid of that… other one?" Braxley asks, grimacing. "I'm pretty sure he's going to kill us all in our sleep."
Every trace of amusement vanishes from Liam's face. "Cole?" he clarifies, raising his eyebrows. "You're talking about Cole, right?"
"I can't keep track of all your names," Braxley says with a huge sigh. "If he's the one with half his face blown off, yeah, that's the one. Did I mention he's a direct threat to my aesthetic?"
Liam's lip curls into the beginnings of a snarl.
I shoot Liam a warning look that says it all without me having to speak a word out loud. Don't take the bait. Don't get us fired. We won't be able to keep Bella safe if you cave Braxley's face in like a pumpkin.
Fortunately, Braxley gets bored and flounces out of the room just as quickly as he appeared. I only realize my nails have been digging into my palms to the point of drawing blood when I catch the metallic scent in the air.
This job is going to be the death of me.
Or of Braxley.
I'm not sure which at this point.
Liam opens his mouth to say something to me, but before he can, the door opens again.
This time, it's not Braxley.
Bella steps into the penthouse first, her cheeks flushed from the cool air outside. She's smiling, a real smile that reaches her eyes in a way I haven't seen since we arrived. It's an immediate soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
Troy and Savva follow close behind her, their usual banter noticeably subdued. And then...
Cole.
He looks... different. Not relaxed, exactly—I'm not sure Cole knows how to relax—but notably less rigid than usual. The muscles of his jaw aren't ticking, and his intense blue gaze looks almost soft.
"What happened?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral even though every alpha instinct is screaming at me to demand answers. To protect. To fix whatever's wrong.
But I know better than to push Cole too hard. He's like a wounded animal sometimes. Back him into a corner and he'll either lash out or shut down completely.
"Just needed some air," Cole mutters, not meeting my eyes. His knuckles are bloody, I notice. Fresh scrapes across the scarred tissue of his right hand. He's good enough at keeping his face angled away from anyone looking at him that I almost miss the small gash above his scarred eyebrow.
Damn it.
"Air doesn't usually involve busted knuckles," I point out mildly.
Cole's jaw tightens, but he says nothing. Silence is typical for him. But what catches my attention is the way Bella's watching him, concern written all over her face. She's holding something in her hands, turning it over and over like a worry stone.
Is that... a wooden duck?
The pieces start falling into place. Cole's tendency to carve when he's stressed or lost in his own head. The blood on his knuckles. The way Bella's hovering near him despite his obvious attempts to maintain distance.
Something happened out there. Something that forced Cole to confront whatever demons he's been wrestling with since we took this job.
Since we met her.
I blow out a slow breath, tamping down the protective surge that rises in my chest at the thought.
Bella isn't just our client anymore.
She's our mate.
Our omega.
Even if she doesn't know it yet. Even if she ends up not wanting to have anything to do with us because there's no way in hell we could ever hope to offer a normal life to an omega. Especially one who's used to this kind of lifestyle. She doesn't seem like the type to be as into it as most omegas would be, but that doesn't mean she'd go for the opposite extreme.
And Cole's part of this whether he wants to be or not.
"There's a first aid kit under the kitchen sink, isn't there?" I ask, ignoring Cole's unmistakable snarl. The way his face is, he's always snarling, but I know him well, and I know a legitimate growl when I see one.
"Yeah," Bella murmurs, glancing worriedly at Cole's battered hand.
"Troy. Savva. Give us a minute," I say, my tone making it clear it's not a request.
They hesitate for a fraction of a second before nodding. Troy catches my eye as he passes, a silent message passing between us. He's hurting bad.
I know he is. I can practically scent the self-loathing rolling off Cole in waves, just as well as I can scent the blood still seeping from his raw knuckles.
"Miss Emerson," I add gently. "Perhaps you should?—"
"I'm staying," she interrupts firmly, meeting my gaze. There's steel in this omega, hidden beneath all that forced submission.
Cole's head snaps up, his mismatched eyes wide. "No."
"You're hurt," she says to him, her voice softening. "And don't tell me you're fine again."
A low growl rumbles in Cole's chest, but Bella doesn't back down. She takes a step closer to him instead.
Interesting.
I watch as Cole struggles with himself, his instincts clearly at war. The urge to protect her from his darkness battling with the pull of the mate bond neither of them fully understand yet.
"Cole," I say quietly. "Let her help."
He shoots me a look of pure betrayal, but I hold my ground. This needs to happen. He needs to learn that not every omega is going to run screaming from his scars.
Not like she did.
"Can you grab the first aid kit?" I ask her.
Bella nods and hurries off, leaving Cole and me alone. The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we never talk about.
"You want to tell me what really happened out there?" I ask finally.
"No."
I snort. "Yeah, didn't think so. But you're going to anyway."
Cole's lip curls, baring teeth on the unscarred side of his face too. "And what are you going to do if I refuse?"
"Nothing," I say calmly. "But you owe me the truth, brother. If something's compromising your ability to do this job?—"
"I'm fine," he snarls.
"Bullshit." I take a step closer, dropping my voice. "You're not fine. None of us are fine. And this situation?" I gesture vaguely, encompassing everything—the penthouse, our client, the mate bond none of us were prepared for. "This is fucking with all of us. But you're taking it harder than most."
"Because I'm broken." The bitterness in his voice cuts like a knife.
"Because you're scared," I correct quietly. "And you have every right to be. After what happened with Sarah?—"
"Don't." The word comes out like it's been ripped from his throat. "Don't say her name."
I fall silent, watching as he struggles to maintain control. His hands are clenched into fists like he's ready to hit me, too, fresh blood welling up from his split knuckles.
"She's not Sarah," I say finally.
Cole's laugh is a harsh, broken sound. "No. She's worse."
"How do you figure?"
"Because Sarah was just my mate. Bella..." He trails off, swallowing hard. "Bella's ours. All of us. And when she runs—because she will run, Roman—it's not just going to destroy me this time. It's going to destroy all of us."
The raw honesty in his voice hits me hard. Because he's right, at least partly. If Bella rejects us, it will hurt. More than any bullet or blade ever could.
But he's wrong about one thing.
"She's not going to run," I say with a certainty I didn't know I possessed until this moment.
Cole's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because she came after you today," I point out. "She saw you at your worst. Covered in blood, rage pouring off you in waves. And instead of running away, she followed you. Tried to help you. Hell, she's in there right now getting supplies to patch you up."
He says nothing, but I can see my words hitting home.
"And that wooden duck you carved her?" I continue, pressing my advantage. "She hasn't let go of it since you gave it to her. Keeps running her fingers over it like it's the most precious thing in the world."
A shudder runs through Cole's massive frame. "That doesn't mean anything."
"It means everything," I counter. "It means she sees past all the rage, the pain, the scars. She sees you, Cole. The real you."
Cole looks away, his scarred face half-hidden by his stark white hair. But I see the way his hands tremble, the barely perceptible hitch in his breathing.
He's having a panic attack.
"And Cole," I continue, "we're pack. Your pain is our pain. Your fight is our fight."
"Pretty words," he growls, but I catch the slight tremor in his voice. "Doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" I take a step closer, noting how he tenses but doesn't retreat. "You gave her a carving, Cole. You didn't have to do that. You could have stayed closed off, kept your distance. But you reached out—and I know you don't do shit like that for just anyone."
That hits home. I see it in the way his shoulders hunch, the way his eyes dart away from mine. He's looking for an escape route, and for a moment, I think he might actually try to bolt.
"Don't," I warn, shifting my stance subtly to block his path. "I will take you down if I have to, brother."
A low growl rumbles in his chest. "You think you can stop me?"
"I think I can try." I meet his gaze steadily. "But that's not really what you want, is it?"
The growl cuts off abruptly. Cole goes very still, the kind of stillness that usually precedes violence. But I hold my ground. I know this dance, know the steps by heart. Sometimes the only way to help Cole is to force him to face what he's running from.
"What I want doesn't matter," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The hell it doesn't." I take another step closer, close enough now that I can smell the blood on his knuckles and the frustration and fear pouring off him. "You want to stay. You want to see where this goes. You're just scared shitless of what that means."
"Fuck you, Roman," he growls.
"Am I wrong?"
Before he can answer, we both catch Bella's scent getting stronger. She's coming back. Cole immediately tries to shift away, to turn his scarred side from the door, but then he pauses.
I glance back at Bella as she enters the room, the first aid kit clutched to her chest. She glances between us warily, like she's worried a fight's going to break out. And if I don't get the fuck out of here, that very well might happen.
"You got this, right?" I ask her.
She nods.
And with that, I leave the two of them alone.