Chapter 3 #2
She knew what I was. She knew she was out of time.
I stepped closer and kept my voice even. “Put the bag down for me, ma’am. You can set it on the floor, or you can hand it to me. Your choice.”
Her fingers tightened around the strap. Her knuckles went pale and her chin lifted.
“You building security?” she asked.
Her voice stayed steady, but I heard the strain under it. The kind you get when somebody been holding their breath too long.
“Something like that, ma’am.”
Her eyes flicked to the doors, then back to me. Not panic. Measuring.
She was counting the distance. Timing it. Looking for chances.
“You want to talk,” she said. “We can talk.”
“Not up here, ma’am.”
She swallowed. Her throat moved. Small thing, but my eyes caught it anyway.
“Then where?”
That was the question, and she sounded like she already knew the answer.
My body wanted to reach for her. Not to comfort her. Not to be gentle. I wanted to check her pulse and see if it jumped. Pull her close enough to smell what she was hiding under that chemical wall.
I didn’t.
Malachi’s order sat clear in my head. Alive. Unmarked. Quiet.
I could do all three and still make her understand she wasn’t in control.
“Bag,” I said again, slower. “Set it down or hand it over. Your choice, ma’am. Right quick.”
For one breath she held still.
Then she chose running, just not the way scared women usually run.
She moved.
She shoved past me hard enough her shoulder clipped my chest. Her bag slammed against my ribs as she slipped by and started jabbing the elevator call button over and over.
The doors opened with a quiet glide.
People stared. Nobody moved.
Because Pack Meridian moved first.
The compliance woman showed up again on the open floor, voice calm like nothing was wrong. “Please remain seated. Building security will handle it.”
Maintenance carts rolled into place, blocking the sightlines. A door at the far end of the hall shut. A fire door on the side corridor closed quiet.
Nyx stepped into the elevator.
Then her scent hit me.
Not full. Not clean. But enough. It reached me anyway and I pulled in a deeper breath before I could stop myself.
Peaches buried under chemical suppressant. Sweet tangled up with bitter, like somebody dumped something good into something sharp. The vents above us pushed air harder, but it wasn’t enough to wipe it out.
My body reacted. Heat rolled through my blood and my dick hardened like my instincts decided this was a hunt worth taking.
I hated that reaction. Hated that some part of me wanted more of it.
This wasn’t desire the way civilians liked to pretend it was. This was biology. A pull. My alpha didn’t hear omega and think soulmate.
My alpha heard omega and thought bite.
The elevator camera sat quiet above us. No warning in my ear, no command to stand down, no voice telling me to wait. That meant Elijah had already handled it.
I reached the seam before the doors could close and slammed my palm into it. The doors fought me for half a second, then slid back open.
Nyx’s gaze flicked up.
Calm. Measuring. Not panic.
Her hand shot for the emergency close button, fast and clean.
I stepped in anyway.
The elevator felt too small the second I crossed the threshold. Her scent filled the space, trapped in the metal box with nowhere to go. Suppressant tried to choke it down, but it wasn’t strong enough to kill it.
Her fingers hovered over the buttons, ready to hit anything if it bought her even a second.
“You can pick the floor, ma’am,” I said, voice low and even. “Or I will. Make it sensible.”
She didn’t make it sensible.
She lunged for the panel anyway, aiming to slam some random floor.
I caught her wrist.
Her elbow drove back into my ribs sharp and quick. Pain flared bright. She twisted hard, trying to tear free, nails scraping through my shirt while her breathing went tight and fast.
I grunted once, more surprised than hurt.
Good.
She wasn’t soft.
The elevator dinged and started moving, but she was already looking for another way out. Her eyes flicked past me to the crack of the doors, then the seams, then the emergency panel.
She wrenched her arm, trying to bring her knee up and drive it somewhere it would matter.
I shifted my hips and blocked it, keeping my grip on her wrist firm but controlled. Malachi wanted her unmarked. I could do that. Bruises inside didn’t count. Fear didn’t leave marks.
“Stop,” I told her, calm.
“Go to hell,” she snapped.
Her voice came out tight, but it didn’t break. I respected that.
Made me want to punish her for it too.
The elevator slowed like it might open on another floor, but Meridian wasn’t opening these doors for civilians. Not right now.
The second the doors cracked, she twisted.
She tore free, slipped past my shoulder, shoved hard, and bolted the moment the gap was big enough.
Smart.
But she forgot one thing.
This tower belonged to us.
She didn’t run down the hallway. She cut straight into the stairwell instead, choosing concrete and dark over glass and witnesses.
Stairwell C.
Just like Elijah said.
I tapped my comm once, opening a live line. “Seal the east corridor, sir. Clear civilians.”
Elijah didn’t ask questions. Lights in the hallway dimmed a shade. A soft alarm tone sounded once. Then a calm voice came over the speakers, steady and controlled.
“Attention. Maintenance issue in the east corridor. Please remain at your stations. Do not use Stairwell C.”
Nyx was already in Stairwell C.
The stairwell door slammed behind us with a heavy echo. Concrete walls. Dim lights. Damp cement and old metal in the air.
Our footsteps pounded on the steps. Her breathing came sharp in the tight space. Mine stayed even.
She took the stairs two at a time, one hand on the rail. Running wasn’t new to her. Sweat started breaking through the suppressant on her skin. That peach scent kept pushing through it, sweet and stubborn.
And the more she moved, the more my body wanted to move faster.
Not to catch her.
To punish her for making me want the chase.
She glanced back once, quick as a blink. Not begging. Not fear. Just measuring.
That was when I knew she was dangerous. Not ’cause she had teeth, but ’cause she was willing to use them.
She hit the next landing hard and pivoted, throwing her weight into the turn off the wall. Her bare feet slapped the concrete, quick and quiet even without shoes. She kicked them off for a reason. Grip. Speed. Less noise.
I closed the distance anyway. My legs were longer. My body was built for this. Meridian kept men like me around for a reason.
For when people ran.
Her bag thumped against her hip, the strap tight across her chest. She adjusted it while running. Whatever was in there mattered more than comfort.
Good to know.
She tried to fake left at the next landing. Threw her shoulder one way, then cut the other, aiming for the door back into the corridor.
That door wasn’t opening for her.
It opened two inches and stopped. The lock held.
Her breath hitched, and with that her scent jumped, peaches pushing through bleach, sweet turning sharp.
She turned back toward the stairs without wasting time.
No screaming. No pounding on the door. No calling for help down an empty hallway.
She saw what the situation was and kept moving.
That pushed my temper higher. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what she was up against and she was still trying anyway.
The stairwell tightened as it went down. Lights dimmer down there. The air colder. Sweat started breaking through the suppressant on her skin. It wasn’t a full bloom yet, but it was enough to make my blood feel heavy and my mouth go dry.
Her omega was still there under all them chemicals and willpower. Angry. Alive.
She stumbled on the second landing. Just a little. She caught herself before she went down.
But it was enough.
I grabbed her arm.
She spun on me like something wild.
Her nails scraped across my forearm. Her knee shot up toward my groin, fast and deliberate. I shifted just enough to let it hit my thigh instead. Pain flared hot.
For a second she looked like she might bite me.
Her scent spiked again under the suppressant and my body answered before my brain could stop it.
My dick went hard and my stomach twisted with the pull of it. I hissed a curse, mad at my own body and mad at her for being there smelling like that.
She didn’t beg.
She didn’t bargain.
She swung.
Her fist clipped my jaw. Not strong enough to do real damage, but strong enough to let me know she meant it.
Something mean in me jumped up at that.
My pack.
My tower.
My rules.
But Malachi’s voice stayed sitting in the back of my head.
Alive.
Unmarked.
No spectacle.
We’d already pushed close to spectacle upstairs. My job now was making sure it didn’t turn into a damn mess.
Nyx tried to tear loose again. Twisted her body, using the rail for leverage, trying to slip past me and keep going down.
I stepped in close and filled the space, cutting her path off.
“Ma’am,” I said, voice low. Polite on the outside. Mean under it. “That’s enough now.”
“Move,” she snarled.
“Can’t do that.”
Her eyes flashed and she swung again.
I caught her wrist this time and turned with it, using her own momentum to spin her into the wall. Didn’t slam her hard enough to mark her face. Concrete don’t forgive mistakes, and I wasn’t trying to break her skull.
Just trying to end it.
She kept fighting anyway. Kicking, twisting, reaching for my eyes.
Girl was strong. Desperate too.
And she didn’t want to be taken alive.
Good.
That meant she knew exactly what being taken meant.
I drove my forearm up under her jaw and pinned her there, pressure steady. Not crushing her throat. Just enough squeeze on the side of her neck to start dimming the lights.
Her hands clawed at my sleeve. Once. Then again.
Nails caught fabric. Fingers slipping.
Strength drained out of her while her own body fought it.
Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing went thin. Her mouth parted.
She made one last attempt to knee me, but her leg lost coordination halfway up.
Then she went slack.
I caught her before she hit the steps.
Her weight dropped into my arms, warm and stubborn even unconscious. Her pulse beat against my forearm, steady and alive.
Alive. Unclaimed.
And still smelling like trouble.
Her bag slid off her shoulder and hit the concrete with a dull thud. The sound echoed down the stairwell.
I looked down at the bag for half a beat, then looked away. Meridian would grab it. Meridian always cleaned up after me.
I shifted her in my grip, adjusting her so her head didn’t snap back, letting her cheek settle against my shoulder instead. Her breath warmed my neck through my shirt, faint and steady.
That should’ve done nothing to me.
But it did.
Something in my gut pulled tight. Ugly kind of possessive. Ain’t sweet. Ain’t gentle. The kind that makes a man think about locking a door and deciding what somebody gets to do next.
That’s the problem with omegas.
They make the worst parts of a man feel like they right.
I bent, grabbed her at the waist, and in one smooth motion hauled her up over my shoulder like she didn’t weigh much at all. Her hair brushed my back. Her thigh bumped my chest. One arm hung loose, fingers slack.
Girl was out cold.
I tapped my comm. “Got her, sir.”
Elijah answered right away. “Status?”
“Alive,” I said. “Out.”
“Good. Bring her to the service elevator. I’ll have the corridor cleared.”
I started down the stairs with her over my shoulder, steady and controlled. Each step landed heavy on the concrete as we went deeper into Meridian.
Upstairs the world kept pretending everything was normal.
Down here the pack decided what happened to Nyx Brooks.
Elijah’s voice came back through my ear. “You got her?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “I got her.”
“Status?”
“Alive, sir,” I said. “But she ain’t no beta.”
Elijah went quiet. He probably knew that already.
I didn’t feel like listening to him talk through it while her scent still clung to my clothes.
I cut the comm.
The service elevator opened when I reached it. Inside the air was colder and clean.
Didn’t change the fact I was carrying a breach through my territory.
Nyx shifted once in my arms, just a small twitch of muscle. Her cheek pressed against my chest and the warmth of her breath came through my shirt for a second.
That should’ve done nothing to me.
But it did.
Something in my gut pulled tight. Ugly kind of possessive. Ain’t sweet. Ain’t gentle. The kind that makes a man think about locking a door and deciding what somebody gets to do next.
That’s the problem with omegas.
They make the worst parts of a man feel like they right.
When the doors opened again, the corporate world was gone. Concrete instead of carpet. Steel instead of glass. Lights lower down here.
Two men were waiting.
Elijah stood first. Tall and narrow. Suit straight. Posture perfect. His eyes calm the way they always were, even in rooms where violence was about to happen. He looked at Nyx the same way he looked at numbers and reports, like her body was just another problem he meant to solve.
Kairo Cross stood beside him.
Youngest of us. Too much energy for most rooms. Expensive clothes on a man who still moved like he’d rather be running somewhere. Braids fresh, line up sharp, grin already halfway there before anyone said a word.
His eyes landed on the woman over my shoulder and lit right up.
“Damn,” Kairo said, stepping forward like he’d just spotted something interesting. “That’s her?”
“She’s the breach, sir,” I said.
Kairo leaned a little closer, head tipping as he looked her over. “She don’t look like one.”
“That’s why she is,” Elijah said quiet. “Her file is inconsistent. Suppression markers are present. The chemical profile is active but failing.”
Kairo’s eyes flicked up to me.
“You hurt her?”
I shifted my grip so she stayed steady on my shoulder. “She swung first,” I said. “Put her to sleep, sir.”
Kairo’s grin didn’t go nowhere.
But something sharper slid in behind it. Curious. Possessive. Reckless the way young alphas sometimes get when they see something new.
“Convenient,” he murmured.
Elijah stepped in before the heir’s curiosity could turn into a whole situation. “We need restraints before she wakes. Malachi wants eyes on her the moment she comes to. The suppressant is compromised and her stress response is escalating.”
Malachi.
The king.
Our Alpha Prime.
The man who’d decide if an omega who lied her way into our tower was useful.
Or disposable.
I carried her deeper into Meridian headquarters. Doors shut behind us, heavy steel locking the place down.
Upstairs the world kept pretending everything was normal.
Down here the pack decided what happened to Nyx Brooks.
My eyes cut to the corner where the restraint kit hung on its hooks. My jaw tightened.
Yeah.
I was gon’ need a rope.