Chapter 10 False Security #2
Every ounce of peace I built over the last two months shatters into a million jagged pieces. Ice fills my veins. My vision tunnels, turning the edges of the room dark and fuzzy. My lungs seize. I try to pull in air, but my throat clicks shut, trapping me in a violent, inescapable panic response.
“Sandra?” Sam’s voice sounds muffled, like she speaks from underwater.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the window. The SUV sits there, a predatory beast waiting in the shadows. He tracked me. The miles between us meant nothing. He came to drag me back to that hell.
A violent tremor wracks my entire body. My teeth chatter so hard my jaw aches.
Sam tracks my line of sight. She looks out the window, spots the idling vehicle, and her entire demeanor shifts in a fraction of a second. The polite, cheerful boutique owner vanishes.
Sam grabs my shoulders. Her grip bites into my skin. “Sandra. Look at me.”
I can’t. The phantom smell of Nero chokes me.
“Sandra!” Sam steps right into my line of sight, blocking the window with her body. She grabs my face between her hands, forcing my gaze up to meet hers. “You are safe.”
She hauls me to my feet. My legs feel like lead, my knees buckling with every step.
Sam wraps a strong arm around my waist, bearing the brunt of my weight.
She doesn’t take me toward the front door.
She drags me past the plush velvet sofa, past the racks of silk and cashmere, and past the mirrored dressing rooms.
We hit the back corridor. Sam shoves me into a small, windowless office and slams the heavy wooden door shut behind us.
The deadbolt echoes like a gunshot in the cramped room.
Sam drops the blinds over the small glass pane in the door. She doesn’t waste a single second. She pulls her cell phone from her pocket and dials.
“Jethro,” Sam barks into the receiver, her voice tight but steady. “Get to the boutique right now. Sandra is having a severe panic attack. There’s a black SUV idling out front. We are locked in my back office.”
She turns to me, her chest heaving. I back into the corner, sliding down the wall until I hit the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my head. The tremors turn into violent, full-body shakes.
Sam drops to the floor next to me. She doesn’t coddle me. She uses the firm, no-nonsense tone of someone accustomed to handling crisis situations.
“Name five things you can see, Sandra. Right now. Do it.”
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. The darkness only makes Nero’s face clearer.
“Open your eyes!” Sam commands, her voice cracking like a whip. “Look at the room. Look at me. Five things.”
I force my eyelids open. My vision swims with tears. “Desk,” I choke out, the word tearing at my throat. “Chair. Filing cabinet. Pen.” I look at her dark pants. “Your slacks.”
“Good.” Sam grips my knee, her hand warm and solid. “Four things you can feel.”
“The floor.” I press my palms flat against the hardwood. “The wall. My sweater.” I dig my fingers into my pocket, finding the cold metal. “Caleb’s pin.”
“Hold onto that pin,” Sam orders. “Three things you can hear.”
I strain my ears, trying to listen past the roaring in my head. “The heater. Your breathing.”
A new sound cuts through the air. The harsh, violent chime of the front door bells ringing as someone throws the boutique door open with explosive force.
My breath catches. The rancid phantom scent surges back.
He came inside.
Heavy boots hammer against the hardwood floor of the boutique. The footsteps lack the hesitant, meandering pace of a browsing customer. They strike the ground with measured, predatory intent.
My inner Omega whimpers, shrinking back against the drywall. I clutch Caleb’s silver leaf pin so tight the metal edges bite into my palm. I brace myself for the splintering crash of the office door giving way.
“Sam!”
The voice rumbles through the walls, deep and rough like grinding stones.
A massive surge of scent crashes through the cracks in the doorframe. The smell of campfire and marshmallow hits my senses, but the sweetness vanished. The scent burns. It smells like charred wood, ash, and pure, unrestrained Alpha aggression.
Jethro.
Sam sags against the door, letting out a breath she held in her lungs. She reaches up and flips the deadbolt.
The door flies open before she can even turn the handle.
Jethro fills the doorway. The gentle, patient lover from the nest disappears.
A soldier stands in his place. His broad shoulders block out the light from the hallway.
His salt-and-pepper hair ties back in a severe, messy knot.
His hazel-green eyes scan the tiny office, sweeping over Sam before locking onto me cowering in the corner.
His eyes go black. The pupils swallow the irises in a display of primal, protective fury.
Jethro crosses the room in a single stride. He drops to his knees, his large hands finding my face, my shoulders, my arms, checking for injuries. The heat radiating from his body acts like a physical barrier against the cold terror freezing my blood.
“I’ve got you,” Jethro rumbles, his voice vibrating deep in his massive chest. “You’re safe. Nobody touches you.”
I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the thick collar of his jacket. The smell of his anger overwhelms the phantom scent of Nero. I breathe him in, letting the charred marshmallow anchor my spiraling mind. My violent tremors subside, replaced by exhausting, wracking sobs.
Jethro wraps his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. He looks up at Sam over my shoulder.
“The SUV is gone,” Jethro states, the words clipped and tactical.
“He idled for two minutes.” Sam smooths a shaking hand over her bob. “He didn’t make a move toward the door. Just sat there smoking.”
Jethro nods, a curt, respectful acknowledgment. “You did good, Sam. Thank you.”
He doesn’t waste another second. Jethro pulls his heavy coat off, draping it over my shoulders. The garment swallows me whole, cocooning me in his scent. He hauls me to my feet, keeping one thick arm wrapped like a steel band around my waist.
“We move now,” Jethro orders.
He tucks my head under his chin, shielding my body with his own bulk. We move out of the office, bypassing the front of the shop. Sam opens the back delivery door, leading us out into the frigid alleyway behind Willowside Square.
Jethro’s massive truck sits idling by the dumpsters. He yanks the passenger door open, lifts me by the waist, and deposits me onto the leather seat. He shuts the door, locking me inside before sprinting around the front of the hood.
He climbs into the driver’s seat and throws the truck into gear. The engine roars to life, and he pulls out of the alley, getting back on the street that will take us home in less than five minutes.
I curl inward, wrapping my arms over my stomach to shield the bump. “He found me, Jethro. Nero found me.”
Jethro grips the steering wheel. His knuckles turn stark white against his tanned skin. The muscles in his jaw jump with tension.
“He didn’t get to you,” Jethro growls, his eyes tracking the mirrors, scanning every intersection we pass. “And he never will. Sam called me the second you saw him. I caught the tail end of that black SUV speeding out of the square, and I got the plates.”
Jethro reaches across the center console, resting his massive hand over my knee. The grounding pressure works miracles on my fractured nerves.
“I memorized the plates,” Jethro’s voice drops into a lethal, terrifying register. “I watched him peel out and hit the northbound interstate on-ramp. He’s driving away, not toward us. I promise you, on my life and the bond we share, he will never get within a mile of you again.”
We reach the pack house in record time. Jethro navigates the streets with a rigid, obsessive care, refusing to take a single risk with me in the passenger seat. He pulls into the driveway, bringing the truck to a smooth, controlled stop before tearing the keys from the ignition.
He yanks my door open, pulling me carefully into his arms. He carries me up the front steps. Ross throws the heavy front door open from the inside before we even reach the landing.
Jethro sets me gently on my feet the second we cross the threshold, keeping a heavy arm anchored securely around my waist. A wall of scent hits me. Ginger, dates, and honeysuckle crash together in a chaotic, desperate frenzy.
The pack swarms us.
Ross reaches me first, his blue eyes frantic, his hands running over my hair, checking my face.
Caleb crowds my other side, his date scent thick and cloying with panic.
He rips his glasses off, pressing his face into the crook of my neck to inhale my scent.
Oli drops to his knees right in the entryway, wrapping his arms around my hips, letting out a keening, distressed whine that shatters my heart.
The protective instincts of the entire pack reach a terrifying breaking point. The terror of almost losing me turns the air in the house heavy and suffocating. They need to ground me, and they need to ground themselves.
I look at my pack. Ross frames my face with trembling hands. Caleb breathes against my neck. Oli presses his face into my stomach, his shoulders shaking. Jethro stands rigid against the door, a coiled spring ready to snap.
The terror of the morning hums under my skin, leaving my blood cold and my mind fragmented. I need the visceral, undeniable proof of their presence to overwrite the memory of Nero’s face.
I reach out, grabbing the front of Ross’s shirt in one hand and Jethro’s jacket in the other. I pull them close, forcing their black, blown-out eyes to meet mine.
“I need you,” I beg, my voice raw and loud in the tense silence. “I need you to show me I’m safe. Reaffirm the bond with me.”
Jethro lets out a low, guttural growl. He steps forward, sliding his massive arms under my knees and shoulders, lifting me right off the floor.