16. Scent Of Destiny
16
SCENT OF DESTINY
~RHETT~
" T rouble?"
The word escapes me before I can stop it, carried away by the rain that's turning this forest into a hunting ground. She stands before me, looking both exactly as I remember and completely transformed.
Her saree, though soaked and muddied, reminds me of that first night – how out of place she'd looked in her traditional dress, standing in that grimy alley like a pearl dropped in oil. The fabric might be different, but the effect is the same. Even disheveled and injured, she carries an innate grace that makes the rest of the world seem crude by comparison.
Blood trails down her face from what must be injuries from the crash, mixing with rain and tears. Her eyes hold the same defiance I remember, though it's tempered now by exhaustion and something deeper – a bone-deep weariness I understand too well.
She's even more beautiful than I remembered.
Not just physically, though years have refined her features into something that would stop traffic even without the traditional attire. It's the way she carries herself, the strength that shows through despite her obvious fear and fatigue.
My mind flashes back to that first meeting.
I wasn't supposed to be there either – a teenager trying to understand the "family business" by following my brother to his dealings.
I wanted to know how real men made money in our world, thought I could learn something about power and respect.
Instead, I learned about desire.
She called herself Trouble, and the name fit perfectly – not because she was dangerous, but because of how she made me feel while we got lost in chaos and mischief. At the time, the nickname fit her perfectly, no different to mine.
Riot…
Her scent hit me first, a combination of sweetness and spices that made my mouth water and my head spin.
I'd scented Omegas before, of course. Growing up in the underground racing scene, you encountered all types. But this was different. She hadn't even presented yet – I could tell by the subtle variations in her pheromones – but something about her called to me on a molecular level.
And only to me.
That was what made it special.
Others walked past her without a second glance, but to me, she was a beacon in the darkness. Her scent wrapped around me like destiny, like something I'd been searching for without knowing it existed.
I remember watching others fail to react to her presence and feeling special: chosen. Like the universe had created a frequency only I could tune into, a song only I could hear.
Then I got to meet her. Talk with her. Learn tiny tidbits while the sizzling connection between us was almost hypnotic.
I knew she was younger and I should stay away, and yet I couldn’t dare do that. I didn’t want to be far apart from this woman who seemed to light my insides up while making me feel uniquely different to the rest of the world that shunned me away.
One thing lead to another, and suddenly seven days had gone by like a whirlwind. Riot and Trouble causing mischief and chaos everywhere we went.
Until it ended abruptly.
That’s when I was forced to see what power can do…
That was when I was forced to realize that it was my status that saved me that night.
Nothing more.
I catch onto her first movements as she slowly turns like a possessed robot. I don’t know the extent of what she endured in the car ride, but if I think about it, I’ll dare lose my mind.
Lose this controlled edge that would tip and hunt every single individual who dared harm her in any shape or form.
That’s why that fucker in the car got a taste of Karma the best way I know how.
She moves toward me with mechanical precision, like a wind-up doll approaching its maker. Every step seems to cost her tremendous effort, and I can read the internal battle in her posture – the way her mind must be screaming at her to run while something deeper draws her forward.
She thinks I might kill her.
The realization hurts more than it should. But then, what else could she think? She just watched me execute Maharaja without hesitation. The boy she knew would never have done that – but then, that boy died years ago, burned away by necessity and revenge.
She also probably doesn’t recognize me. Not with this mask. The single layer of protection ensures I can go wild in my pursuit of vengeance and mayhem.
All those who’ve witnessed this mask hate to see me coming. The reaper of judgment is in the midst, ready to slay anyone who tries to ruin his era of reign.
I have to fight hard not to allow the tempting smile to creep up my lips.
Still, as she approaches, I see something in her eyes that transcends fear. It's the same look she gave me that first night when defiance overwhelmed common sense and she chose to trust a stranger in a dangerous place.
The rain pours around us, plastering her saree to her body like a second skin. Even soaked and muddied, she moves with an innate grace that makes my heart ache. Some things haven't changed – she still carries herself like royalty, even when running for her life.
And now I’m facing this stunning Queen that I’ve dared admit has been missed in the depths of my cold heart.
Her hand reaches for my mask, trembling but determined.
I remain perfectly still, letting her make this choice. The raindrops roll off the mask's surface, creating patterns in the glow that reflect in her wide eyes.
Just like tears reflected streetlights that first night.
With agonizing slowness, she lifts the mask just enough to see my eyes. Her breath catches, and I watch recognition flood her features. Those emerald contacts I dreamed of as a teenager – now permanently implanted as I'd promised – seem to captivate her just as they did back then.
The memory of our first conversation about them floods back. Me, perched on my modified street racer, explaining my dreams to this girl who actually listened. Who didn't laugh when I talked about changing my eyes, about using appearance to reshape destiny.
"It's no different from blue eyes and blonde hair," I'd told her, full of teenage conviction. "They get opportunities because they're seen as perfect. If I change my boring brownish-black eyes, if I make myself stand out... I could be someone."
I'd meant every word.
Even then, I understood how the world worked – how appearance could open doors that talent alone couldn't breach. My mixed heritage had created barriers, but I'd been determined to turn those barriers into stepping stones.
Her hand cups my cheek, and something in me softens despite years of cultivated hardness. Her touch feels the same – gentle, accepting, without judgment. But the contrast between then and now only highlights how much we've both lost.
I'm not that optimistic street racer anymore, just as she's no longer the rebellious daughter seeking her first taste of freedom. We've both been forged in crucibles of our own making, shaped by choices and circumstances into something harder and darker.
But her scent remains the same.
Sweet and spicy, unique to her alone.
Even now, it calls to something primal in me, something that recognizes her as mine despite years and circumstances.
"Emerald green," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rain. Her thumb traces beneath my eye, and I resist the urge to lean into her touch.
Tears mix with rain on her cheeks as she attempts a smile that breaks my heart.
"Riot," she breathes our old nickname, and for a moment I'm nineteen again, full of dreams and defiance instead of blood and vengeance.
Where my hopes felt real and my desire to make her mine forever was at its peak season.
The sound of approaching footsteps breaks through our moment of recognition. My gaze shifts past her, hardening as I register the new threat.
Even through the rain, I can sense them drawing closer.
Annoying threats that deserve to be eliminated.
Looking back at her, I see the same questions in her eyes that plague me. In our youth, this would be our cue to run – to disappear into the night laughing at another narrow escape. But we're not those kids anymore, and this forest offers no easy getaway.
Not like I wouldn’t try.
All she’d have to do is say the word, and I’d use every tactic to get us out of this doom space because that’s how far I would have gone for her.
Back then…and now.
Nothing has changed in that department.
I watch fatigue overtake her, her eyes beginning to droop. Even exhausted and injured, she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
My Alpha instincts , however, surge through me on high alert, the idea of her passing out now frightening me more than I’d ever admit.
That fucker had every intention of hurting her, and though he didn’t succeed in killing her, the thought of anyone hurting what should have been mine years ago rubs me the wrong way.
Makes me want to go on a killing spree.
"I don't want...to run anymore," she confesses, and the surrender in her voice echoes my own exhaustion.
Our eyes lock in silent communication, and I understand completely. We've both spent too long running, surviving, and pushing through one crisis after another.
There's peace in finally admitting we've reached our limits.
Instead of replacing my mask, I remove it completely. I’m sure she can’t guess my intentions, but she doesn’t have to since I’m moving with purpose knowing time is of the essence.
With gentle care, I slide it over her features, protecting her identity as best I can in these final moments. Through the mask's electronic display, her eyes widen as she takes in my appearance – the wild hair colors, the sharp features that replaced boyish charm.
I pull her against me suddenly, needing to feel her realness, to anchor us both in this moment of shared surrender. My hand presses firmly against her back, offering what protection I still can.
"Me too, Trouble," I whisper, pouring years of exhaustion and acceptance into the words. "Let's stop running."
I hold Trouble tightly against me, hoping my embrace offers some measure of safety in this moment of shared surrender. Her body feels small and fragile in my arms, though I know better than most how much strength that delicate frame contains.
Six men in tactical gear materialize from the rain-soaked darkness, coming to a stop mere steps away from us.
One look at their equipment tells me everything I need to know – these aren't ordinary hunters who prowl these woods looking for vulnerable Omegas to abuse without consequence. Their gear is too professional, too coordinated.
They're hired muscle.
The realization clicks everything into place.
Maharaja was heading this way deliberately, had this team waiting to intercept him. The sick bastard probably planned to hand Trouble over to them, let them "soften her up" before delivering her to whatever fate he had planned.
Instead, they've found me with an Omega matching their target's description.
Their expressions shift from confusion to aggression as they process the scene before them – the infamous masked figure they've no doubt been warned about, holding their intended prey.
"If I'm interrupting your hunt, my apologies," I say smoothly, taking in each of their growling expressions.
A taunting grin spreads across my lips, the kind that's earned me as many enemies as allies in this city's underground. I've played these games countless times, but angry Alphas with thwarted bloodlust are unpredictable at best.
Especially when they've been denied their Omega prey.
"She's our prey! She fits the description that rich Indian fucker declared," barks one of the men standing next to the apparent leader. His accent carries traces of French origins, though such details are irrelevant to the current situation.
They could be from Mars for all I care – they'll all end up the same way if they push this.
I catalog each of their positions, mapping out attack vectors and calculating response times. In any other situation, I'd have already painted the forest floor with their blood. But with Trouble to protect, I need to be more strategic.
"That Indian fucker is actually up the road," I inform them casually, as if discussing the weather. "On fire, to be exact."
Their synchronized frowning would be comical under different circumstances.
A dark chuckle escapes me, the sound carrying nothing of humor but everything of warning. Every Alpha present picks up on the threat beneath the laughter – it's a sound that promises violence, that speaks of experience with dealing death.
"Whether he survives or not is not my problem. At least, not yet." I emphasize the last words while resting my chin atop Trouble's head, unable to suppress the cynical smile that spreads across my face.
My eyes darken with promised violence as I add.
"Just like how we can pretend we didn't cross paths while I'm enjoying a lovely game of hide and seek with my Omega here."
Their attention shifts to Trouble, taking in the significance of my mask adorning her features.
The glowing display isn't just a piece of advanced tech – it's a symbol known throughout the city's underworld. A calling card that strikes fear into those who recognize its meaning.
Everyone in these dark corners knows what that mask represents.
It's the signature of Rhett "Blaze" Holloway.
Aka me.
"Holloway," the leader speaks, recognition coloring his tone.
There's a slight tremor in his voice that he tries to mask with bravado. I know that tremor well – it's the sound of someone realizing they're in far deeper than they planned.
"We were paid heavily to do our job tonight. We're not leaving empty-handed and starved when we were offered an Omega. You know the rules. I suggest you follow them."
The smile cracks on my face like breaking glass.
The rain seems to fall harder as my expression morphs into something darker, more primal. My eyes narrow to predatory slits, every muscle in my body coiling with barely contained violence.
The neon glow from nearby city lights catches the rain, creating an eerie backdrop to this confrontation.
One of his men audibly gulps – smart enough to recognize the danger, if not smart enough to run from it.
The sound brings back memories of other nights, other confrontations where people realized too late exactly who they were dealing with. But I keep my focus on the leader, a low growl vibrating through my chest and against Trouble's back where I hold her.
I feel her tense in my arms, her body going rigid at the sound of my growl. But I instinctively tighten my grip, protective rather than restraining.
Her scent spikes with fear, though I note with satisfaction that it's not fear of me. Even after all these years, even after watching me commit murder, her body recognizes me as safety rather than threat.
Through my peripheral vision, I track the positions of all six men. They're arranged in a standard tactical formation – the kind taught to mercenaries and private security. Professional, but predictable.
I've killed better-trained men for less offense than they're planning.
"Why don't I make this clear now?" My voice drops several degrees, becoming as cold and emotionless as the void. Each word carries lethal intent, a promise rather than a threat. The temperature seems to drop around us, or maybe that's just the effect of my tone. "Castellano has officially laid a claim on this very Omega. Feel free to check it out if you survive this interaction."
I pause deliberately, watching their expressions shift at the mention of Castellano. His name carries weight in these parts – the kind of weight that breaks bones and ends bloodlines.
Even these hired hunting thugs know better than to directly cross the man who controls every significant criminal enterprise in the city.
No one with functioning survival instincts crosses Castellano in his own territory. Even here in the forest, where boundary lines blur and multiple powers claim ownership, his influence casts a long shadow. These men might be hired muscle, but they're not stupid enough to risk his wrath.
The rain continues its relentless descent, plastering hair to scalps and making tactical gear glisten in the dim light — perfect conditions for what might come next.
Rain washes away blood so efficiently.
"That claim is reinforced with Blackthorn's involvement." Another calculated pause as this information sinks in. Kieran's reputation in certain circles rivals Castellano's, though for different reasons. Where Damon rules through obvious power, Kieran's influence is subtler but no less deadly. "Obviously anything with him involved is just inviting trouble, but if you didn't get that memo, let me be the first and only one to warn you."
My lips pull back in a wolf's grin, all teeth and deadly promise. The expression feels natural on my face – I've worn it often enough in situations like this.
"And I, Rhett 'Blaze' Holloway, don't like ANYONE touching whom I've already claimed."
The words emerge as a growl, low and threatening. The sound makes two of the men take involuntary steps backward. They've heard the stories, then. Know what happened to the last group who tried to poach from my territory.
"Already claimed?" One of them hisses to their leader, who hasn't broken eye contact with me. His gaze tracks my every movement, analyzing for weaknesses he won't find. Years of street racing, underground fights, and darker activities have eliminated such vulnerabilities. "He says she's unclaimed and a virgin."
A dark chuckle escapes me, the sound almost genuine in its amusement.
It's either laugh or start the bloodshed immediately – because the realization of what they'd planned, of the brutality they were hired to inflict on someone they believed to be innocent, makes my inner Alpha howl for their deaths.
The implications of their words make my blood boil. They were going to gang-rape someone they thought was untouched, someone who'd never experienced pleasure or passion. Going to take something sacred and turn it into a nightmare, all because some rich bastard paid them to do it.
I can feel Trouble trembling slightly in my arms, though whether from cold, fear, or exhaustion, I'm not sure.
What I am sure of is that these men will never touch her.
Never even get close enough to try.
Their fate was sealed the moment they revealed their intentions. The only question now is whether I kill them quickly for efficiency's sake, or slowly for personal satisfaction.
I'll kill them all. Methodically. One by one.
The thought brings a calm focus to my mind, the kind that comes before violence. I've been here before, in this space between threat and action.
I know exactly how many moves it will take to end each of their lives.
But for now, I force that bloodlust into a corner of my mind. First, I need to ensure Trouble's safety. Need to get her somewhere secure before I can indulge the darker impulses these animals have awakened.
They don't realize it yet, but they're already dead men walking.
Whether it happens here in the rain or later in some dark alley, their fates are sealed. No one threatens what's mine and lives to profit from it.
Especially not her.
"There is nothing in the records stating this Omega is claimed by your... odd pick of Alphas that form your miniature pack," the leader announces, his voice carrying a smugness that signs his death warrant. His stance shifts as he speaks, trying to project authority he doesn't possess. "We did our research. Knew she was within a safe haven for months. Monitored her to ensure her routine."
Each word he speaks adds another method of torture to the mental list I'm compiling.
I imagine breaking each finger that dared write notes about her movements, crushing every knuckle that helped track her daily life. The casual way he describes stalking Trouble makes my blood boil, but I maintain my predatory calm.
I feel her shiver slightly in my arms, and the movement only fuels my rage.
How many nights did she walk home unaware of these eyes on her? How many times did these bastards watch her, waiting for their moment?
"It was only a matter of time before she was brought to us as the offering she is," he continues, seemingly oblivious to how each word shortens his life expectancy. The rain drums against his tactical gear, creating a rhythm that sounds like a funeral march. "Whatever scheme you're pulling off now won't work."
Another method of torture added to the list.
Every time this fucker opens his mouth, he's just giving me more reasons to make his death slower, more painful.
I imagine pulling his teeth one by one, making him eat them before moving on to worse things. The thought of them watching her, these degenerate pieces of shit viewing Trouble like some fruit ripening for their consumption – it makes my trigger finger itch with anticipation.
Their eyes track her movements even now, six pairs of eyes filled with a hunger that makes my inner Alpha roar for blood. They look at her like she's meat, like she's something to be consumed and discarded. Each glance they cast her way adds another hour to the torture they'll endure before death finally claims them.
My free hand twitches with the need to draw my weapon, to paint the forest floor with their blood.
The movement is subtle, but the leader's eyes drop to catch it, his survival instincts finally kicking in. There's a flash of fear in his gaze – the first intelligent thing I've seen from him all night.
Five seconds of tense silence pass, broken only by the steady drumming of rain and our collective breathing.
Then, as if choreographed, all six men draw their weapons in perfect sync, aiming directly at us. The barrels of their guns gleam dully in the low light, professional hardware that speaks of serious funding behind this operation.
But before I can make my move and show them exactly why I earned my reputation, applause cuts through the rain-soaked night.
Their guns swivel toward the sound with military precision, targeting a tall figure in a beige leather trench coat.
The coat itself probably costs more than these men make in a month, yet he wears it in this downpour like it's nothing. Despite being as drenched as the rest of us, he carries himself with an air of absolute authority that makes their tactical stances look amateur in comparison.
Ezekiel.
His eyes glimmer with dangerous amusement while his triumphant smirk promises consequences these men can't begin to imagine.
Water drips from his perfectly styled hair, but even the rain seems afraid to disturb his composed demeanor. He stands like a man who knows exactly how much power he holds – not just his own considerable strength, but the weight of law and criminal enterprise behind him.
He presses something on a device in his hand, the small movement carrying more threat than their drawn weapons.
The sigh he lets out is purely theatrical, followed by a disapproving click of his tongue that somehow manages to make these armed men shift uncomfortably.
"On all the nights where I'm forced to patrol, you lot just have to be around terrorizing the public," he drawls, his head tilting to one side as his eyes narrow dangerously.
The movement is smooth, predatory, reminiscent of a snake preparing to strike.
"More specifically, terrorizing MY pack brother and OUR Omega."
The emphasis he places on those possessive words rings through the forest like gunshots.
Each syllable carries weight, authority, and most importantly, promise. These men thought they were conducting a simple snatch-and-grab operation. Instead, they've stumbled into the territory of powers they can't comprehend.
The silence that follows carries more tension than any standoff I've experienced, and I've been in plenty.
Even the rain seems to fall harder as if nature itself recognizes the gravity of this moment. These men thought they were apex predators, but they're about to learn they're merely prey in a game they didn't know they were playing.
Because while I might be known for my speed and violence, Ezekiel's reputation for methodical destruction far exceeds mine.
He's the kind of man who doesn't just kill you – he erases every trace of your existence, makes it so you never were. When he tilts his head like that, when his eyes narrow with that particular gleam – that's when the real monsters in our city know to run.
But these idiots just stand there, guns trained on someone they don't yet realize is their executioner. They don't understand that every second they keep their weapons aimed at him is another way he'll make them suffer before the end.
Their last mistake.
"Your information is false," the leader declares with the confidence of a man who doesn't realize he's already dead. "We did our research last night before the hunt. Everything was verified."
Ezekiel's smile grows sharper, more predatory.
Rain continues to drip from his coat as he takes a casual step forward, making several of the men adjust their aim nervously.
"Good on you for doing your research," he says, voice dripping with condescension. "But if you weren't aware, the forms regarding the official claim for our sweet royal omega princess were submitted early this morning. At 12:30 to be exact, at Cardinal's."
The precision in his timing makes the men shift uncomfortably. Ezekiel has always had a gift for delivering information like a weapon, each fact another bullet in his arsenal.
"Intriguing enough to be notified while I'm on duty that the very Omega my pack brothers Castellano and Blackthorn had made a very clear statement and submission was theirs," he continues, building his case with methodical precision. "was the same Omega that was suddenly kidnapped by her abusive ex who she rejected at the altar and decided the onset of her being chosen by a pack worthy of keeping her safe was a triggering factor for him to do a lovely suicide mission to bring her here as bait to lure you dumbshits out."
The summary hits like a series of precise strikes.
I feel Trouble stir in my arms, her head turning slowly to study Ezekiel. Though the mask hides her expression, I notice how she inhales deeply, taking in his scent.
The subtle movement tells me she recognizes him from their earlier encounter – the encounter I'd witnessed through surveillance after Damon tasked me with tracking down the Omega who'd caught Ezekiel's attention.
No wonder Damon's jealous.
Watching her reaction to Ezekiel's presence, I understand completely.
There's something magnetic about him, especially when he's in his element like this. The way he commands attention while appearing completely at ease, how he wields information like others wield weapons – it's a kind of power that draws people in.
"You're trying to say this was set up?" the talkative one to the leader's right demands, his voice carrying a note of panic. He's starting to realize just how deep of a hole they've dug themselves into.
Ezekiel sighs dramatically, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture that somehow makes his expensive coat seem even more impressive despite being soaked through.
"If you wish to call it that, sure." His casual tone belies the deadly seriousness in his eyes. "I mean, it would seem like that if you look at this in the eyes of a judge while reviewing all the evidence submitted by the very man you're dealing business with."
He pauses for effect, letting the implications sink in before continuing.
"Who submitted it to my desk for the best detective in the city to patrol these very grounds tonight of all nights, knowing I'd stumble upon you guys mid-deed while he was driving away long gone after dropping off the Omega that brought him shame for having the balls to reject him."
The pieces click into place with brutal clarity as he delivers the final blow.
"In the end, he'd be free to find a new Omega of his liking while you lot would be behind bars for the 92-page document of all the sins he was about to plague you guys with."
His words leave them speechless, and I watch as the reality of their situation dawns on each face.
They've been played – set up as fall guys in an elaborate scheme. While Maharaja planned to escape with his reputation intact, leaving them to take the blame for whatever horrors they inflicted on Trouble.
The rain seems to fall harder as silence descends, each drop another nail in their collective coffin.
These men thought they were hunters, but they've been prey all along – not just to Maharaja's machinations, but to something far more dangerous.
They've stumbled into a game being played by powers far beyond their comprehension.
Between Castellano's criminal empire, Blackthorn's financial might, Ezekiel's legal authority, and my own reputation for violence, they're facing a force that could destroy them in a dozen different ways.
And that's before considering what we're capable of when we work together.
Silence falls over the group like a heavy shroud, broken only by the steady drumming of rain.
Ezekiel sighs, the sound carrying a disturbing contentment as he slides his hands into his pockets with calculated casualness. Every movement screams predator playing with prey.
"Well, it looks like we have an obvious misunderstanding," he begins, a smirk playing at his lips that holds nothing of joy but everything of promised retribution. Water drips from his hair, making him look like some avenging angel descended to deliver judgment. "I mean, we could get all violent here but then again the six special op snipers in the distance with trackers on each of you would take you out before you had the chance to pull the trigger beforehand."
The men's eyes drop to their chests in perfect synchronization, finally noticing the red dots centered over their hearts.
The Black Serpent Pack's elite fighters, known for their brutality in the underground fighting rings, suddenly look like nothing more than scared children realizing they're in far over their heads.
"But I'm a good fair man," Ezekiel continues, his tone carrying that dangerous playfulness that usually precedes violence. "One that tries to tame his anger despite the obvious fact that your pack of serpents decided to try and hurt, defile, and claim our Omega. Our precious princess that we've been fighting so hard to 'knot' announce our arrangement." His eyes gleam with dark humor. "Get it? Knot."
His laugh echoes through the forest, carrying an edge of mania that makes even me tense slightly. But I know this side of him – the detective who plays with his prey before striking.
"K.N.O.T. their Arrangement," he emphasizes each letter with clear enjoyment. "The hidden code name for the investigation sitting on FBI, CIA, and Secret Ops desks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take Maharaja Adhiraj Vikram Singh down after the special case was requested by one of the wealthiest Omegas who is actually one of the founders of the Knot Their Omega movement that just launched and is in legal support of the government and laws."
He pauses for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying their growing discomfort.
"Want to know what it stands for? Knowledge Network Operation Taskforce." His smile grows sharper. "Cute, right? How we took their precious term for claiming Omegas and turned it into the very thing that will destroy their whole system?"
The Black Serpent Pack members stand frozen, their earlier bravado completely evaporated. Even their leader, who spoke so confidently before, seems unable to form words.
Ezekiel nods, satisfaction radiating from him as he walks toward Trouble and me.
His movements are deliberate, measured, like a large cat approaching its den. Though the mask hides her expression, I can feel how she responds to his presence – a subtle relaxation in her muscles, an easing of tension.
He leans down, pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head. The gesture carries so much meaning – protection, possession, promise.
"Meri Mishti," he murmurs, combining 'my sweetness' in Hindi with obvious affection. "As much as I'd enjoy killing these men instantly for daring to hunt you, I'm obligated to give them at least a chance of redemption."
She tilts her head up to meet his gaze, and though the mask conceals her features, something passes between them. Some silent communication speaks of a connection deeper than their brief encounter would suggest.
"Ah," he breathes, reading something in her posture that I'm just beginning to notice. "I should do something as a reminder of messing with what's ours, shouldn't I?"
Her response isn't verbal – instead, she lifts her hand slowly, as if reaching for something only she can see. The gesture seems to catch Ezekiel off guard, his eyes meeting mine in a moment of shared uncertainty.
A dark suspicion forms in my mind about what she's asking for. It's almost too cynical, too perfectly aligned with the darkness we've all been trying to protect her from.
But the way she holds her hand out, patient and expectant...
She can't possibly want...
But then again, this is the woman who chose to lose her virginity to a stranger rather than save it for an arranged marriage.
Who ran from her wedding rather than submit to a fate others chose for her. Who witnessed me commit murder and still trusted me enough to approach.
Maybe we've been underestimating her capacity for darkness all along.
Ezekiel's smile transforms into something genuine and dangerous – the kind of expression that tells me he's riding the same wavelength of dark understanding.
It's a look I've seen before, usually right before we unleash hell on those who've crossed us. His hand moves to his pocket with deliberate slowness, letting the tension build like a coiling spring.
The others probably expect him to pull out that recording device from earlier, to wave more evidence of their crimes in their faces like the detective they think he is.
Instead, the metal of his gun gleams dully in the rain as he places it in Trouble's waiting hand. The weapon looks both wrong and right in her delicate grip – like a rose with steel thorns.
What happens next feels like slow motion and lightning speed simultaneously.
Her fingers wrap around the weapon with practiced ease – where did she learn that? When did my innocent Trouble become so lethal? – and before anyone can process what's happening, five shots ring out in rapid succession.
Well, holy flying fuck…
The sound echoes through the forest like thunder, but her aim is as precise as a surgeon's scalpel.
Each shot finds its mark with devastating accuracy as if she's been training for this moment her entire life. Five men drop instantly, each clutching leg wounds that speak of perfect placement.
Non-lethal but debilitating, the kind of shots that require both skill and intent.
She's hit major muscle groups, ensuring maximum pain with minimal risk of death.
Only the leader remains standing, staring down the barrel now pointed between his eyes. I can see the moment reality hits him – how badly he's misread this situation, how thoroughly they've underestimated what seemed like easy prey.
The empty click of the trigger makes him flinch – a sixth bullet that would have ended his life if the chamber hadn't been empty. The sound seems to echo in the rain-soaked air, a promise of what could have been.
Wow…what a sight.
Ezekiel whistles, low and appreciative, looking at Trouble with undisguised pride.
In all our years working together, I've rarely seen him show such open admiration.
"That's our girl," he praises, his voice carrying both possession and admiration. The words seem to hang in the air, marking this moment as something significant. "Always leave a wound for those who dare think we're prey instead of predators."
Something primal stirs in me at the sight – this perfect combination of her deadly efficiency and his approving words.
My cock hardens almost painfully fast, arousal hitting me like a physical blow. The juxtaposition of her traditional dress and lethal skill, the way she handled that weapon like an extension of herself... it's the hottest thing I've ever witnessed.
Even through years of street racing and underground fights, I've never seen anything quite so perfectly savage.
Her saree, still elegant despite being soaked through, now seems less like traditional garb and more like a warrior's costume.
The way the fabric moves with her, the subtle shift of muscle beneath silk – it all speaks of a predator's grace I never noticed before.
"I guess that's good enough," Ezekiel declares, turning his attention to the leader and his groaning men.
His voice carries that dangerous edge that makes hardened criminals wake up screaming. The tone reminds everyone why he's both respected and feared in our world.
"Five minutes. It's all you'll get to get out of our sight."
Rain continues to fall as he delivers his ultimatum, each drop emphasizing his words like nature itself agrees with his judgment.
"If you're still here, I'll let the sniper finish what our Omega didn't out of the goodness of her heart, though you lot of fuckers don't deserve shit when your intentions was to fuck an innocent virgin Omega because you're starving for pussy." His disgust is palpable, coating each word like poison. "There's plenty of adult-only Alpha clubs where you can bang any Omega you wish with consent. Maybe think of that option next time you try to 'hunt' around these parts."
As if we'd let there be a next time.
The wounded men begin their pathetic retreat, literally crawling through mud and undergrowth. Blood trails mark their path, mixing with rain and earth to create macabre paintings on the forest floor.
Their leader lingers a few seconds longer, but he's smart enough to avoid looking in Trouble's direction. Something in his posture suggests he finally understands just how badly they misread this situation – how close they came to death rather than the easy prey they expected.
They disappear into the mist like the phantoms they tried to be, leaving only their blood mixing with rainwater as evidence of their presence. The forest seems to swallow them whole, erasing their existence as thoroughly as their pride has been destroyed.
The sudden silence feels heavy, broken only by the gentling rain. I notice the change in Trouble's posture a split second before it happens – the way her body starts to sway, the subtle loosening of her muscles.
It's like watching a string puppet whose lines are being cut one by one.
My arms are around her before she can fully collapse, catching her as her knees give out. Her body goes limp against me, and panic starts to rise in my throat.
The adrenaline that kept her going seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving her boneless in my embrace. But Ezekiel is already moving, dropping to one knee beside us with practiced efficiency.
The injectable he pulls out looks medical grade, its contents glowing slightly in the dim light.
His movements are precise as he administers it into her neck, the kind of steady hands that come from years of practice. Despite the obvious concern in his eyes, his hands remain steady, controlling the flow of whatever medication he's giving her with expert care.
"Breathe, Rhett," he says softly, and I realize I've stopped breathing.
The command in his voice helps center me, and pulls me back from the edge of the berserker rage that threatened to take over. I must look half-feral, ready to hunt down those men and finish what Trouble started.
The urge to chase them down, to paint the forest with their blood, pulses through me with each heartbeat.
"It's a recovery sedative," he explains, his calm tone acting like an anchor.
My heart still races, but the panic begins to subside. Medical training was part of his detective qualifications – if he says this is what she needs, I trust him completely.
Still, holding her unconscious form brings back memories of that week we shared, of protecting her from smaller dangers that seem laughable now.
The rain has slowed to a gentle mist as if nature itself is trying to soothe the violence we've witnessed.
Trouble's weight in my arms feels both precious and dangerous – this woman who can shoot like a trained assassin but still needs our protection.
The mask still covers her face, but I can feel her steady breathing, the way her body gradually relaxes into true sleep rather than collapsing.
What other surprises are you hiding, little Omega?
"The drug will help her recover and minimize side effects from the obvious shock of everything," Ezekiel explains, his voice carrying that calm authority that's saved countless lives in crisis situations. "But we need to get her to a medical center ASAP for proper treatment."
I don't need to be told twice.
In one fluid motion, I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against my chest like something precious. Her weight feels right there, like she's always belonged in my embrace.
If Ezekiel told me to run all the way to the hospital carrying her like this, I would – anything to ensure she gets the care she needs as quickly as possible.
Something in my expression must give away my thoughts because Ezekiel's lips quirk slightly.
"Damon and Kieran are already parked on the road in the 'ambulance,'" he says, emphasizing the word in a way that tells me it's probably one of Castellano's special vehicles – the kind equipped for both medical emergencies and potential firefights.
"You already know the drill," he continues, shifting into detective mode with practiced ease. "The driver hit you intentionally and proceeded to shoot at you. The Omega tried to protect you, getting injured along the way, and you had to hide because of the obvious reputation of this forest until I discovered you. Clear?"
"Clear," I repeat, already moving.
The cover story is simple enough – close to the truth while obscuring the parts that would raise too many questions. It's how we've operated for years, dancing on the edge between legal and illegal, finding the grey areas where justice and necessity meet.
Ezekiel takes point, moving with that predatory grace that marks him as dangerous even in this professional capacity.
I match his pace but stay slightly behind, knowing the snipers positioned throughout the forest will be watching his movements to assess potential threats. They're his backup, his invisible shield – part of the network of protection that makes him such an effective force in the city.
The rain has almost stopped now, leaving behind a mist that clings to everything like gossamer.
Trouble's breathing remains steady in my arms, the sedative keeping her peaceful despite the movement. The mask still covers her face, its glow dimmed but steady like she's earned the right to wear my signature.
Who would have thought?
That the Omega Damon asked me to track – the one who caught Ezekiel's attention and sparked his possessive streak – would turn out to be my Trouble.
The coincidence seems too perfect to be random, too precisely orchestrated to be chance.
The universe has a strange sense of humor, bringing us all together like this.
Damon's criminal empire, Kieran's financial might, Ezekiel's legal authority, and my underground connections – all converging around this one remarkable woman who just proved she's as deadly as any of us.
The memory of her handling that gun with such precision makes my blood heat despite the urgency of our situation.
The way she took those shots without hesitation, marking each target with surgical accuracy...it awakened something primal in me. An instinct that recognizes her not just as someone to protect, but as a predator in her own right.
She's evolved, just like I have.
That innocent girl I met in the alley grew into someone capable of surviving in our world – n o, more than surviving.
Someone capable of thriving in it, of matching our darkness with her own.
The thought sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with recognition.
We emerge from the forest onto the road where a sleek black vehicle waits, its emergency lights casting red and blue shadows through the mist.
The color scheme matches my mask, and I wonder if that's intentional – another piece of our carefully crafted image.
Damon stands by the rear doors, his expensive suit somehow immaculate despite the weather. Kieran's at the wheel, those mismatched eyes tracking our approach through the windshield. They've positioned themselves perfectly – one to help with the patient, one ready to drive at a moment's notice.
Our pack in perfect sync.
Looking down at Trouble's masked face, I make a silent vow. Whatever fate has in store for us, I won't let her slip away again.
Not now that we've found each other in this new configuration, this perfect alignment of darkness and strength.
The girl I knew deserved freedom and protection. But this woman, this deadly creature who matches our savagery while maintaining her grace – she deserves everything we can give her. Everything our pack represents.
Power. Protection. Possession.
And most importantly, the chance to be exactly who she is, without shame or constraint.
Because that display of lethal efficiency wasn't learned in some self-defense class. That was the action of someone who's always had this capacity for violence, this perfect blend of beauty and danger.
Just like us.
As we approach the vehicle, I hold her closer, already knowing this is just the beginning.
We may have started as Riot and Trouble, two kids playing at rebellion, but we've grown into something no one will ever see coming.
I'm never letting her go again…not even if her bastard of a father tries to kill me again.
It’s a vow I have every intention of keeping.