Chapter 5
Carson
Willow sips her coffee, doing her best to pretend we don’t exist. That’s fine. It gives us the space to scan the area, to check for any unwanted eyes. I don’t doubt we were followed. The beta is obsessed with her.
A flicker of movement in the shadows across the street catches my attention.
Light bounces off a camera lens for a split second, and I force my shoulders to stay relaxed, tilting my head ever so slightly in that direction—just enough to let the others know he’s here.
Even though I’m sure they can feel it through our bond.
Being pack makes this part pretty easy. It’s what makes us so good at our job; we can communicate completely non-verbally if needed.
Graham shifts on his feet, the only outward indication that he’s spotted him, too.
Hunter snorts softly, his gaze flicking toward our clueless omega. This is why she needs us. She has no self-preservation skills. Sure, she’s fiery and fun to tease, but when it comes to keeping herself safe? Zero stars. Would not recommend.
The mark on her neck tells that story as clearly as the beta trailing her does.
She let an alpha claim her, and he’s not here now.
Which means she probably regrets that trust she misplaced.
I’d love to get the story behind it, but Graham would throttle me for asking.
Although, sometimes Graham’s punishments are as good as the pleasure he doles out.
“Time to go, princess,” Hunter says.
Willow barely has a second to react before he steps forward, plucks her sugary latte from her hands mid-protest, and hands it off to Graham.
Then, with almost no effort, he scoops her up as though she weighs nothing—ignoring the truth that she’s a fiery little hellcat we’ve been tasked with protecting.
“Oh my God, put me down!” she shrieks, smacking his back as he strides toward the waiting town car.
Graham doesn’t so much as blink. “Take care of him and meet us back at her place.” He’s already sliding into the front seat before the order fully lands.
I fall into motion, steps tightening, attention narrowing as I cross the street. No room left for anything but the job.
My strides are long, measured, closing the distance before he can peel away from the alley and disappear. He’s good, but I’m better.
He grunts as I shove him against the wall, the stench of rotting trash festering in the narrow space between us. “This is your only warning—stay away from her.”
He barks out a laugh, his eyes tracking the town car as it pulls away from the curb. “Who says?” His gaze flicks back to mine as the car vanishes around the corner. “You?”
A slow, deliberate movement, his hand reaches for the camera around his neck, and before I can react, there’s a click.
“For the memory,” he says, grinning as I slam him harder against the bricks. “Mmm, I do like it rough.”
I lean in, the space shrinking, a steady heat coiling beneath my skin. “If I catch you watching her again, you’ll see just how rough I can get.”
I release him, and he sags against the wall, still grinning as though this is a game.
“Promises, promises,” he sing-songs, his fingers tapping at his camera, already committing the shot to memory.
Another click as I turn away, his laughter trailing behind me. He’s crazier than we anticipated.
Willow needs round-the-clock guarding.
I’ll have to talk to Graham.
I catch a taxi and somehow make it back to the apartment before they do. As they pull up to the curb, I push off the brick wall where I'd been waiting and step forward, just in time to see Hunter pluck Willow from the backseat of the town car.
She yelps in outrage, fists beating against his back, but he just slings her over his shoulder, unfazed.
She’s like a wet, angry kitten—claws out, hissing and spitting in warning. God, she's adorable. I can’t stop the grin tugging at my mouth as I fall into step beside them, Graham bringing up the rear with her abandoned drink still in hand.
The second the elevator doors slide shut behind us, Hunter sets her carefully back on her feet.
Willow stumbles, catching herself on the wall before she spins to face him, wild-eyed and furious.
“Your drink…” Graham says, almost too casually, holding the plastic cup out as though it’s some kind of offering to a pissed-off goddess.
Willow tears her glare off Hunter and trains it on Graham instead.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she snaps. “You can’t bribe me with sweet treats and expect me to forget that your brute of a friend just carried me around as if I’m some clearance item from the produce aisle. I have legs. Two of them. They work just fine, thank you very much.”
Hunter mutters something that sounds suspiciously close to “Could’ve fooled me” under his breath. I cough into my fist to cover a laugh.
The elevator dings, and we step out onto her floor.
The walk to her door is... tense. Willow stalks ahead, arms crossed tightly over her chest, every step radiating fury. The three of us trail behind her, the picture of men walking toward their execution.
When she stops and glares at her door, Graham slides the key into the lock, and pushes the door open. But Willow plants herself in the doorway, blocking the entrance with her small but immovable frame.
“You are not coming in.” She plants her feet, chin lifted, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Graham holds steady, towering in the doorway. “Orders.” Nothing more.
That’s when it happens, it’s as if someone lights a match and tosses it straight into a puddle of gasoline.
“Fuck your orders!” she explodes, voice echoing off the walls. “You are not moving in. You are not guarding me twenty-four-seven. I don't care what my father says. I am an adult, and I don’t need a babysitter—or three of them!”
Her chest heaves with the effort it took to unleash it. And for a second, none of us move.
She seems one breath away from throwing the drink Graham's still holding at someone's head.
Probably Hunter’s.
“There’s that spice again,” I murmur to Hunter, who huffs but doesn’t respond. Typical.
“We can put a lock on your bedroom if that will make you feel better about it.” Graham gestures toward the hallway leading to her room. Willow follows the motion with another glare.
She’s so freaking adorable. I’m sure pointing that out would get me punched, though.
Her scent thickens in the air, wrapping around us, a command woven into every breath we take.
Her blockers must be wearing off, because it screams, protect the omega.
Make the omega happy. It’s biological. Instinctual.
But we’ve all learned to ignore it; other omegas never get under my skin this way.
“You can sleep in the hall,” she snaps, all cute anger, a kitten trying to claw its way out of a box.
“Peaches, we can’t protect you from the hallway if he comes up the fire escape,” I counter smoothly.
Her cheeks light up with a pretty blush, and she sputters, “Peaches?”
“More fitting than princess, don’t you think?”
Hunter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Princess is pretty accurate. Her father could probably buy the whole state of New York if he wanted to. Probably owns a few islands in the Caribbean. She’s definitely one step away from royalty. Not that she acts the part.”
Her mouth drops open. “Wow. You can do more than grunt and growl and play caveman after all.”
The corners of my mouth tug upward at her teasing, widening even more when Hunter glares at her.
“He doesn’t need to talk to protect you,” Graham cuts in. “He’ll take first shift, Carson will take second, and I’ll take third. Now, do you want the lock on your room or not?”
She blinks. Once. Twice.
I should let it go, but watching her get all worked up is too damn entertaining. That blush? It’s cute as hell. The way her scent thickens when she’s irritated? That’s interesting. Dangerous, but interesting. We’re supposed to be immune to it. And yet…
“Peaches, you should call your dad and complain,” I suggest, just to see her reaction.
Graham already has her dad’s number pulled up, holding his phone out as if it’s a loaded weapon as if we planned this. I grin as she contemplates both my words and the phone before throwing up her hands in frustration and storming into her apartment.
“Buy the best lock you can, because when my heat hits, I’m not taking any of your knots.”
Her bedroom door slams behind her, rattling the frame, leaving silence in its wake.
Hunter shifts slightly, jaw ticking. Graham exhales through his nose. But I know they both feel the same thing I’m feeling. Excitement. Anticipation.
She’s a firecracker.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, enjoying the hell out of this. Her scent is still thick in the air, a little irritated, a little flustered. Not just anger.
I let out a low whistle. “Feisty.”
And it’s going to be so much fun watching her fight this every step of the way.