Chapter 36 Willow #2
“Finn isn’t going to kill me. You three are insane. More insane than Finn is, actually. You are taking this too far, and if I could talk to my dad, it would all be fixed!” I prop my hands on my hips, facing them down.
I don’t expect them to just hand over my phone or agree, but when Hunter snorts out a laugh, my blood boils.
“Let’s sit down and go over Finn’s file,” he says, “so that you can be real clear about who you are lusting after.”
Before I can protest, he nudges me toward the couch, grabbing his backpack on the way. His hand is firm at the small of my back, guiding me—not gently, but with purpose. A silent, you will sit down and you will listen.
I don’t enjoy being manhandled—but the weight of his touch? The command in his movements?
I sit.
Hunter drops onto the couch beside me, his presence overwhelming as he leans forward and slaps a yellow file folder onto the coffee table. The impact makes me jump. It just sits there. Radioactive. One wrong move and it’ll burn me alive.
“Open it,” Hunter says.
I hesitate.
Carson steps closer, arms crossed, jaw tight. Graham leans against the wall, arms also crossed, but his eyes are hard. I swallow thickly and drag the folder toward me. My fingers tremble as I flip it open. The first page is a grainy photograph. A boy.
No, a little kid.
Dark hair too long, curling at the ends, eyes too big for his face. Skinny. Hollow.
My stomach turns as I skim the text beneath it.
Finn Reed. Age: 6.
Subject removed from family home due to severe neglect. No known pack affiliations. Minimal social interaction. Feral.
A tight knot forms in my throat.
I turn the page. Another photo. Older this time—ten, maybe. Wrists nothing but twigs. Face sharper. Eyes darker.
Hunter leans in, flips the page for me. “His father’s pack didn’t just ignore him. They erased him.”
The words drive straight into my ribs, sharp and unforgiving.
His finger taps the paragraph at the bottom of the page.
Beta child showed signs of extreme isolation. Family rarely acknowledged his presence. No formal schooling. Kept in basement for extended periods.
I suck in a sharp breath. My fingers tighten on the folder.
“He wasn’t just unwanted,” Hunter continues. “He was born wrong in their eyes. They didn’t believe he was theirs. An embarrassment to the pack.”
I flip another page. A grainy black-and-white photo. A cell.
A fucking cell.
The caption below it is clinical, unemotional: Sleeping area provided by paternal pack. Location: Basement storage.
The rage that builds inside me is instantaneous.
“He lived here?” My voice comes out choked.
“Lived,” Hunter confirms. “If you can call it that.”
I flip again.
This time, I wish I hadn’t.
Incident report - Age 15.
Subject removed from institutional care following suspected involvement in the deaths of both parents and pack alpha. Incident ruled as inconclusive due to lack of evidence, but multiple accounts state subject had threatened all three victims in the days leading up to their deaths.
My heart stops.
I read it again.
Finn’s parents are dead.
I jerk my gaze up. “You think Finn killed them?”
Hunter watches me, expression unreadable. “We don’t know. No one does.”
“But you believe it.”
His silence is all the answer I need. A sick, twisting sensation unspools in my stomach. I flip another page. More reports. More institutionalizations. The second he was out, the second he gained an inch of freedom, someone else ended up dead.
Another alpha.
Another caregiver.
No official charges. No proof.
Just…Finn. A ghost. Slipping through the cracks.
My fingers dig into the edges of the folder. It’s not possible.
Not Finn.
I hear his voice in my head, soft, teasing, dark. What’s wrong, Willow? Alphas playing a little too rough?
I remember his lips on my skin. The way he touched me as though I was his. I remember his hands on my throat. But he’d never hurt me.
Right?
“You see him now, don’t you?” Hunter murmurs, voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
I snap my head up, glaring. “I do. He’s not dangerous to me.”
Hunter leans in, his face inches from mine. “You see what he wants you to see.”
The words slam into my chest.
No.
No, that’s not—
Finn is—
He—
The air shifts.
And suddenly, I know. I know what Hunter is doing. He wants to scare me. He wants me to doubt. All it fucking does is make my heart ache.
Finn didn’t ask to be born and be treated as if he was a mistake. He didn’t ask to be locked away, to be ignored and erased. Of course he learned how to make people see what he wanted them to see. That’s how he survived.
And I’m supposed to hate him for it? No.
I close the folder. Hunter watches me, waiting. Waiting for me to get it. To wake up. To run from Finn the way they want me to. But instead—I look up. And I meet Hunter’s gaze head-on.
“You just did the opposite of what you were trying to do.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens. Carson mutters a fuck under his breath. Graham exhales noisily, rubbing his temples. I’m sure he knew this would happen. Because it wasn’t enough to make me afraid. It just made me angry.
Angry at the world that made Finn who he is.
Angry at the people who let him slip through the cracks and not protect the boy he was.
Angry that now, after all these years of being invisible, people finally want to act—only because they don’t like that he’s latched onto me.
I push the folder away and stand.
“I’m going to my room.”
They don’t stop me.
But as I walk down the hall, I feel their eyes on me. And through the window across the street? I know he’s watching too. And no matter how much they try to protect me from him—Finn Reed is already under my skin.
Graham drills a lock onto the window leading to the second fire escape—he did my room first—his movements efficient, his jaw locked tight as he secures my newest form of imprisonment.
I watch. Silent.
I should fight. I should argue. I should do something.
But I don’t.
Because what’s the point?
They aren’t listening. They don’t care what I think about Finn or that every word in that file just made me want to understand him more.
They want to keep me safe? Fine. Let them think they’ve won.
The drill powers down, the final screw sinking deep. Graham leans back, assessing his work, and then he turns, his gray eyes finding mine. He doesn’t gloat. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t even look angry anymore.
Just determined.
“You’re not sneaking out again.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Hunter stands by the door, arms crossed, tension radiating off of him in thick, suffocating waves. Carson leans against the counter, fingers drumming against the surface, his smirk nowhere to be found.
They exchange a look, silent understanding passing between them.
Then—they leave. The door clicks shut. And I exhale. The air in the apartment is thick. I drag my fingers through my hair, my pulse still racing, my body still alive with adrenaline. My gaze flicks to the coffee table. The file is still there.
Right where I left it.
Right where they wanted it. Evidence against Finn. Proof meant to make me see him differently. To scare me.
All it did was confirm what I already knew.
Finn wasn’t born this way. He was made.
And now they’re trying to cage me the same way people tried to cage him.
I spin toward the window, fingertips brushing over the new lock. This? This is supposed to stop me? A flimsy lock to keep me contained?
I huff a laugh under my breath.
And then, despite myself—despite everything—I lift my eyes up and look.
And—he’s there.
Across the street. Standing in his window. Watching me.
My breath catches.
Finn isn’t wearing a shirt. Lean muscle shifts under his skin as he lifts his arm and braces it against the window frame, lazy and deliberate, waiting me out.
His mouth curves into a slow smirk, smug as hell, already knowing I’d look. Already certain I’d find him.
This isn’t chance. This is part of the game. Every move calculated. Every stare designed to pull me in. And he knows I’m already playing.
My fingers dig into the windowsill. I should look away. I should turn my back and prove that this lock means something.
But I don’t.
Because the second I meet his gaze, my body hums with awareness. I remember his mouth on me. His hands. His voice, dark and rough against my skin. His pure obsession.
And the fact that, despite everything they just told me—
Despite the lock. Despite the warnings.
I’m still extremely attracted to him.