29. Jax
Chapter 29
Jax
I hate this plan.
The thought repeats like a mantra as I watch Hailey adjust the bulletproof vest beneath her sweater—a simple blue cashmere that makes her look impossibly vulnerable despite the Kevlar underneath. She catches my eye in the mirror and offers a small smile meant to reassure. It doesn’t work.
“It’s heavier than I expected,” she comments, rolling her shoulders to settle the vest more comfortably.
“That’s because it’s the best available,” I reply, checking the fit with critical eyes. “The latest composite materials, rated to stop everything short of armor-piercing rounds.”
I don’t add that if Heath truly wants her dead, armor-piercing rounds wouldn’t be difficult for someone with her resources to acquire. Some fears are better left unspoken.
“Try to move normally,” I instruct, watching her range of motion. “If you look uncomfortable or restricted, it might draw attention to the fact that you’re wearing protection.”
She takes a few experimental steps, twists at the waist, raises her arms. The vest is well-designed, custom-fitted, but there’s only so much that can be done to disguise hardened plates beneath civilian clothing.
“It’ll have to do,” she sighs, tugging the sweater down one final time. “The jacket will help cover it.”
The jacket in question is a tailored blazer chosen by Finn. It’s in navy blue and complements the sweater.
A soft knock at the door draws my attention. Stone enters without waiting for a response, his expression a careful neutral that doesn’t quite mask his concern.
“The car is here,” he announces. “The FBI liaison says we need to leave in the next ten minutes to stay on schedule.”
I nod, checking my watch automatically though I know exactly what time it is, have been tracking each minute with painful awareness as we approach the moment I’ve been dreading for days. The moment when Hailey will stand before cameras and make herself a target for what remains of Heath’s network.
“How are you feeling?” Finn asks Hailey, moving to stand beside her, his hand finding hers in a gesture that seems as natural as breathing now.
“Nervous,” she admits, her scent confirming the words with notes of anxiety sharpening her usual warm fragrance. “But certain. This is the right thing to do.”
Her certainty has been unwavering since she first announced her intention to testify publicly. Five days ago, over breakfast, she outlined her reasoning with calm determination. How the omegas she met at the rehabilitation center were too traumatized to speak out. How Heath’s continued freedom posed an ongoing threat. How a public statement might encourage other victims to come forward and strengthen the case against Heath.
Logical arguments, all of them. Strategic even. The FBI certainly thought so, jumping at the opportunity to put a face and voice to the crimes they were investigating. But logic and strategy mean little when weighed against the primal instinct to protect my omega from danger.
No amount of lovemaking, fuck, even primal pounding, has made me feel any more secure. Even right now, my cock is hard with the urge to pin her down and make sure everyone knows she’s claimed and that nobody should dare harm a hair on her head.
I’d argued, of course. Outlined the risks in excruciating detail—exposure on national television, making her identifiable to any remaining operatives in Heath’s network, the psychological toll of reliving her trauma publicly, the potential for Heath herself to retaliate directly. Hailey listened to every concern, acknowledged their validity, and remained resolute.
Ren’s support was more surprising, given his usual protective instincts toward both our omegas. But when I confronted him about it, all he’d said was: “She’s made up her mind. Better to support her decision than force her to fight us while she’s fighting Heath.”
Fuck.
Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, I yielded—but not without conditions. The bulletproof vest was non-negotiable. As was a controlled environment for the press conference, with carefully vetted attendees and multiple escape routes. Every precaution I could think of, implemented with meticulous attention to detail.
And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.
“It’s time,” Finn says softly, drawing me back to the present moment. He helps Hailey into the blazer, his movements gentle, supportive.
I pick up my phone, checking the security feeds one final time—perimeter clear, FBI agents in position around the property, Stone and Ren already waiting by the vehicles. Everything according to plan, every contingency accounted for, and yet the knot of dread in my stomach only tightens.
The drive to the federal building where the press conference will be held passes in tense silence. Hailey sits between Finn and me in the back seat of the armored SUV provided by the FBI. A second vehicle follows containing Ren and Stone, with a third FBI vehicle leading our small convoy.
Overkill, perhaps, but I’d rather be accused of paranoia than caught unprepared.
We arrive without incident, pulling into a secure underground garage where additional agents await to escort us to the preparation room. The building’s security is impressive—multiple checkpoints, armed personnel at every entrance, comprehensive camera coverage of all approaches. The federal response to Heath’s operation has been escalating daily as more evidence emerges of its scope and political connections.
“Once the statement is delivered, an agent will handle questions,” an agent briefs us. “You are not obligated to answer anything, Ms. Ironwood. If it becomes overwhelming, simply look to the agent, and she will intervene.”
Hailey nods her understanding, her posture straightening with determination despite the anxiety evident in her scent. A federal agent appears at the door, informing us that they’re ready to begin in five minutes.
The press room is smaller than expected—thirty chairs filled with journalists eager to cover Heath’s omega trafficking operation. All eyes focus on the podium.
Our entrance doesn’t go unnoticed; heads turn, cameras shift, a ripple of whispered speculation moving through the assembled press corps. Hailey falters momentarily at the attention, her step hitching. I move closer instinctively, a supportive hand at the small of her back, careful to avoid the hard edges of the concealed vest.
“I’m okay,” she whispers, squaring her shoulders. “Just…a lot of people.”
More than we’d been told to expect, I note with a flash of irritation. Someone at the FBI obviously decided to expand the invite list at the last minute, increasing both the reach of Hailey’s testimony and the potential security risk.
Too late to object now. We’re guided to our seats at the side of the small stage area, while Hailey is escorted to the podium.
Under the harsh lights, she looks vulnerable. She unfolds her prepared statement with steady hands, takes a deep breath, and begins.
“My name is Hailey Ironwood.” Her voice is clear, carrying easily through the room despite her soft tone. “Six years ago, I was sold by my parents.”
The room falls silent, the usual rustle and murmur of journalists stilled by the simple, stark opening. Cameras click softly, recording every nuance of her expression as she continues.
“For six years, I was held captive in a facility designed to process and condition omegas for sale to wealthy clients. During this time, I was subjected to medical testing without consent, psychological manipulation, and preparation for what they termed ‘placement’ with my…” She pauses. Swallows hard. “My master.”
She describes the facility in detail. The sterile rooms, the medical equipment, the security measures designed to prevent escape. Outlines the “processing” procedures with a detachment that speaks volumes about the psychological armor she’s constructed to revisit these memories. Explains the classification system used to categorize omegas based on physical attributes, fertility markers, and behavioral compliance.
Throughout her testimony, the press room remains eerily silent. Even the most hardened journalists appear shaken by the methodical description of industrialized abuse, the cold efficiency with which human beings were reduced to products with price tags.
“I was not the only omega held in this facility,” Hailey continues, her voice unwavering despite the difficult subject matter. “There were at least two dozen others during my captivity, of various ages and backgrounds. Some had been there for months, years…others had just arrived. All were being prepared for sale, both domestically and internationally.”
She describes Vi briefly—the omega who helped her during captivity, who may still be somewhere in Heath’s network. Mentions other omegas only by first names or distinguishing features, respecting their privacy while making it clear these were real people, not abstract victims.
“My escape was not planned,” she admits, a hint of emotion finally cracking through her composed exterior. “It was opportunistic and desperate. Many others were not so fortunate. Many are still missing.”
She pauses, taking a sip of water from the glass provided, using the moment to compose herself before continuing to the most important part of her statement.
“I’m speaking publicly today for two reasons,” she says, her gaze lifting to survey the room with unexpected strength. “First, to put a face and voice to the crimes being investigated, to ensure that these atrocities cannot be minimized or forgotten. And second, to speak directly to others who have survived similar experiences.”
Here she deviates slightly from her prepared text, her eyes finding the camera at the back of the room, speaking now not to the journalists but to those who may be watching the broadcast.
“To those who have escaped, who are recovering, who may be afraid to come forward: I understand your fear. I share it. But our silence is what allows people like Veyra Heath to continue operating in the shadows. Our voices, together, are stronger than their money, their connections, their threats.”
Her gaze is unwavering, her voice gaining conviction with each word. “You are not broken. You are not damaged. You are survivors, and your experiences matter. Your testimony matters. And most of all…you’re not unwanted.”
The room remains silent for several heartbeats after she finishes, the impact of her words settling over the assembled journalists. Then, as if a dam has broken, hands rise across the room, reporters eager to ask questions, to expand on the powerful testimony they’ve just witnessed.
The agent steps forward, taking control of the Q&A portion as planned. Cameras flash, questions being directed at Hailey as I and the rest of the pack stand and shield her from their inquiries.
We exit through the same side door we entered, immediately surrounded by a protective cordon of FBI agents who guide us back to the preparation room. Hailey walks with her head high, her posture rigid, maintaining the composed facade until the door closes behind us, shutting out the press and the cameras and the weight of public scrutiny.
Then, and only then, does she allow herself to tremble.
Finn is at her side instantly, arm around her shoulders, guiding her to a chair. “You did brilliantly,” he tells her, his voice warm with pride and concern. “Absolutely brilliantly.”
She nods, unable to speak. Stone approaches with a bottle of water, which she accepts with a grateful nod. Ren crouches, a finger under her chin.
“You did great, sweetheart.”
I let out a breath, happy it’s done. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“Yes,” she whispers, rising from the chair with visible effort. “I’d like to go home.”
The return journey passes with the same tense vigilance as our arrival, though with the added complication of media vehicles attempting to follow our convoy. The FBI lead car handles this efficiently, directing them away with authoritative gestures and occasional brief stops that allow our vehicles to gain distance. By the time we reach the highway leading back to our property, we’ve shed our unwanted entourage.
Hailey sits in silence for most of the journey, her expression distant, processing. Occasionally her hand finds Finn’s or mine, seeking connection without words.
It’s only as we approach the turnoff to our property that she finally speaks. “Do you think it will help? Truly?”
The vulnerability in her question tugs at something deep in my chest. “Yes, of course.” I tilt her chin so she’s looking at me. “It’s already helping. The networks are running your testimony. People are listening. People who might have information, who might come forward now.”
“And Heath?” she presses. “Do you think she’ll respond?”
It’s the question that’s been haunting me since this plan was first proposed—how Heath might retaliate against such a public challenge to her operations, her reputation, her freedom. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But if she does, we’ll be ready.”
She nods, accepting my honesty even if it doesn’t provide the reassurance she might want. “I’m glad it’s over,” she says softly. “The waiting was almost worse than doing it.”
We arrive home without incident, passing through the security gate with its newly upgraded systems. The house looks unchanged, peaceful in the afternoon sunlight, a stark contrast to the intensity of the morning’s events.
As we exit the vehicles, I’m struck by a sudden need to verify our security, to confirm that nothing has changed during our absence. “I’m going to check the perimeter,” I announce, already moving toward the edge of the property. “Standard protocol after being away.”
Stone nods understanding. “I’ll review the security logs, make sure nothing triggered the sensors while we were gone.”
“And I’ll put on some lunch,” Finn offers, clearly recognizing that Hailey needs normality more than anything right now. “You must be hungry after all that.”
Hailey smiles gratefully at Finn. “Starving, actually. Nerves, I guess.”
Ren moves to accompany me on my perimeter check, falling into step beside me without comment. We walk in companionable silence, both scanning for anything out of place, any sign of disturbance to our property.
“She did well,” Ren says finally as we reach the northern edge of our land. “Better than I expected.”
“Yes.” Despite my lingering concerns, I can’t keep the note of pride from my voice. “She was…remarkable.”
“It was the right call,” he continues, giving me a sidelong glance. “Her decision to speak publicly. You see that now, don’t you?”
I consider his question seriously, weighing my instinctive opposition against the reality of what Hailey achieved today. “Maybe,” I concede. “If it helps bring Heath to justice. If it doesn’t put her in more danger.”
Ren nods, accepting my response. “The pack is changing,” he observes, changing the subject slightly. “All of us. You’ve noticed?”
I have, of course. How could I not? The shifts in dynamics, in relationships, in individual behaviors. Ren’s transformation from isolated, angry enforcer to integrated, contributing member. Stone’s gradual relaxation. My ongoing struggle to balance protection with respect for autonomy. And most remarkable of all, the growth in our omegas—Finn reclaiming his voice and assertiveness, Hailey discovering her strength and courage.
“For the better, I think,” I reply, surveying our property with a sense of unexpected peace.
Ren’s mouth quirks in what might almost be a smile. But before he can respond, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. Stone’s name flashes on the screen.
“Everything okay?” I answer, immediately alert.
“Security systems are all clear,” Stone reports. “No alerts, no unauthorized access attempts. But…” He hesitates.
“What is it?” I press, tension returning to my shoulders.
“Finn and Hailey aren’t in the house. Their phones are here, on the kitchen counter, but they’re gone.”
Ice floods my veins, my vision narrowing with sudden, overwhelming fear. “ What do you mean, gone ? They just went inside. Less than twenty minutes ago.”
“I’ve checked every room,” Stone says, his voice maintaining its usual calm despite the concerning news. “They’re not here. And both their phones were left behind. No signs of struggle or forced entry, but?—”
I don’t wait for him to finish, already running back toward the house, Ren matching my pace effortlessly. My mind races with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Heath found a way to breach our security. Someone inside the FBI tipped off her network. The press conference was a trap, designed to draw us out.
We’re back at the house in minutes, bursting through the door to find Stone waiting in the entryway, his expression grave but not panicked. He holds up two phones—Finn’s and Hailey’s—confirming his report.
“Did you check the security footage?” I demand, struggling to think clearly through the surge of primal fear.
“Already reviewing it,” Stone confirms, leading us to the security monitors in the study. “Nothing unusual on the perimeter cameras. No breach of the fences or gates.”
“Pull up the front camera.”
Stone complies, rewinding the footage to our return. We watch as the three of us—Stone, Ren, and I—split off to perform our respective tasks. Finn and Hailey enter the house through the front door as expected. The next few minutes show Finn moving around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients. Hailey sits at the counter briefly before standing and saying something to Finn that the camera doesn’t capture. They both nod. Then Finn sets down the knife he was using, and they exit the kitchen together.
“Where did they go?” I mutter, frustration mounting. “Check the other interior cameras.”
Stone switches to different views—the main hallway, the living room, the back door that leads to the gardens. There—the back door camera shows Finn and Hailey exiting the house, moving with purpose but not fear, clearly not under duress. They head toward the tree line at the edge of the property, disappearing from view.
“The cabin,” Ren says suddenly.
“Why would they go there?” I ask, confusion momentarily replacing fear. “And why leave their phones behind?”
But even as I ask, a possible answer forms in my mind—a desire for true privacy, for space away from constant monitoring and protection, after the intensity of the press conference and the public exposure of Hailey’s most traumatic experiences. Still, to leave without telling us, without taking a means of communication…
“We need to check,” I decide, already moving toward the door. “Make sure they’re safe.”
“Jax,” Stone says, his tone suggesting caution. “If they wanted privacy?—”
“I’m not going to intrude,” I snap without meaning to. “Just verify their safety. After everything that’s happened today, we can’t take chances.”
Stone doesn’t argue further, recognizing the futility of trying to reason with me in this state. The three of us head out toward the cabin, moving quickly but not running, aware that rushing up might only alarm Finn and Hailey if they are indeed there voluntarily.
The cabin comes into view through the trees. As we approach, the door opens, and Finn steps out onto the porch, his expression shifting from relaxed to concerned as he takes in our approach.
“Is something wrong?” he calls, clearly surprised by our appearance.
“You left your phones,” I respond, relief at seeing him safe warring with lingering concern and a flicker of irrational anger.
Understanding dawns on Finn’s face. “Oh. We didn’t think it would be a problem with all the new security. We weren’t planning to be gone long. Just needed some quiet after everything this morning.”
“Is Hailey with you?” I press, needing confirmation that both my omegas are safe.
“Yes, of course,” Finn assures me, stepping aside as if to invite us to verify for ourselves.
Through the open door, I can see Hailey curled on the small cot inside, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a mug of something hot cradled in her hands. She looks up as she hears voices, her expression transitioning from peaceful to confused to apologetic as she realizes the cause of our concern.
Relief hits me with physical force, my knees weakening with the sudden release of adrenaline and fear. I have to brace a hand against a nearby tree to steady myself, the emotional whiplash of terror to relief overwhelming my usual self-control.
“Jax?” Finn’s voice registers concern as he moves down the porch steps toward me. “Are you alright?”
I can’t answer, can’t form words past the knot in my throat. The minutes of uncertainty, the flash of absolute terror at the thought of losing them again—it’s all crashing over me now that I can see they’re safe, that my worst fears were unfounded.
Stone places a supportive hand on my shoulder while Ren hangs back, his expression unreadable but his posture alert, protective. Finn reaches me, his scent registering concern and dawning understanding.
“You thought something had happened to us,” he says softly, realization coloring his voice. “That we’d been taken.”
I manage a nod, still fighting for composure. Over Finn’s shoulder, I see Hailey emerging from the cabin, the blanket still wrapped around her, her expression shifting to dismay as she takes in the scene.
“Oh, Jax,” she breathes, hurrying down the steps to join us. “We never meant— We didn’t think?—”
“Your phones,” I finally manage, my voice rough with emotion. “You left them behind. After the press conference, I thought?—”
I can’t finish the sentence, the possibility still too raw, too terrible to articulate. But I don’t need to.
“I’m so sorry,” Hailey says, genuine remorse in her voice. “It was thoughtless. We just wanted a little space, some quiet to process everything. It didn’t occur to us how it would look, especially today of all days.”
Part of me wants to be angry—to demand they never do such a thing again, to impose stricter protocols, to ensure I never experience those minutes of heart-stopping fear again. But another part, the better part, recognizes that my reaction is disproportionate.
“Please,” I say instead, sinking to my knees as my legs finally give out entirely, reaching for both of them with desperate hands. “I can’t lose you again. Either of you. I can’t.”
Finn and Hailey move into my embrace without hesitation, their warmth and scent surrounding me, grounding me in the present reality where they are safe, where we are together.
“You won’t lose us,” Hailey promises, her hand cradling my face with infinite tenderness. “We’re here. We’re safe.”
“But you have to trust us,” Finn adds gently but firmly. “Trust our judgment, our ability to assess risk. We can’t live in constant fear, always under watch, never allowed moments of privacy or independence.”
I know he’s right. Logically, I know this. But logic has little power against the primal fear of loss, against the memories that continue to haunt me.
“I’m trying,” I whisper, the admission costing me more than I can express. “But it’s…difficult.”
“We know,” Hailey assures me, her eyes full of understanding. “And we’ll help. We can compromise.” She thinks for a moment, then offers: “We’ll always tell someone where we’re going, even for short absences. And we’ll carry our phones, or at least one between us.”
“And in return,” Finn continues, “you’ll respect our need for occasional space and privacy. Not constant surveillance or checking in every fifteen minutes.”
It’s a reasonable proposal.
“Okay,” I agree, drawing a steadying breath. “I can work with that.”
Relief softens both their expressions, and I realize they’d been prepared for more resistance, for a more authoritarian response. The fact that they’re surprised by my acceptance indicates how much work I still have to do in adjusting my leadership style, in demonstrating that I truly do respect their agency.
“Thank you,” Hailey says softly, pressing her forehead to mine in a gesture of intimate connection. “For understanding. For trying.”
Finn’s hand squeezes my shoulder, his touch conveying similar appreciation.
I hold them tight for several long minutes. My two omegas. My world.
Finally, I rise to my feet, steadier now. “Do you want to stay out here longer?” I ask, gaze shifting to the cabin.
They exchange a look, some silent communication passing between them, before Finn answers. “Actually, I think we’re ready to head back. I was in the middle of making lunch when we decided to take a walk, and I’m still hungry.”
The normalcy of the statement, the return to everyday concerns after such emotional intensity, draws a small smile from me. “Lunch sounds good,” I agree. “It’s been a long morning.”
As we turn toward the house, something shifts in their demeanor. Finn reaches for Hailey’s hand, their fingers intertwining with ease. A spark of mischief lights in Hailey’s eyes—something I haven’t seen before.
“I just had the best idea,” she announces suddenly, her face brightening with unexpected excitement. She tugs on Finn’s hand, already tugging him forward. “Come on!”
Before I can ask what she’s planning, they’re both running toward the house, Hailey leading and Finn following with a startled laugh that carries back to us on the breeze. The sound of their combined laughter makes my steps falter. How long has it been since I’ve heard that?
I stand rooted to the spot, watching them race across the lawn. Something tightens in my chest. Something dangerously close to hope.
Stone and Ren move past me, continuing toward the house before Stone pauses after a few steps, glancing back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, you coming?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirked in what might almost be amusement.
I nod, forcing my feet to move again, but my thoughts remain tangled. I’ve been the slowest to change. Clinging to control as a means of ensuring safety. The others have been…patient with me.
By the time we reach the house, Finn and Hailey have already disappeared inside. The front door stands open, their excited voices drifting out into the still afternoon air. We follow the sound to the living room, where an unexpected sight stops me dead in my tracks.
Hailey sits cross-legged on the couch, her face alight with anticipation. Finn is seated on the floor directly in front of her, his back against the couch, his head tilted slightly as her fingers absently stroke through his hair. But it’s what she holds in her other hand that freezes me in place.
My guitar.
The vintage acoustic guitar I haven’t touched since the night of Finn’s accident.
Stone and Ren move past me to take seats in the room—Stone claiming an armchair, Ren leaning against the far wall in his customary stance. Soon, all four of them are looking at me expectantly, waiting.
“What?” I ask, though I know perfectly well what they want, what Hailey has orchestrated with her impulsive dash to the house.
Hailey’s smile softens, becoming something gentle and hopeful rather than mischievous. “Will you?” she whispers, holding the guitar out toward me. “Play me something happy.”
The request stirs memories I’ve kept carefully locked away. Evenings spent with this same guitar in hand, Finn curled beside me, often singing along softly. Music had been our connection, our shared language, before everything fractured. Before I buried that part of myself alongside so many others.
I swallow hard, my gaze shifting between them—Hailey with the guitar extended like an offering, Finn watching me with quiet hope, Stone and Ren with expressions of careful neutrality that don’t quite mask their interest. My pack, all waiting to see if I can take this small step toward reclaiming a piece of myself that once brought joy.
With a deep breath, I cross the room and take the guitar from Hailey’s hands. The weight of it is familiar yet strange, like greeting an old friend who has become a stranger through long absence. I settle into the vacant spot beside Hailey, adjusting the instrument in my lap, fingers finding their positions on the fretboard with muscle memory that has apparently survived my long hiatus.
I start to play, and immediately wince at the sound that emerges—discordant, clumsy. My fingers feel stiff, uncooperative, refusing to move the way I remember.
Finn’s laugh breaks the awkward moment. “Okay, maybe stick to being pretty,” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners with affection that takes any sting from the words.
His words startle a laugh from me. I shake out my hands, adjust my grip, and try again—this time with less ambition, choosing a simple progression I used to play as a warm-up. Basic chords, uncomplicated rhythm.
This time, the music comes. Not perfect, certainly nowhere near my former skill level, but recognizable. My fingers remember what I had forgotten, finding their way across strings and frets with increasing confidence. The melody emerges, halting at first, then flowing more naturally as I surrender to the familiar motion.
I glance up to find Hailey watching me with such open wonder that my breath catches. Finn’s eyes have drifted closed, his head tilted back against the couch, a peaceful smile playing at his lips. Even Stone and Ren seem affected. They smile, and I catch when they glance at each other.
Something shifts inside me as I continue to play, and I change the melody to a different one this time, one that Finn immediately recognizes. Soon he’s humming, and then he’s singing, his voice joining the guitar in a harmony we haven’t shared in over two years. Hailey watches us both with wondering eyes.
This , I think, as my fingers move with increasing confidence across the strings, is what we’ve been fighting for all along .