Chapter 11 #2
I digest this as we walk, the implications settling over me like a weight. If what they’re saying is true, then I’m not just some beta they claimed on a whim. I’m some kind of... what? Cure? Treatment? Biological off-switch?
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say finally.
Diego gives a small, soft shrug, his warm eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “Así es la vida,” he says quietly. “Some things aren’t meant to make sense. They just... are.”
I touch the marks on my neck. They’re even warmer today, if that’s possible. “Maybe they’ll fade eventually. Maybe this is just... a weird delayed reaction.”
“Maybe,” Rett says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe you’re special.”
“Or maybe you four are just really stubborn,” I counter.
Tristan laughs at that. “Also possible.”
We lapse into silence as we turn onto my street.
The pavement is cracked and repaired so many times that it looks like a patchwork quilt.
I automatically steer around the familiar pothole near the fire hydrant, the one that’s been there since I moved in.
Light glows from behind the blinds of my neighbors’ windows, and I spot an old man on his usual bench, nodding off with his newspaper in his lap.
My building is midway down the block, its brick facade warm in the glow of the old-fashioned lamp posts.
As we approach, I see a familiar hunched figure. The neighborhood watch. Otherwise known as Mrs. Grant. She’s clutching the leash of her tiny, shivering Pomeranian, Thanos.
“Mrs. Grant?” I call. “Is everything okay?”
She looks up, her face brightening. “Oh, Zoe! Thank goodness. Thanos is absolutely refusing to do his business. He gets so anxious when there are... strangers.” Her eyes widen as she takes in the four men standing behind me. Thanos lets out a series of high-pitched, furious yaps.
“Hush, Thanos!” she scolds, but she’s not looking at the dog. She’s staring at Dane’s biceps. “You have... very large company.”
“Mrs. Grant, these are... friends of mine,” I say, awkwardly gesturing to the Sterlings. “Mrs. Grant is my neighbor,” I explain to them.
“A pleasure,” Rett says with a polite nod.
Thanos continues to yap, his tiny body vibrating with what I can only assume is rage at these alpha interlopers.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Grant murmurs, her eyes darting between me and my alpha entourage. “Your friends are... very tall.”
“Yes, they are,” I agree, edging past her toward the building entrance. “Have a good night, Mrs. Grant.”
“You too, dear.” She tugs Thanos away, but not before eyeing my neck and giving the Sterlings one last, lingering look. “Very nice to meet you all. Come along, Thanos.”
Well, this is going to come and bite me in the ass later. I bite back a sigh and turn to the alphas at my back.
“This is me.” I gesture at the building.
All four of them look up at the building, and I can practically see them assessing it. It’s both annoying and, if I’m being honest, a tiny bit endearing.
“Six floors, no doorman, no security features on the front,” Dane mutters, almost to himself. “Not ideal.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” I say. “I’ve lived here for three years without incident.”
“The fire escape is directly accessible from the street,” he continues, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Anyone could climb up.”
“I’m on the fourth floor,” I point out. “So unless ‘anyone’ is Spider-Man, I think I’m good.”
Rett’s eyes narrow as he studies the building. “The windows look dated. Should be replaced with something more secure.”
“And there should be cameras,” Tristan adds, pointing to the corners of the entranceway. “At least two, with night vision capabilities.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say firmly. “I appreciate the concern, really, but my apartment is fine. I’m fine. This is a safe neighborhood.”
“No neighborhood is completely safe,” Dane says quietly.
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Do you all practice being this paranoid, or does it come naturally with the alpha genes?”
“Both,” Diego admits with a sheepish smile.
I can’t help but smile back, just a little. “Well, this has been... something. But I should go in. It’s been a long day.”
I push open the front door, stepping into the dimly lit lobby of my building. The elevator is directly ahead, its doors slightly askew as always. To my horror, all four Sterlings follow me inside without hesitation.
“I can take it from here,” I say, stopping at the elevator.
Four pairs of eyes stare at me with varying degrees of stubbornness.
“We’ll see you to your door,” Rett says, his tone matter-of-fact.
I let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking my head. “My door? My door is on the fourth floor. You’re going to stand in my hallway and watch me put a key in a lock?”
“Yes,” Dane says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You don’t have to. You don’t have to act like I’m your—”
“Like you’re our mate?” Rett finishes, his voice dropping to that low register that does funny things to my insides.
Tristan looks genuinely baffled, his head tilted. “I’m sorry, what’s the alternative here? Do beta males just high-five you and peel out, leaving you to fend off the roving bands of sidewalk pirates?”
A laugh escapes me. I look away from their intense gazes, focusing on a crack in the wall instead.
“They don’t high-five,” I say, my voice flat.
“But yeah. Pretty much. The expectation is that I can handle myself.” I finally meet Tristan’s eyes, letting him see the weary truth in mine. “And I can. I always have.”
That quiet, bitter admission hangs in the air between us, and something in their collective expression shifts.
The arrogance is gone, replaced by a fierce, protective stillness.
It looks a lot like genuine concern, and it’s suddenly a lot harder to fight.
The day has been a roller coaster, and honestly, I’m too exhausted to have this particular fight.
“Fine,” I sigh, pushing the button for the elevator. “You can walk me to my door. But if you start critiquing anything else, I’m leaving you right here.”
The elevator arrives with its usual reluctant groan, and we all squeeze inside. It’s a tight fit with five people, especially when four of them are over six feet tall. I find myself pressed between Diego and Tristan, cardamom and ginger enveloping me in a way that makes my head spin.
“Sorry,” Diego murmurs as the elevator lurches upward, his body briefly pressing against mine. “Not much room.”
“It’s fine,” I say, but my voice is thin.
Tight. My body betrays me, a traitorous warmth spreading where we touch.
What’s worse is that, in the tight space, the combined scent of them is overwhelming.
A musk that goes straight to my head, making my thoughts slow and syrupy.
My legs feel unsteady, weak. I close my eyes, but it’s worse.
In the dark, I can feel their presence even more strongly.
This is it. My normal life isn’t just on another floor; it’s gone, and the doors aren’t opening.
The elevator stops with a jolt at the fourth floor, and I practically tumble out into the hallway, grateful for the space. My apartment is in the middle of the corridor, and I walk toward it with purpose, keys already in hand.
“This is me,” I say, stopping in front of 4C and turning to face them. “Thank you for the... escort.”
None of them make any move to leave. They just stand there, a wall of alpha presence filling my narrow hallway.
“This is the part where you say goodnight and go home,” I prompt, unable to keep a hint of amusement from my voice. They’re so earnest in their protectiveness, it’s truly almost endearing. Almost.
“After we see you safely inside,” Rett says, and again it’s as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I roll my eyes, unable to keep the huff of a laugh from my nose as I shake my head. “Alright.”
I turn and unlock my door, pushing it open. Just as I’m about to step inside and close it behind me, my phone rings in my purse. I fish it out, expecting it to be Leah checking in, but the screen shows Helen’s name.
“My boss,” I explain to the four men hovering in my doorway. “Give me a second.” I accept the call. “Hello?”
“Zoe! Thank god.” Helen’s voice is high and tight with panic. So loud I’m sure the Sterlings can hear her. “Where are you?”
I straighten immediately, alarm bells ringing in my head. “At home. What’s wrong?”
I feel rather than see the four alphas behind me go on high alert, their postures shifting from casual to tense in an instant.
“The gallery! It’s been broken into!” The words tumble out in a rush. “The police are here now. They want to know what’s missing, but I don’t—I can’t—”
“Slow down,” I say, turning slightly away from the alphas, though I know they can hear every word. “What happened? Is anyone hurt?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” she assures me. “But Zoe, several pieces are missing, including—” Her voice breaks slightly. “Including the centerpiece from the Sparne collection.”
My stomach drops. The Sparne collection is our biggest exhibition of the year. The same one the Davelles said they would sponsor. This is a disaster.
“I’ll be right there,” I promise, already mentally cataloging what I’ll need. “Twenty minutes, tops.”
“Thank you,” Helen says, relief evident in her voice. “I’m sorry to call so late, but you know the collection better than anyone, and the police need a complete inventory of what’s missing.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up and turn back to the doorway, where four alphas are no longer looking at me with soft concern. They are looking at me with the cold, hard focus of a security team that has just been activated.
“You’re not going alone,” Rett says, his tone making it clear this is not up for debate.
I open my mouth to argue, but the determined set of their jaws tells me it would be pointless. And if I’m being honest with myself, the thought of facing a break-in at the gallery alone is daunting.
“Fine,” I concede, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door. “But you follow my lead. This is my workplace, not a Sterling Solutions security operation.”
Rett nods once, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Of course.”
I step back into the hallway, pulling my door closed behind me, and just like that, we’re off. The beta and her alpha security detail are headed for a crime scene.
God help me.