11. Motley
CHAPTER 11
MOTLEY
I lean against the wall outside Charlotte's room, one foot propped behind me, arms crossed over my chest. My muscles twitch with restless energy. The waiting is making me fucking insane.
"You sure you got this?" Trigger asks, his hazel eyes suspicious as he pauses at the end of the hallway.
I roll my eyes. "Just go handle your shit. I'm good."
Joker snickers behind him. "He's just trying to get in her pants."
"Fuck off, J," I growl, but there's no heat behind it. We all talk shit. It's what makes us family.
Deacon, our reluctant peacemaker, steps between us. "We'll be in Teagan's office setting up. Don't overwhelm her. "
I straighten, offense prickling across my skin. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means," Trigger cuts in, "that we need her calm and focused. Not traumatized all over again because you can't control your fucking mouth."
My jaw tightens. They're not wrong. I'm not exactly known for my bedside manner.
"I'm capable of basic human decency," I mutter. "I'll get her to your office without permanent psychological damage. Promise."
Joker makes a skeptical sound but backs away with the others, leaving me alone in the hallway. The silence settles uncomfortably around me.
Truth is, I volunteered for escort duty because I can't shake the image of Charlotte's face when I put that bullet between her captor's eyes. The way she flinched. The spatter of blood across her cheek. The hollow emptiness that flooded her gaze.
Do I regret killing that piece of shit? Fuck no. I'd do it again. Slower next time.
But I hate that I added another nightmare to her collection. I've seen that haunted look before—in my own reflection after particularly brutal missions. In the eyes of civilians caught in the crossfire. That look stays with you.
The door opens suddenly, and Charlotte stands there, eyes widening when she sees me. She's traded the hospital gown for black leggings and an oversized t-shirt that practically swallows her curvy frame. My nostrils flare involuntarily. Deacon's scent, clean incense and myrrh, clings to the fabric. Fucking choir boy.
Something possessive and primal coils in my gut. I want to strip that shirt off her and replace it with one of mine, mark her with my scent instead. I want everyone who comes near her to know she's protected.
Get a fucking grip, Motley.
"Hey," I manage, straightening up. "Ready for the inquisition?"
Her fingers tighten on the doorframe, eyes narrowed, lips pinched like she wants to say something that would cut me off at the knees, and I see it then. The fire. The same fire I feel deep down in my own dark soul, and I swoon a little as she tilts her head to speak.
"Is that what this is?"
I wince. "Bad joke. Just a debrief. Trigger wants to hear everything firsthand."
She steps into the hallway, keeping a careful distance between us. Smart girl.
"Lead the way," she says quietly .
I gesture down the corridor. "Grand tour on the way? Might make the walk less awkward."
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Sure."
I talk more in the next five minutes than I have all week, pointing out rooms as we pass. "Kitchen's through there, fully stocked, industrial grade everything. Joker's a stress baker, so there's always something worth eating. Gym's downstairs—weights, bags, mats, whatever you need. That door leads to the pool. Indoor-outdoor setup, heated year-round."
She nods, taking it all in. I can't tell if she's actually interested or just humoring me.
"This place is excessive," she finally says.
I grin. "Wait 'til you see the weapons vault."
"Is that supposed to make me feel safer or more terrified?"
"Both, probably." I wink.
We round the corner toward Trigger's office, and I slow my pace. Now or never.
"Look," I start, my voice dropping lower. "About what happened at the compound. . ."
Charlotte stops walking, her spine stiffening. "You mean when you executed a man right next to me?"
I meet her eyes. No point sugar-coating it. "Yeah. That. "
She holds my gaze, unflinching. "You don't seem like the type to apologize for doing your job."
"I'm not apologizing for killing him." My words come out harder than intended. "I'm apologizing for how it went down. You'd already been through enough shit without adding that to your highlight reel."
Her expression softens fractionally. "I've seen violence before, Beaux."
My name in her mouth does something to me. Makes my chest tight.
"Not like that, Harlequin."
The nickname slips out before I can catch it. Her eyebrows shoot up. "Harlequin?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "Forget it. It's stupid."
She studies me for a long moment, head tilted. "No, I want to know what it means, other than you're a fan of comic books."
I rub the back of my neck. "It's just colorful, complex, a little chaotic. Like you." Like the way you make me feel.
I don't know why explaining my reasoning makes me feel more exposed than I have in a long time, but I can't bear to hear her reply, so I deflect.
Before she can respond, I push open Trigger's office door. "After you. "
The room falls silent as she enters. Trigger sits behind his massive desk, Joker and Deacon flanking him like royal guards. Charlotte hesitates at the threshold, and I resist the urge to place my hand on the small of her back. Instead, I nod toward the empty chair.
"They don't bite," I tell her. "Well, Trigger might if you ask nicely."
That earns me a glare from our fearless leader, but Charlotte's shoulders relax a fraction as she takes her seat.
"Ms. Matthews," Trigger begins formally. "We need to hear everything that happened from the beginning."
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, as Charlotte straightens her spine. She starts speaking in a clear, detached voice that belies the horror of her words. Professional. Clinical. Like she's giving a presentation rather than reliving trauma.
"I was leaving the Have Faith Foundation building in Houston," she begins. "A man attacked me from behind and dragged me into an alley where two other men were waiting. I attempted to fight, but they drugged me and, well, I woke in a dark prison. I thought I was blind."
As she continues, my admiration grows. She recalls details that most civilians would miss, descriptions of her captors, snippets of conversations, the layout of rooms and corridors. She's fucking incredible, this woman. Strong in ways that have nothing to do with physical power.
"They kept me sedated most of the time," she says, "but I counted steps between locations. Memorized voices. But mostly, I was taken to what they would consider an examination room, where the bitch ass doctor ran her tests and—" she swallows hard. "Let's just say she wanted to make sure all my parts were functional. Can't sell a defective Omega, right?"
My fists clench as she describes the psychological torment. The threats. The promises of what would happen once she was ‘sold’.
"Oh, he was so confident that I would be sold and forgotten," she says, her voice hardening further. "Before the auction, I was brought to a conference room and the evil villain himself thought it prudent to introduce himself and tell me all about his nefarious plans for those of my designation. Said it didn't matter anymore what I saw or who he was."
She pauses, swallowing hard. "It was Senator Justus Blaine."
The name hits like a fucking grenade.
"The Senator?" Joker clarifies, his fingers already flying across his tablet. "The one running for re-election?"
Charlotte nods. "He said I'd be an example for other Omegas who didn't know their place."
Trigger's expression darkens to something dangerous. "You're certain it was him?"
"I've debated him on national television," Charlotte says flatly. "I know what Senator Blaine sounds like. It was him."
I push off the wall, unable to contain my rage. "A fucking U.S. Senator. Jesus Christ."
Deacon catches my eye, a warning look. Stand down.
"Ms. Matthews," Trigger says carefully. "Do you understand what you're saying? These are serious accusations against a powerful man."
Charlotte's chin lifts. "I understand exactly what I'm saying. And I understand the danger." She looks around the room, meeting each of our eyes in turn. "But I also understand that if you hadn't found me, I'd be gone. Erased. And he'd keep doing it to others and passing laws that would set us back decades."
When her gaze lands on me, something passes between us. Recognition. Kinship. The understanding of what it means to stare into the abyss and come out swinging .
I want to kneel before her. I want to wrap myself around her like armor. I want to tear Justus Blaine apart with my bare hands. Instead, I nod once. Message received, Harlequin.
We're going hunting my sweet Charlotte, but I need to prepare you first and make you ours in the process.
I lean against the wall, watching the tension build as Trigger stands and rounds the desk. His movements are deliberate, calculated—like a predator sizing up potential. Not prey. No, Charlotte's no one's prey. More like evaluating a new weapon in his arsenal.
He stops directly in front of her chair, invading her space without actually touching her. Classic Teagan intimidation tactic. I've seen hardened military men crumble under that stare.
Charlotte doesn't even blink.
"Are you ready for this?" Trigger asks, his voice low and measured. "Because what you're suggesting isn't just an investigation. It's war."
She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. "You think I don't know that?"
"I think you've been through hell and might not be thinking clearly about the implications. "
Wrong move, Te. I suppress a smirk as Charlotte's spine straightens, her shoulders squaring.
"I have been advocating for Omega rights for nearly a decade," she says, each word precise and cutting. "I've received death threats, been doxed, had my family harassed. I was just kidnapped, drugged, and prepared for auction like a piece of livestock. So don't patronize me about 'implications', Alpha."
Fuck, I love when she gets fired up. Her scent sharpens with it—the honey and cinnamon intensifying with a smoky edge, like someone threw spices directly onto burning embers. It makes my mouth water.
Trigger doesn't back down, but I catch the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth. He's impressed too.
"You're not the type to sit on the sidelines while we do the heavy lifting, are you?"
"You're damn right I'm not." She leans forward, closing the distance between them even further. "Senator Blaine didn't just target me randomly. He targeted me because I was effective, because I was getting too close. I have contacts, information, and context that you need."
"And you're also the only witness who can identify him," Trigger counters. "Which means if you want to help, if you want to be part of this, you stay within these walls. Protected. Especially from the Senator and anyone in his employ."
Her jaw tightens. I can almost see the arguments forming behind her eyes, the rebellion brewing in her blood. But then she exhales slowly, nodding once.
"Fine. But I need to talk to Brookes. He needs to hear my voice, know I'm alright."
Joker perks up at this, fingers already moving across his tablet. "I can arrange that. Secure line, untraceable. Give me fifteen minutes to set it up."
"Thank you," Charlotte says, and there's genuine gratitude in her voice that makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably.
Trigger steps back, giving her space again. "If you're staying with us, you learn to hold your own." His tone brooks no argument. "You can't hunt with us and not know how to protect yourself."
"We'll teach you," I add, drawing her attention my way. Our eyes lock, and that same electric recognition from earlier passes between us. "Hand to hand, weapons, surveillance. Whatever it takes."
"I never want to be caught unaware again," Charlotte says, her voice hardening with resolve. "I won't be helpless."
"Good," Trigger nods. "We'll start tomorrow. Basics first, then?— "
"And one more thing," she interrupts, standing to face all of us now. "Ms. Matthews is my mother. Call me Charlotte."
Something about the way she says it—demanding her personhood, her identity—sends a shiver down my spine. Most Omegas I've encountered are soft, yielding creatures, even the strong ones. But Charlotte? She's steel wrapped in velvet. Dangerous in her own right.
"Charlotte," I test the name on my tongue, savoring it. "Fits you better than Harlequin anyway."
She smirks. "I never said I didn't like Harlequin."
Well, fuck me sideways.
I grin, unable to help myself. "Noted."
Deacon clears his throat, breaking our little moment. "If we're going up against Senator Blaine, we need to be strategic. He has resources, connections, and protection. This isn't some backwoods trafficker we can just disappear."
"No," Trigger agrees, moving back behind his desk. "We need evidence. Concrete, irrefutable evidence that puts him away for life."
Joker's fingers fly across his tablet. "The compound where we found Charlotte was wiped clean, even with the FBI storming the place right after us. They had their own protocols in place that I didn't detect. No digital traces, apparently the FBI agents barely made it out. They triggered the place to blow."
"I can tell you about the doctor," Charlotte volunteers. "Woman, around fifty-five, vampire pale, American, black hair like a schoolmarm. Completely heartless. She introduced herself as Dr. Locke."
"That gives us something," Deacon nods. "And if we can find her?—"
"She'll lead us to others," I finish. "These operations don't run on just one or two people. There's a network."
Charlotte's hand clenches in her lap. "There were other Omegas there. I didn't meet all of them, but there were at least twelve other Omegas held in the same block as me. Different ages, genders. I'm not sure if they were all from the States, the ones I met were American but that doesn't mean anything."
My blood runs cold. "International trafficking ring."
"With a U.S. Senator at the helm, I wouldn't put it past them to make this global," Trigger adds grimly. "This is bigger than we thought."
"The buyers were from everywhere," Joker says from behind his laptop.
"All the more reason to burn it to the ground," I growl, the rage building again. The beast inside me, the one the military tried to tame, the one my pack keeps in check, strains against its mental chains.
Charlotte's eyes meet mine, and I see the same fury reflected there, banked but no less intense. We're alike, she and I. Both familiar with the darker impulses that most people claim don't exist. But something tells me she keeps her shackles behind smiles and good deeds.
"First things first," Trigger says, his tone pulling us back to the present. "Charlotte needs security protocols. Joker, get her set up with comms and tracking. Deacon, run a full background on everyone in her immediate circle—family, friends, colleagues. Anyone who might be compromised. Although, considering you run in the same circles with Mercy Smooth, I'm sure Dez has already done this."
"What about me?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
Trigger's eyes narrow. "You're her shadow until further notice. Where she goes, you go. Twenty-four seven."
Perfect. Exactly what I wanted.
"And me?" Charlotte asks, refusing to be talked about like she's not in the room. "What do I do while you're all playing spy games?"
"You," Trigger says, "start training. And you tell us everything, whatever comes to mind. I know it will be hard to recall those days and we can arrange someone you can talk to when it gets to be too much. But every detail, every memory, every hunch about Blaine and his operation will help us immensely. Because when we move against him, we only get one shot."
Charlotte nods, determination etched into every line of her face. "When do we start?"
I push off the wall, moving to stand beside her. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, not close enough to touch. "Now," I answer before Trigger can. "We start now."
Because if anyone comes for her again, they won’t leave breathing. When we’re done with her, it won’t be by our hands, but hers.