13. Charlotte
CHAPTER 13
CHARLOTTE
Y ou know what I hate? The way your stomach sinks when you can't promise something to someone you love.
"For Christ’s sake, Charlotte!" Brookes' voice comes through the phone, high-pitched and dramatic in a way that only he can make sound endearing. "You're in a penthouse full of Alphas and a Beta. That's like being in a lion's den wearing meat-scented perfume!"
I roll my eyes, tucking my feet underneath me on the ridiculously plush sofa that probably costs more than my entire apartment back home. "You're being dramatic, Brookie."
"Am I though? Am I really?" He huffs, and I can picture him pacing our small apartment kitchen, probably wearing those silk pajama bottoms he splurged on last month. "I mean, I know I joked about never seeing you again every time you leave the house, but that was before you actually got kidnapped. Like, actually kidnapped, Charlotte. Not metaphorically. Not in a romance novel. Actually taken."
His voice cracks on the last word, and my chest tightens.
"I thought I lost you," he whispers. "I've never been so terrified in my life, and I once walked a runway with a broken heel."
I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled. "I'm okay now."
"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, this situation is no better. What if they?—"
"They won't," I interrupt, surprising myself with how quickly I defend them. The certainty in my voice shocks even me. "They saved me, Brookes."
"But they've taken you miles away from me and I don't know when you'll be safe enough to come home."
I can't argue that point, so I don't try. Instead, I stare out at the Manhattan skyline, all glittering lights and sharp edges. So different from Houston's sprawl.
"I just can't go through that again," Brookes says softly. "I can't. "
And here it is, the moment where I should promise him it'll never happen again. Where I should say I'll be home soon, safe and sound. But the words stick in my throat like honey mixed with ground glass.
"I'm scared for you, too," I finally say, redirecting. "You need to be careful."
"Me?" He laughs, but it's hollow. "I'm not the one crusading for Omega rights in the belly of the Alpha beast. I just pout and look pretty for cameras."
"You're still an Omega in Houston, which isn't as safe as we thought." The memory of hands grabbing me, the hood going over my head, overwhelm me. I push it away. "And you're connected to me."
"Already handled. My agency hired security. Big, burly Betas who follow me everywhere. It's actually quite annoying. They won't even let me have a one-night stand without vetting the guy first." He sighs dramatically. "My sex life is officially on hiatus."
"Poor baby," I tease, relief washing through me. At least he's protected.
"Speaking of shitshows, have you been keeping up with Senator Justus?" Brookes asks, his tone shifting to something harder. "He's stepping up his campaign against the Omega free cities. Houston is first on his hit list. "
My spine stiffens. "What's he saying now?"
"That they're breeding grounds for 'Omega-led social decay' and 'undermining traditional pack values'." I can hear the air quotes in his voice. "He's pushing for federal oversight. It's gaining traction, Char."
"Fuck." I stand up, suddenly unable to sit still. Heat blooms in my chest—not the warm kind, but the burning, righteous anger that's fueled me for years. "I haven't had time to watch the news."
"Too busy playing house with your Alpha captors?" There's an edge to Brookes' voice I'm not used to hearing.
"They're not my captors," I snap back. "And it's complicated. I've only just woken up from everything my body went through, Brookes."
"Isn't it always when Alphas are involved?" He sighs. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. I'm just worried."
I pace the length of the window, watching my reflection move against the backdrop of city lights. "I'm going to stop him, Brookes. With Pack Hudson helping me, we can expose Justus and whoever's behind the kidnappings. There has to be a connection."
"And then what? You come home and we go back to normal?" There's doubt in his voice that mirrors my own feelings.
"I. . ." I’m unable to lie to him.
Silence stretches between us for a moment before he speaks again. "You're not coming back, are you?"
The question lands like a stone in still water, ripples of truth spreading outward.
"I don't know," I whisper. "I want to say yes, but something's happening here, Brookie. Something I can't explain yet."
He's quiet for so long I think the call might have dropped. Finally, he exhales loudly. "Well, shit."
"I'm sorry," I say, knowing that’s not what he wants to hear. I just need time to figure it all out. I have a shit ton of trauma that for now I seem to have a lid on. I know it’s only a matter of time before it will come flooding back. I’m here for my safety in more ways than one.
"Don't be sorry. Just be safe." His voice softens. "And if these Alphas hurt you, I'll find a way to poison their protein shakes or something."
That pulls a genuine laugh from me. "I love you, you know that?"
"Hard not to. I'm very lovable." I can hear his smile through the phone. "I'll call you every day until you're sick of me. And when you figure out whatever this 'something' is, you better tell me first."
"Promise." This one, at least, I can make honestly.
"Good. Now go do your Charlotte Matthews thing and save the world. Or at least our little corner of it."
After we hang up, I stand at the window a while longer, watching the city pulse below me. Houston has always been home—the place I fought for, bled for. But deep in my gut I feel a certainty taking root: I might never go back.
Maybe, just maybe, I've found somewhere else to settle. The thought should terrify me, this pull toward Pack Hudson, toward these Alphas who saved me and want to help me.
Instead, it feels like standing at the edge of something vast and unknown. Frightening, yes, but also thrilling.
But I'm not diving in headfirst. That's not who I am. I step away from the window, my reflection growing more solid as I move from the light.
I have work to do. A senator to expose. Omegas to protect.
And three Alphas and a Beta to figure out.
One step at a time, Charlotte. One fucking step at a time.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, pulling me back from the edge of the rabbit hole my mind was tumbling down. I place my phone on the bedside table, the ghost of Brookes' concern lingering in the air.
"Coming," I call out, my bare feet padding across the cold marble floor.
I'm expecting Beaux—that man has appointed himself my personal shadow since I woke up. Not that I entirely mind. There's something oddly comforting about his protective presence, even if I'd never admit that out loud. My feminist card would get revoked faster than you can say ‘independent Omega’.
When I swing the door open, it's not Beaux's intense gaze that meets mine. Instead, Josiah stands there, hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels.
"Wow, your face fell so fast I think I just witnessed gravity in action," he says with a crooked smile. "Sorry to disappoint. Were you expecting a taller, more tattooed model?"
I snort, leaning against the doorframe. "I was just preparing my mental arsenal for another round of 'Beaux knows best'. My brain needs recovery time between bouts."
"Fair. That man could argue with a brick wall and somehow both would walk away feeling misunderstood." Josiah's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles—a genuine expression that softens his entire face. "I come bearing gifts of peace, though. Or at least, a break from Alpha posturing."
He produces a tablet from behind his back with a flourish worthy of a magician revealing their final trick. "Thought you might want to see what I've been digging up on our friend, Senator Justus."
My heartbeat quickens. "You’re serious? Damn that was quick. I’m impressed."
"Dead serious. Deadly serious. Seriously dead serious." He mimics a drum roll with his fingers. "May I enter the sanctuary, or should we discuss the downfall of corrupt politicians in the hallway where any passing Alpha can stick their nose in?"
I step aside, gesturing him in with an exaggerated bow. "By all means, enter. I'm dying to hear what you've found."
As he passes, I catch his scent, rain and clean linen, with something else underneath. Something I will uniquely equate to Josiah. It's calming in a way I didn't expect.
"By the way," I ask as I close the door, "how did you manage to get Beaux away from his self-appointed guard duty? Did you tranquilize him? Bribe him with comic books? Promise him pictures of me looking suitably helpless and in need of rescue?" I snort at that image then quickly push down the flashes of video cameras stationed in the corners of every room where I was kept. So many people watching me.
No Charlotte. Not now. Push it down. I blink and watch Josiah make his way across the room. He drops onto the chair with casual grace, crossing one leg over the other.
"Bold of you to assume he left willingly. Moses and I played rock-paper-scissors to decide who'd distract him. Moses lost, so he's currently dragging Beaux through some training exercise that supposedly can't wait. I've got maybe forty minutes before he figures out he's been played," he says jovially, and I force a smile, glad he didn’t notice the hiccup of emotions spilling out of me or the change in my scent.
"Forty minutes, huh? That's generous." I sink down beside him, careful to leave appropriate space between us. Right now, I need it. "I'd give it twenty before he's back, glowering at the door like it personally offended him."
"Ten if he catches Moses laughing." Josiah hands me the tablet. "But that's ten minutes more than we had before, so I'll take it."
Our fingers brush during the handoff and a small jolt runs through me, not unpleasant, just unexpected. I clear my throat, focusing on the screen instead of the way Josiah's watching me with those perceptive eyes.
"So," I begin, scrolling through what appears to be financial records, "what am I looking at here?"
"The beginning of Senator Justus's downfall," Josiah says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "I've been tracing money through shell companies, offshore accounts, the works. And guess what keeps popping up?"
"Enlighten me." I perk up.
He leans closer, tapping the screen to enlarge a section of text. "Large deposits from something called Aegis Consolidated, right before each of his major anti-Omega speeches or policy proposals."
"Aegis," I repeat, the name stirring something in my memory. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"Because they're technically a security firm that specializes in 'Alpha protection services’,"—he makes air quotes with his fingers—"but they're really just a fancy front for old-school pack elitists who think Omegas should be seen, not heard. Preferably not seen either, just kept at home making babies and dinner."
My lip curls in disgust. "Charming."
"It gets better," he continues, sliding his finger across the screen to reveal more documents. "Guess who sits on the Aegis board of directors?"
"I'm going to take a wild shot in the dark and say it's someone who'd like to see Omega-safe cities dismantled?"
Josiah taps his nose. "Got it in one. Timothy Keller."
"Fuck me," I whisper, the pieces clicking together. Yeah, I remember him alright. "The same Timothy Keller who?—"
"Who publicly opposed the Omega Protection Act. Yep. The same one who called you, and I quote, 'a dangerous radical undermining the natural order' on national television last year. Also, yes."
I feel a cold anger settling in my chest, the kind that doesn't flare hot and fast but burns slow and steady. "So, they're funding Justus to be their puppet."
"Their very expensive, very useful puppet." Josiah's eyes glitter with something that looks like admiration. "And now we have the receipts."
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my face. "Joker, I could kiss you right now."
Josiah's eyebrows shoot up, and a grin plays at the corners of his mouth. Those full lips curve into something almost wicked as he leans back, putting deliberate space between us .
"I'll take a rain check on that offer," he says with a wink. "Though maybe we should get you out of this bedroom first. Not that I'm complaining about being alone with you in here, but." He rubs the back of his neck, a surprisingly endearing gesture from someone who seems so put together. "Actually, I was hoping you might help me in the kitchen. If you're up for it."
I arch an eyebrow. "The kitchen?"
His eyes widen comically. "Not because you're an Omega or anything! Shit, that came out wrong." He laughs nervously. "I'm not saying you belong in the kitchen. I just—when I need to think, I bake. And I kind of want to feed you. You're still looking too pale."
The embarrassed flush creeping up his neck makes me chuckle. For all his smooth talk, there's something refreshingly genuine about Josiah when he's flustered.
"Relax, Joker. I'm not about to launch into a feminist tirade." I nudge his shoulder with mine. "I actually love to cook. Baking's my favorite, there's something about the precision of it, you know? The way everything has to be measured exactly right."
Relief washes over his face. "Yes! Exactly. It's why I do it. The world's a chaotic mess, but in baking, two cups of flour is always two cups of flour. It's orderly."
I nod, understanding perfectly. "It's control in a world where we often have none."
Something passes between us then, a moment of silent recognition. For all our differences, there's common ground here. I find myself wanting to explore it further.
"So," I say, standing up and stretching my arms above my head, "what are we baking? Please say something with chocolate. I've been craving it since I woke up."
Josiah's eyes track my movement for a fleeting second before snapping back to my face. He springs to his feet with an energy that makes me envious.
"Double chocolate chunk cookies with sea salt," he announces. "Moses claims they're better than sex, though I maintain he just hasn't had good sex."
I laugh, actually laugh—the kind that bubbles up from your belly and takes you by surprise. "Bold statement. I'll have to be the judge."
"Of the cookies or Moses' sex life?" Josiah quips, holding the door open for me.
"Let's start with the cookies and see where the evening takes us," I tease back, surprised at how easily the banter flows between us .
As we walk down the hallway, I feel lighter. There's something healing about normal conversation, about plans to bake cookies instead of plans to take down corrupt senators. Not that I'm abandoning the latter—far from it. But maybe, just maybe, I can have both.
"Fair warning," Josiah says as we approach the kitchen, "I'm territorial about my baking space. Even Moses and Beaux know not to mess with my system."
"I'll follow your lead, chef." I make a show of miming a salute. "As long as you don't mind me asking a million questions about those documents while we work."
His smile turns sharp, reminding me that beneath the playful exterior is a mind as strategic as any I've encountered. "I was counting on it. Nothing complements cookie dough like conspiracy theories and political takedowns."
The kitchen, when we enter, is as ridiculously luxurious as the rest of the penthouse—all gleaming surfaces and high-end appliances. But somehow, with Josiah pulling ingredients from cabinets and explaining his theories about who else might be connected to Aegis, it feels almost normal.
As I wash my hands at the sink, I catch my reflection in the window—a woman I recognize but also don't, standing in an Alpha's kitchen, plotting revolution while preparing to bake cookies. It's surreal. It's not the life I planned.
But with every piece of evidence Josiah uncovers, with every step we take together, I'm closer to my end goal. Justice for the Omegas who've been taken. Protection for the ones who remain vulnerable. A world where we don't need safe cities because every city is safe.
And maybe, just maybe, tons of baked goods along the way.