Chapter 26 – WHISKEY
Chapter
Twenty-Six
WHISKEY
"What do you fucking mean, you destroyed Hogzilla?"
Blood roars in my ears as I stare at Thane, who's just walked through the door limping like he was just spit out of a meat grinder. But I don't give a single solitary fuck about his injuries right now.
Not when he just casually mentioned the demise of my bike.
My pride and joy.
My Harley Davidson Road Glide Special with custom red metal flake paint that cost more than most people's cars.
Thane meets my eyes, unflinching despite the fact that he looks like absolute warmed-over shit. "Not me specifically. Wraith, too."
"Oh, well that makes all the goddamn difference!" I throw my hands up, pacing the living room. "What the fuck happened?"
"We had a disagreement," Thane says with infuriating calm as he eases himself onto the couch, wincing slightly. "In the parking garage."
"A disagreement?" My voice rises an octave. "What kind of fucking disagreement ends with my bike destroyed? Did you just decide, 'Hey, let's murder Whiskey's Harley while we're at it!'? Was that part of the goddamn plan?"
"It wasn't planned at all," Thane mutters, pressing a hand against his ribs. "Things escalated."
I'm about three seconds from punching something—preferably not Thane's already bruised face, but I'm considering it. "Things escalated," I repeat flatly. "Things escalated."
"You sound like a broken record," Plague observes, which earns him a glare hot enough to melt steel. He's been perched on the arm of the couch, watching without a hint of emotion for my bike.
"And you sound like you don't understand that Hogzilla was my baby." I stab a finger toward him. "And these two assholes just committed infanticide."
Thane sighs, the sound rattling painfully in his chest. "We'll replace it. Insurance will cover it."
I laugh, but it comes out harsh and brittle. "You think you can just replace a custom build I spent two years perfecting? You think insurance gives a shit about the hand-tooled leather seat or the custom exhaust?"
"Whiskey—" Thane starts.
"No. Fuck that." I'm too wound up to hear whatever excuse he's about to offer. The urge to hit something—to break something—claws its way up my spine. "What was so goddamn important that you had to demolish my bike over it?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I can see Thane mentally weighing how much to share, which only pisses me off more. I'm so fucking sick of secrets in this pack.
"I confronted him about Valek," Thane says finally, his dark eyes watching me carefully. "Tried to get answers."
"And?"
"And he nearly crushed my windpipe before telling me he was going for pho."
The absurdity of the statement momentarily derails my anger. "What?"
"Pho," Thane repeats. "Vietnamese soup."
"I know what fucking pho is, it's fuckin' delicious," I snap. "But why would he—" I stop, the pieces suddenly clicking together. "The omega."
Thane's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. "What omega?"
Too late, I realize my mistake. Plague and I hadn't told Thane about our suspicions or our shared dreams. About the evidence we found in the tunnels. About the honeysuckle scent that still lingers in my nose even days later.
"What. Omega?" Thane repeats, his voice dropping into that dangerous alpha register that makes people shit themselves.
I glance at Plague, who's watching me with a clear "I told you so" expression that makes me want to throttle him. We were supposed to wait to confront Wraith, and here I am blurting it out to Thane like a fucking dumbass.
"We think Wraith is hiding an omega," I admit, figuring the jig is up anyway. "Plague and I have been having these dreams—the same dreams—about an omega in the maintenance tunnels. And we found evidence."
"Evidence," Thane echoes, his expression unreadable.
"Blood in the tunnels," Plague interjects smoothly. "A dented fire extinguisher that was likely used as a weapon. Signs of a struggle. And most importantly, an omega's scent lingering in the showers. Honeysuckle."
"Valek said he saw an omega down there," I add. "And Wraith was way too fucking quick to deny it."
Thane's jaw works, muscles jumping beneath the bruised skin. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
I’m still pacing. “Because we were—”
"Planning to investigate further before bringing it to you," Plague finishes for me.
Thane sits back, wincing again as the movement jostles his ribs. "So Wraith is hiding an omega," he says, letting the breath out through his teeth. "That's what all this is about."
"Not just any omega," I say, scratching at the back of my neck. "One we're both dreaming about."
Thane's eyes narrow. "You're serious. You're both having the same dreams?"
Plague nods, clearly uncomfortable with the mystical direction this conversation is taking. "About an omega with auburn hair and honeysuckle scent in the tunnels."
Thane blows a puff of air through his nose. "You always did share a weird fucking bond."
Plague's eyes narrow.
"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, bro?" I demand.
Thane ignores me, his eyes still on Plague. "And that's the scent you found in the shower room?"
"Yes." Plague's voice is calm, matter-of-fact. Like we're discussing the weather and not the fact that our feral packmate is stashing a dream omega somewhere. "We believe Wraith is hiding her in the loft."
Thane's expression darkens. "That's why he didn't want me to know. Why he was so desperate to leave." He runs a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "Fuck. I smelled her too. On his clothes."
That gets my attention. "You what?"
"When we fought," Thane clarifies. "A honeysuckle scent."
"That's her," Plague and I say at the same time.
"And we caught a group of fans outside who said they saw Wraith at an omega clinic," I add.
The muscles in Thane's jaw jump again. "Okay. So there is an omega, and he's protecting her." He shakes his head, dragging a hand down his face. "And I just beat the shit out of him for it."
"Based on your appearance, he beat the shit out of you," Plague points out, because he's apparently incapable of reading a room.
"Not helpful," I growl. The anger about my bike is still simmering dangerously close to the surface, but it's being crowded out by a different kind of tension.
The same one I've been feeling since we found that honeysuckle scent in the shower room.
"So what do we do now? Confront Wraith again? Find the omega? What's the play?"
Thane is quiet for a long moment, staring off at nothing. Then he sighs. "We wait."
"Wait?" I repeat incredulously. "For what? For Wraith to skip town with her? For Valek to recover enough to tell management what he really saw? For Coach to have another meltdown when Wraith doesn't show up for the rescheduled press conference?"
"We wait," Thane says again, firmer this time, "because Wraith is going to come back. And when he does, we'll talk to him. Calmly." He gives me a pointed look. "All of us together. No one is going off to confront him on their own."
I scoff. "Since when has talking to Wraith ever gotten us anywhere?"
"This time is different," Thane insists. "He's protective of this omega. If we fuck up, he'll shut down completely. We almost destroyed the whole damn parking garage because I was asking him questions. And I'm his brother."
"Why would he need to protect her from us?" I mutter, finally dropping onto the couch, too restless to sit properly. "We're his pack."
Thane's expression turns grim. "Because he doesn't trust easily. Not with his background. And especially not with something this important."
"But why an omega? Why now?" I press. "It makes no sense. Wraith has never shown interest in anyone, let alone brought them home."
"Because she might be our scent match," Plague says.
Thane and I both stare at him now. Guess we're putting all the cards on the table.
"Think about it," Plague continues. "Whiskey and I are dreaming about her.
Wraith was at the omega clinic, which means she's either pregnant, approaching heat, or in heat already.
The scent may even be what drew Valek to the showers, where he encountered Wraith.
What if she's scent matched to our pack? "
“It would explain why we're all fucking nuts lately," I cut in.
Thane closes his eyes for a moment, like he's weighing the possibility. "If that's true, then Wraith is..."
"Keeping her for himself like a dragon with a princess in a tower?" I finish for him.
"No," Thane says immediately. "But like I said, he has trust issues. If she is our scent match, he's probably operating on instinct like any other alpha would be. Especially if she's in heat. She may have even asked him not to tell anyone."
The words land like a punch to the gut, because they ring true. As much as I want to be pissed at Wraith for hiding the omega—for hiding our potential fucking mate—I know Thane's right. If he's keeping her a secret, it's for a damn good reason. Or at least, he thinks it is.
"Plague," Thane says finally, breaking the silence. "Call the insurance company about Whiskey's bike and the other shit we destroyed. We need to get that figured out."
"Hogzilla isn't 'shit,'" I say under my breath.
Plague nods, already pulling out his phone. "I'll take care of it."
"And Whiskey," Thane continues, fixing me with a stern look. "Don't do anything stupid. Stay the fuck away from Wraith and the omega."
I want to argue, but Thane looks like he's barely holding himself together, and I'm not enough of an asshole to push him when he's obviously in pain. Both physically and emotionally.
"Whatever," I mutter. "But we deal with this tomorrow. Because Wraith can't just keep us from meeting her. And we can't lose Wraith either. I'm attached to that overgrown fucking psycho."
However fucking pissed I am about my baby.
“Agreed,” Plague adds, not looking up from his phone where he's presumably either googling the best insurance adjuster in the state or the number for the nearest psychiatric facility where he can commit me after it fully sets in that I just lost Hogzilla.
"Fine," Thane says with a tired sigh.
"Since we're all on the same page now," I say, pushing off the couch, "I'm gonna get a beer. Anyone else want one?"
Thane shakes his head. "Took headache meds."
"I'll pass," Plague says, still engrossed in his phone.
I head to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge with enough force to rattle all the shit inside. I grab a beer, pop the cap, and chug half of it in one go.
I'm about to return to the living room when something catches my attention. A whisper of scent, so faint I almost miss it. I freeze, beer halfway to my lips.
Honeysuckle.
My nostrils flare, searching for the source. I follow it like a bloodhound, moving across the kitchen until I'm standing beneath an air vent near the ceiling. The scent is stronger here—still faint, but unmistakable.
"Guys," I grit out, my voice tight. "Get in here. Now."
Plague appears first, almost instantly. Thane follows more slowly, grimacing with each step.
"What is it?" Plague asks, but I can tell from the way his eyes dilate that he's already caught it.
"The vent," I say, pointing up. "It's coming from upstairs. From Wraith's loft."
Thane steps closer, inhaling deeply. His entire body goes rigid, pupils expanding until his eyes are nearly black. "Holy shit."
The three of us stand there, transfixed, breathing in the delicate honeysuckle scent laced with something else. Something warm and sweet and spicy all at once that makes my blood rush south and my skin feel too tight.
"It's her," Plague murmurs, his eyes darkening. "The omega from our dreams."
"She's in heat," Thane adds, his voice dropping to a rasp. "Or close to it."
I close my eyes, letting the omega's full scent wash over me. It clicks something into place deep inside my chest. A puzzle piece I didn't know was missing until now.
"Definitely our fucking scent match," I say, opening my eyes to look at my packmates.
None of us move. None of us need to confirm what we all know with absolute certainty.
The honeysuckle scent filtering down through that air duct connects to something in each of us.
That ancient instinct that recognizes her as ours, ingrained in the very first alpha to fight his way out of the primordial fucking soup.
And I'm supposed to just sit around and wait patiently like a good little soldier?
Fuck that.