Chapter 2
HOLT
“ T hink she’s safe?” Luke’s question hangs in the air as we watch Cindy move through the crowd with her friend, Harper, and some guy in designer jeans who probably has a trust fund and calls it investing.
I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she moves carefully but not defeated, cautious but still laughing at something Harper says.
Her honey-blonde curls shine in the barn lights, and every few seconds, she checks for threats.
She’s wearing tight, dark jeans that hug her curves and a soft green sweater with tiny black cats all over it.
When she turns to glance back at the barn entrance, the light catches her face, and something primal in me roars to life.
Mine . The word pounds through my blood like a drum. Her scent clings to my nostrils as though it’s taken up permanent residence. Clove-studded orange, sugar brittle, and pumpkin spice loaf fills my senses, and I fucking adore the smell already. Fuck!
“I doubt that prick Van will take the hint,” Arrow states, his voice deceptively calm as he watches the crowd. “Guys like that? They don’t hear ‘no.’ They hear ‘try harder.’?”
“She came out of nowhere,” Luke muses, still tracking her movement. “One minute, we’re suffering through another Halloween festival because Arrow wanted to check out the competition’s food trucks, and the next, this honey-haired goddess drops into our lives. Or more like almost on your lap, Holt.”
“With a psycho ex who clearly can’t handle rejection,” Arrow adds. “Did you see his expression? Like someone took away his favorite toy. Fuck, I want to punch that look off his face.”
“She’s not his fucking toy,” I snap.
They both stare at me, and Luke grins. “Oh, he’s got it bad already.”
“Doubt that douche came alone either,” I continue, ignoring Luke’s comment. “You know how those types operate. Vindictive to a fault. Probably has backup waiting outside.”
I’m still watching Cindy, the way the green of her sweater makes her skin glow, how she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
It’s nothing like any Omega I’ve ever been with, and I’ve been with plenty.
Betas too. Meaningless encounters, mutual satisfaction, nothing more. But this… this feels different.
“Think she might be my scent match,” I say.
The confession hangs between us. I’ve never had one, never thought I would.
Heard about them my whole life, that scent that calls to your very DNA, that one person whose pheromones align with yours so perfectly it’s like finding the missing piece of yourself.
Always thought it was bullshit romanticism. Propaganda to make Alphas settle down.
But standing here, her scent still wrapped around me like a blanket, I know it’s real. Something inside me that’s been locked for thirty-two years just opened, and she’s holding the key.
Both their heads whip toward me. I brace for the mockery, the jokes about the big bad Alpha going soft over one tiny Omega. Instead, Luke lets out a long breath.
“Thank fuck you said it first,” he mutters. “Thought I was having a stroke or something. Did you catch that scent? Like every good thing I’ve ever wanted wrapped up in one person.”
Arrow sets down his beer, and the expression on his face is something I’ve never seen in our fifteen years of friendship. “When we sat down with her, something in my chest just… shifted. Like the world tilted and suddenly made sense.”
“Scent matches aren’t that uncommon,” I admit, though I’m trying to convince myself as much as them. “Happens, I’m sure. Just never thought it would happen to me.”
“To all of us,” Luke corrects. “With the same woman. What are the odds?”
“Better question,” Arrow adds quietly. “What do we do about it?”
We’ve always planned to share an Omega if we found one.
Made a pact years ago when we first formed our own pack after leaving the Savage Reapers MC.
We’d been through hell together, refused to let anything, even an Omega, come between us.
But planning for something theoretical and having her right there, smelling like everything we never knew we needed, are two different things.
“Could be we’re imagining things,” I force myself to say. “She was terrified, pumping out distress pheromones. Maybe we’re just responding to an Omega in danger.”
Luke snorts. “Right. Because we’re known for our white-knight tendencies. Remember that Omega last month at the bar who kept rubbing against you? You literally peeled her off and walked away mid-conversation.”
“She was drunk,” I defend.
“She was interested,” Arrow counters. “And you felt nothing. No pull, no protectiveness, no sudden urge to murder everyone who looked at her wrong.”
He’s right. The way my blood boiled when Van stood there, when he dared to call her his… I haven’t felt such rage since our enforcer days. Since the really dark times when we did things that would make normal people run screaming.
“Look,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “Whether she’s our scent match or just an Omega who needs help, we’re not letting her out of our sight while that prick is lurking around. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” they say in unison.
We move through the barn, keeping our distance but maintaining a visual. I watch how she laughs with Harper, her hair cascading down her back. Watch how she touches Harper’s arm when she talks. Watch how she keeps checking over her shoulders and around her.
She’s perfect. And she has no idea three ex-enforcers are watching her like she’s the answer to every question we never thought to ask. Then they reach a parked car in the parking area.
“They’re leaving,” Arrow notes as he joins me.
We follow in the shadows, Luke somehow managing to look casual despite being six feet, two inches of coiled energy. Arrow moves like smoke from my side, there and gone before anyone notices. And me? I’m trying not to look like what I am, a predator who’s found something worth hunting.
The parking lot is darker than it should be, half the lights out or flickering.
October fog rolls in from the mountains, giving everything that small-town Halloween vibe—fake cobwebs on every light pole, plastic skeletons hanging from trees, even the parking lot attendant booth is decorated with those gel window clings that look like bloody handprints.
I spot two shadows, nine o’clock. They’re following Cindy’s group, staying just far enough back to seem coincidental. But not with the way they move, the way they mirror every turn.
Luke joins me. “Want to introduce ourselves?”
“Not yet,” I decide out loud. “Let her get safe first. Then we play.”
Cindy climbs into a silver Honda, with Harper driving and the trust fund boyfriend in the back. The two shadows immediately jog to a black BMW parked three rows over. Subtle as a sledgehammer.
We pile into my truck, a massive black Silverado with a lift kit and huge wheels. It’s obnoxious and exactly what suits us.
“Why do you always get to drive?” Luke complains from the back.
“Because it’s my truck,” I remind him, firing up the engine. The rumble probably wakes half the neighborhood, but I’ve never been good at subtlety.
“Technically, we all paid for it,” Arrow points out from the passenger seat.
“Technically, you can both walk,” I counter, pulling out fast enough to make Luke grab the door handle.
“Jesus, Holt, she’s not gonna disappear. You can follow at normal speeds.”
“This is normal. For me.”
The Honda turns onto a main street, heading toward the residential area.
Every house is decorated for Halloween with orange lights strung along rooflines, inflatable creatures on lawns, those motion-activated monsters that scream when you walk by.
Whispering Grove goes all out for Halloween, trying to compete with their Christmas reputation.
Even the street signs have little witch hats on them.
The BMW follows Harper’s Honda at a distance that would seem reasonable to anyone not looking for it. We hang back farther, using my knowledge of the town’s layout to parallel their route.
“Think Harper knows she’s being followed?” Arrow asks.
“Maybe. She seems sharp. Protective of our girl too.”
“ Our girl,” Luke repeats with satisfaction. “I like the sound of that. Hey, remember when Brick found his Omega?”
“Brick, who used to run some errands for us?” Arrow laughs. “That man was the size of a small building and turned into a puddle the first time she smiled at him.”
“Complete personality change,” Luke agrees. “Went from breaking legs for the club to baking fucking cupcakes for her book club.”
“They’re happy, though,” I point out, remembering the last time we saw them. “Disgustingly happy.”
“?‘Three kids in four years’ happy,” Arrow adds. “Man’s living his best life.”
“And he said the same thing we’re saying now,” Luke continues. “That he knew the second he scented her. That everything before her was just marking time.”
I can’t remember the last time these two were buzzing with this much energy. Usually Luke’s flirting is surface-level—all charm, no substance. And Arrow hasn’t shown real interest in anyone since we left the club. But now they’re both practically vibrating with anticipation.
“She’s turning,” I note, watching the Honda’s taillights disappear down Maple Street, deeper into the residential section.
The BMW slows, clearly trying to figure out how to follow without being obvious.
That’s our opening. These streets are narrower, lined with big oaks that create a canopy overhead.
Jack-o’-lanterns glow on every porch, and someone has gone all out with a full graveyard setup on their lawn, complete with a fog machine.
“Arrow, let’s give them some guidance,” I suggest, and he’s already reaching for the megaphone we keep under the seat. Sometimes you need to yell at people from a distance. Old habits from the enforcer days.