Rescued by the Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #4)

1. Cass

CASS

T he scent of salt and damp wood fills my lungs as I step onto the North Star, my boots heavy against the deck. The old girl creaks beneath me, shifting with the gentle lap of the tide, but she’s steady. She always is. More reliable than most people I know.

“Hey, throw me that rag,” I yell down to JP in the engine well. He’s North Star’s engine tech and a mechanical savant. I grab the rag as he tosses up a clean one. He’s also my packmate and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.

“Get your own shit, Cass,” he grumbles with his head down. I laugh in response; he’s always been a prickly fucker. I don’t blame him for being irritated; neither one of us is excited about tomorrow.

I drag a rag over the helm, clearing away the fine mist that’s settled in overnight. The Pacific air is cool, briny, and charged with the promise of an incoming storm. Figures, considering tomorrow we are taking an entire group of Omegas on a salmon charter.

Me and JP have spent the last five years actively avoiding all things Omega—for very different reasons. They just court trouble. Plus, they get my Alpha all turned around.

JP won’t go there either, and I don’t blame him, not after whatever scent-match fuckery twisted him up years ago.

For me, I just can’t. It’s self-preservation, because I know exactly what an Alpha is supposed to be. A protector, a provider, the kind of man who can keep an Omega safe, make her feel secure, and offer her something real.

And I am none of those things. I have no fucking idea how to be those things, not with a father like mine. I’ve seen what happens when Alpha goes bad.

My mother learned that the hard way. She left. I never blamed her for it. Well, except that it left me here with him. But I did promise myself one thing: I wouldn’t put someone else through that. Wouldn’t bond with anyone. Our pack is good without one.

I wouldn’t bring an Omega into my life just to have my father tear her to fucking pieces. Because that is exactly what would happen.

I scowl at the thought. And besides all that shit, Omegas make me nervous, even the bonded ones. All sweet smells and soft skin and big eyes, and they just smell so fucking good and taste even better.

Clearing my throat, I derail that train of thought before it leaves the station. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anybody in my bed. Probably too long. Maybe Quinn, JP, and I should take the weekend off. It wouldn’t hurt to blow off some steam, at least have a little fun.

“This is a goddamn mistake,” I mutter under my breath, tossing the rag onto the bench next to me. And move on to triple-check the safety gear and fishing gear again.

JP, who’s already elbow-deep in the engine compartment, doesn’t even look up. “Then why’d you agree to it?”

“Because Quinn thinks it’s good business,” I snap. Quinn’s business sense far surpasses mine, even though I’d never tell him that.

“It is good business,” Quinn calls from the dock, carrying a crate of supplies. He steps onto the boat, graceful as ever, setting it down with ease before fixing me with his calm, all-knowing stare.

“Omegas pay well for this kind of experience. Adventure with safety measures. It’ll build trust, and trust brings repeat customers.”

“It also brings problems,” I grumble. Omegas always lead to trouble.

One Omega is enough to make me feel on edge and dysregulated.

A boat full of them is going to be hell.

I don’t care how regulated their meds are—instincts, scents, all of it doesn’t just disappear because some pharma company says so.

“You worry too much,” Quinn says, running a hand through his dark hair. “They’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” He directs a pointed look at me. “It’s normal, just a short charter for some locals.”

JP snorts. “If you think having a boat full of Omegas is normal, you’ve clearly never been around one before. Just the idea of it makes my skin crawl. Bonded, unbonded, locals, tourists, suppressants or not—Omegas are nothing but trouble. Cass’s gonna lose his damn mind,” he says, gesturing at me.

Being an Alpha and pretending that part of us doesn’t exist isn’t easy. But it works because we understand each other and where we both come from. It’s kept us solid over the years.

But I glare at him anyway. He’s not wrong, but I don’t have to like it.

“We’ll keep it professional. Besides, do you want to be the one to tell Daisy we canceled?” Quinn says smoothly. “This whole thing is her pet project.”

“Fine. Professional it is.” I’m not stupid enough to cross Daisy Paulsen. That woman’s a force of nature wrapped in sunshine. And JP’s little sister.

“Right,” JP echoes, shaking his head. “Daisy would castrate me.”

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. This already feels like a bad idea, and we haven’t even left the damn dock.

We get the rest of the prep work done in silence, aside from the occasional curse when JP wrenches something loose from the engine compartment.

Once the boat is stocked, checked, and triple-checked, I lean against the railing, eyes scanning the harbor.

Twilight Harbor is quiet at this hour. The shops along the boardwalk are dark, the streetlights casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The lighthouse stands sentinel in the distance, its slow, sweeping beam cutting through the mist.

And beyond that—my father’s empire.

The Redgrave fishing fleet dominates these waters. Always has. Always will if my father has anything to say about it. He controls the docks, the charters, the permits. If you work the water in Twilight Harbor, you work for him—unless you fight like hell not to.

Like I have.

“You gonna tell him?” JP asks, breaking the quiet.

I don’t have to ask what he means.

“No.”

“Cass—”

“It’s none of his damn business,” I grit out.

JP sighs. We both know that’s not true.

My father, Davis Redgrave, is not the kind of man you keep secrets from.

If he doesn’t already know about the charter, he will soon.

And when he does, there will be consequences.

He pulled our charter license last year and it took me nearly six months to go behind his back and get a new one.

And besides the standard goon shit, I’m pretty sure he’s tampering with the boat.

“He’s going to find out,” JP says, wiping oil from his hands with a rag.

“Let him.”

Quinn shakes his head. “You know he won’t just ‘let it go.’”

He’s right. Davis Redgrave doesn’t tolerate challenges. Me running the North Star on my own, building my own charter business instead of working under his thumb, well, it’s a direct challenge.

“We’re handling this,” I say firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Besides, it’s better to do whatever the fuck I can to cut him out than to ask for permission.”

JP lets out a low huff, but he doesn’t push back. He knows as well as I do that my father doesn’t play fair. He knows more than most how fucked up my father is.

I rake a hand through my hair, frustration tightening my chest. “I’ve been trying to get this business off the ground for too damn long. I need this to go well.”

The words taste bitter in my mouth because they’re the truth. I need this to succeed, not just for me, but for us.

“The tourist industry is about the only thing my father doesn’t have locked down completely, and a lot of the locals are not a fan.” My jaw clenches. “If I can make this work, if we can pull in steady charters with this new license, we’ll have a chance at real independence. A way out.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable. JP just looks up at me with a knowing intensity that makes my skin itch.

Neither of them argue, though, because they know I’m right.

My father has already made it clear—if I don’t fall in line, I don’t get the boat, the business, the house, any of it.

He holds the paperwork. He controls the sale.

And he’s using it to tighten the noose. The only thing he doesn’t control is me and the pack, but I find myself dancing to his tune way more than I’d like.

“He’s going to do everything he can to make it fucking impossible for us to buy the business,” Quinn warns.

“I know. But if I can throw enough cash at him, he’ll take it. He’s a greedy, selfish fucker at heart, and eventually torturing me will get boring and he’ll take the money,” I say, but there’s a huge canyon of doubt in my heart.

If there has been one consistency in my life, it’s that my dad’s a sadistic asshole and his favorite game is fucking with me.

I grip the railing, fingers curling around the damp metal. The thought of losing the North Star makes my blood burn.

“We’ll figure it out,” JP says, his voice steady. “Like we always do.”

I nod, but the unease doesn’t fade. By the time I drag myself home, it’s past midnight.

The house is dark except for the soft glow of a nightlight in Blake’s room.

I had dinner at Danver’s and more than a few beers.

It ended up being an ‘everything feels better at the bottom of the bottle’ kind of night.

I pause at the doorway to Blake’s room, watching his chest as he sleeps. He’s curled around his stuffed cat, lashes dark against his cheeks, peaceful in a way I never am.

Quinn thinks we need an Omega. JP thinks we don’t. I sure as hell don’t want one, but sometimes that feeling gets a little blurry when I look at Blake. I start to doubt my feelings, my fears. Maybe I’m wrong.

He’s getting older, and he asks more questions now—about families, bonds, and things I don’t have answers for.

His ferocity and energy could definitely use a tender hand.

Quinn is an amazing dad, full of laughter and lightness.

And Blake is everything good in the world condensed into a five-year-old’s body.

Me and JP would do anything for Blake. But a boy needs a mother, doesn’t he?

I run a hand over my face and head to my room, undressing and climbing under my cool sheets. Sleep doesn’t come easily.

I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts loosened by too much alcohol circle around my head like a storm.

What would it be like to have a woman in the house, her scent winding around the halls? Would it change anything? Would it make things worse? To have someone in the old nest room. To have someone I could be myself with, that I wouldn’t have to be strong for.

A long-forgotten desire to feel the bond of an Omega surges into me, unbidden. To have someone to hold and comfort.

I’m tired of sleeping alone.