42. Cass
CASS
W alking out of Sterling’s house, every part of me goes deadly still inside—like a storm gathering at the edges of my skin.
Quinn and JP are blowing up my phone, text after text, telling me to come back, telling me Sterling’s safe now, that we'll figure it out together.
But the thing is—this isn’t about figuring it out.
Not anymore.
This is about finishing it.
I drive like a fucking madman to Danver’s, the truck tires screaming when I yank into the gravel lot. The bar’s half-lit, quiet, just the older locals drinking and shooting pool. The second I shove the door open, a dozen heads whip around.
“Graves?” I bark out.
Gentry, wiping down the bar, just shakes his head, his mouth a tight line. “Not here. Everything alright, Cass?”
Our eyes lock—long enough for me to know she’s telling the truth. Long enough for her to know that no, everything is not fucking alright.
I don’t miss the look on her face either. Gentry’s worried now, too.
She hasn’t been here long, but being as close to Daisy as she is, she has to know at least a little about what Graves is capable of.
I don’t thank her. Don’t say a goddamn word.
Just turn on my heel and walk out, heart hammering so hard it blurs my vision. I glance at my phone. Another text from Quinn.
Quinn: Come home damn it. We got her, she’s safe, asleep.
JP: Cass. Where the fuck are you?
I don’t answer. I clench the phone so hard it creaks in my grip. And decide to power it down. I shove it deep in my pocket and stare down the street, mind racing.
It doesn’t matter if it’s today or next week—if I don’t settle this now, Graves will just keep coming back. Again and again. And next time…next time he might fucking kill someone.
I think he actually hates me that much. Where would Graves go when he’s angry, humiliated, out of options?
Hurting me—that’s what Sterling was all about. He’s trying to take the things I care about.
And if he couldn’t break me through her…he’ll go for the next thing that would cut me deepest.
The boat. The fucking boat.
A deep, guttural growl tears through my chest as I sprint for the truck, tires spinning as I tear toward the docks.
When I pull up at the waterfront, there are still a few cars scattered across the lot.
Some I recognize. Graves’s beat-up truck among them. That bastard’s here.
I kill the engine and barely remember to yank the keys before I’m out the door, sprinting for the docks.
My boots hammer against the planks, heart pounding, fury already clawing its way up my throat.
The North Star rocks gently in her berth, the same old girl that’s been under my feet since I was kid. She’s a part of me—bone, blood, memory. A thousand moments painted across her deck, her rails, her sails…Home
And standing on deck is Graves, dousing her in gasoline. The sickening stench rolls across the water, hitting me square in the gut.
He’s going to burn everything because that’s the kind of small, vicious, petty bastard he is.
“Get the fuck off my boat,” I snarl, my voice low and shaking with rage.
Graves turns, the gas can sloshing in his hand, his face twisted in a smirk that’s as rotten as his soul.
“Looks like that bitch is a liar, too,” he drawls, voice slick with hate. “Guess I didn’t send my message clear enough.”
Launching myself onto the deck, I wrench the gas can from his hand, and the metal clatters across the boards. He swings at me, wild and mean, but his balance is off—the reek of cheap liquor rolling off him like a second skin—and I duck the blow easily.
I tackle him, full body, driving him backward off the boat. We hit the dock in a tangle of fists and fury, the wood cracking under the force. He barely misses going into the water, staggering as I slam into him again.
We hit the planks hard, the air exploding from my lungs. For a second, everything is just pain and splinters.
Graves scrambles faster than I expect, dirty and fast like he always was. His arm cocks back and I miss it—he lands a hard punch under my jaw that sends my vision flashing white.
Pain blooms, sharp and brutal.
I swing back on instinct, catching him across the mouth, feeling the satisfying crack of teeth and jaw. Blood splatters—his, mine, fuck if I know—and he grunts, stumbling but not down.
He drives his knee into my ribs. Hard. I hit the dock again with a choked gasp, seeing stars. Even drunk, he’s still a big, mean Alpha with fists like hammers.
“You think you can take me, boy?” he spits, towering over me, hate gleaming in his eyes. He kicks me once, sharp and vicious, right in the gut.
The pain explodes through me—but it’s not what sticks.
What sticks is Sterling’s face, tear-streaked, bruised. Blake’s big blue eyes looking up at me, scared.
Whatever leash I’ve had on my rage all these years—fear, loyalty, hope, maybe—it shatters. It’s just ashes and hate now.He beat me when I was a kid. Controlled me. Made me feel small and worthless.
I roll, coughing, and then I’m up.
He doesn’t get to win. He doesn’t get to take her from me. Or Blake. Or JP or Quinn.
He doesn’t get to take me.
I surge forward with a roar, shoulder slamming into his gut, knocking him flat. He goes down with a grunt of surprise, the wind knocked out of him.
And this time— this time —I land on top.
And I don’t stop.
Fists pounding, adrenaline flooding my veins like fire.
The dock creaks and groans under us, a crowd gathering around us, but I don’t hear them.
All I hear is my own breathing, rough and vicious, as I drive my knuckles into the face of the man who tried to destroy everything I love. Every fucking day of my life.
Graves tries to scramble away, tries to buck me off, snarling, but I grab him by his collar and slam him to the boards.
He sneers up at me, blood leaking from his mouth.
“You’re finished, boy. You hear me? Finished. You think anyone here is gonna back you? You think these sheep care about you?”
He jerks his chin toward the people standing a few yards back—dockhands, deckhands, fishermen, townsfolk. People who, either out of fear, loyalty, or whatever leverage he’s lorded over them for years, have always toed the line where he’s concerned.
I clock them fast. Half of them won’t meet my eyes. The other half look somewhere between guilty and sick.
Still, I brace myself.
I can’t take them all, not cleanly. But if it comes to it, I’ll go down swinging. I’ll bleed out right here before I let him win.
Graves’s voice rises, sharp and barking with desperation.
“ GET HIM OFF ME! ” he howls.
But no one moves. Not one fucking person. They just stare at him with something close to disgust. Pity, even. Because everyone here knows exactly who Graves Redgrave is.
And they know exactly who I am, too. I grin, slow and mean, tasting copper and salt. Then, without a word, I spit in his face. He flinches like I hit him.
Good.
I’m raising my fist again when a voice cuts through the fog. Followed by a petite form with a halo of blonde curls.
“Cass.” Daisy? Her voice is firm. Soft. Unwavering. “Cass, he’s not worth it. Don’t do this. You're better than this…than him.”
I freeze, breathing ragged.
I feel the weight of her hand on my shoulder.I could end him. Right here. Right now.
I look down at the man I’m still kneeling over, his collar still twisted in my fists, his face battered and bleeding. And for the first time in my whole miserable life, he looks small to me.
Not invincible. Not powerful. Not the towering Alpha who could wreck my world with a single look.
Just a pathetic, broken old man clinging to the last scraps of his pride.
Disgust curdles in my gut. I shove off Graves with a growl, letting him crumple to the dock like the worthless piece of shit he is.
“You’re done,” I snarl, standing over him, fists still clenched, my chest heaving. “You hear me, you sorry old bastard? You’re done.”
He coughs, blood bubbling at his lip, still trying to sneer, still trying to pretend like he’s in control.
I step closer, towering over him where he’s trying to sit up, so he has to crane his neck to meet my eyes.
“You’re leaving this town,” I say, voice low and lethal. “Tonight. You’re packing whatever garbage you have left, and you’re getting the fuck out of Twilight Harbor. You don’t call. You don’t write. You don’t breathe in our direction.”
I lean down, my face inches from his, so he can smell every ounce of hate coming off me.
“If you so much as look at Sterling again…if you even think about Blake, or JP, or Quinn”—I grin, and it’s not a nice grin—“I will bury you so deep in the sand of this beach, they’ll never find your grave.”
His pupils blow wide—not with anger, but with fear. For once, he’s not seeing me as his punching bag. He’s seeing me for what I am. An Alpha who will tear him apart if he so much as breathes wrong.
“Get. The fuck. Out,” I growl, lunging forward.
He scrambles back on his hands, crab-crawling across the dock like the worm he is. Not a single person moves to help him.
I wipe my bloody knuckles on my jeans and let Daisy pull me away.
I don’t look back. Not once.
The drive home is a blur—hands locked on the wheel, jaw aching, ribs throbbing, blood still dripping slow from my nose. But the pain isn’t what fills me.
It’s relief.
It’s freedom.
Like something heavy and black has finally snapped off my chest and sunk into the dark. Gone.
By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m still shaking.
The porch light glows against the night. Warm windows. Home.
The bond hums at the edge of my mind—quiet, soft, waiting. I’m almost scared to open it. Part of me can’t believe they’re really here, that they’ll still want me after the wreckage I left at the docks.
But then I remember Sterling’s smile. The way she looked wrapped in my sweatshirt. Blake’s little arms clinging to her. JP and Quinn—solid, unshakable. Family.
I close my eyes.
And open the bond.
It hits like a wave—warmth, forgiveness, love. Crashing into every broken piece of me until I have to brace against the truck just to breathe.
They’re not mad.
They’re not afraid.
They’re just…waiting. For me.
I wipe at my face, no shame when my hand comes away wet. Then I step inside.
The house smells like her—sweet cinnamon and vanilla. Home. I don’t bother being quiet. They felt me coming the second I hit the driveway.
Straight to the shower. I won’t bring the blood and violence any further inside.
The water stings like hell, every cut flaring under the spray. I lean my forehead to the tile, letting the heat scrub away the night from my skin—if not my head. By the time I turn it off, the adrenaline’s bled out, leaving a deep ache in its place.
Towel around my waist, I pop four ibuprofen dry and brace on the sink, willing myself to hold it together.
And then I smell her.
The bond tugs hard—insistent, undeniable. I can’t fight it. I don’t even try.
Upstairs. Each step heavier, each one pulling me closer. The bedroom door’s cracked.
Inside—my family, tangled in blankets. Blake curled into Sterling, her arm around him. JP sprawled with an arm over her hips. Quinn on her other side, his face tucked to her neck like he can’t stand distance.
It guts me. I’m about to leave, maybe take the couch, when I hear her voice.
“Cass?”
Her hand reaches toward the door, searching.
I move before I think, kneeling by the bed. “Yeah, baby,” I rasp.
Her eyes open. She sees me—and smiles. Small, radiant, shattering me all over again. She shifts, making space. Not just in the bed. In her life.
“Come here.”
I drop my towel, climb in behind her, careful around JP. She presses back into me, hips fitting to mine, hair spilling against my face.
Vanilla. Cinnamon. Sterling. Home.
Quinn’s hand rests on my arm. JP’s leg bumps mine—a rough, familiar welcome. The bond hums, whole.
I’m theirs.
They’re mine.
“I missed you,” she breathes.
My arms tighten. “I missed you too, little bird.” My voice breaks, and I let it. Tears for every year I thought I had to do it alone. For every time I believed love was for other people.
She stays pressed against me, her touch more healing than anything I’ve ever known. Quinn’s hand solid at my shoulder. JP pressed close like a wall between me and the world.
And yeah, I don’t know what tomorrow brings. But right now—wrapped around my Omega, surrounded by my pack—the world is finally, finally right.