35. Tristan
35
TRISTAN
The holding cell they’ve thrown me in is a joke. Clean enough, but spartan—a metal bench bolted to the wall and not much else. I’ve stopped growling, but my hands are still balled into fists, knuckles white with tension. The image of Synthia being dragged away in her pyjamas, barefoot and vulnerable, has my alpha clawing to get out, to destroy anyone who would dare touch her.
I pace the small space, five steps one way, five steps back. The concrete floor is cold beneath my feet—they took my shoes, belt, watch, and anything I could supposedly use as a weapon. As if I needed anything beyond my bare hands to tear these people apart.
The door clangs open, and Declan stands there with a uniformed officer. His face is impassive, but I can see the fury in his eyes.
“You’re free to go,” the officer says, not meeting my gaze.
“Where’s Synthia?” I demand, not moving from my spot.
Declan answers before the officer can. “Tarquin is with her.”
I step out of the cell, my shoulders brushing against Declan’s. “What the fuck is this?”
He shrugs. “You owe me bail money.”
“I’m good for it, prick.”
He smirks. “I know, just putting it out there.”
The officer leads us to a room where they’ve stored my belongings. I shove my feet back into my shoes, yanking the laces tight with unnecessary force.
“What the hell happened?” I ask Declan in a low voice as I thread my belt through the loops.
“From what I can gather, the IPP Taskforce is making a play. They’re trying to turn Syn into an informant to take down the heat inducer operation,” Declan explains, his voice equally low. “Tarquin’s handling the legal side.”
“Arseholes.”
“I know.” His expression darkens. “But we need to be smart now. Syn needs us thinking, not reacting.”
I take a deep breath, forcing my alpha instincts to settle. “Is this connected to Jeremy?”
“I don’t think so. It’s a different beast entirely. But it complicates things.”
We follow the officer down a sterile hallway, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows. If Syn becomes an informant, she’ll be in danger—not just from the dealers, but possibly from Jeremy if he catches wind of it.
“I don’t like it,” I mutter as we reach the end of the hallway. “They’re using her.”
“Of course they are,” Declan says, his voice so low only I can hear it. “But Tarquin will make sure the terms protect her as much as possible.”
The officer pushes open a door that leads to a waiting area. Elijah St. Clare stands there, arms crossed, watching us with narrowed eyes.
“Tristan,” he says, addressing me. “I apologise for the forceful detention, but your behaviour left us little choice.”
“Forceful detention?” I sneer. “Is that what we’re calling it when you drag a barefoot omega from her bed at dawn?”
St. Clare’s expression doesn’t change. “Sometimes appearances must be maintained. Ms Fuller is fine.”
“Where is she?” I demand.
“With Tarquin, reviewing her agreement.”
“Agreement,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “You mean her coercion.”
St. Clare steps closer, lowering his voice. “This operation is bigger than you know. The heat inducer network has killed three omegas in the last month alone. Synthia Fuller is lucky she didn’t become the fourth.”
“How do you even know she did it?” Declan asks.
Elijah gives him a withering glare. “I am exceptionally meticulous at what I do.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“I have enough to get her sent down.”
That shuts Declan up. However, they have this: whoever told them… I hiss.
Declan frowns at me as Eli leans closer. “What?”
“Nothing,” I grit out. “This situation is a mess.”
He nods but I don’t think he believes me. The fact of the matter is, I can’t go around accusing Lord Robert Ranier of grassing on Synthia out of jealousy when I have absolutely zero evidence of that.
Eli gives me a searching look, then turns back to Declan. “I understand your concerns. But this arrangement benefits everyone. Ms Fuller avoids prison, and we get closer to shutting down an operation that’s damaging and killing omegas.”
“At what cost to her?” I challenge. “You must’ve deduced by now that this is the omega we were discussing last night. Now you’re adding another layer of danger to her life.”
“We’ll protect her,” Eli says firmly. “That’s non-negotiable.”
I laugh harshly. “Like the police protected her when her daughter was taken? When she was beaten? When she’s been paying every penny she has to a monster for two years?”
A shadow crosses St. Clare’s face, but before he can respond, a door opens down the hall, and Tarquin emerges with Synthia. My breath catches at the sight of her—drowning in Tarquin’s jacket, her bare legs and feet, her face pale but composed. The omega who’s been through hell and still stands tall.
Our eyes meet across the room, and something in my chest tightens painfully. I move toward her without conscious thought, my body drawn to hers like gravity.
I sweep her up into my arms and she clings to me tightly, burying her face in my chest and inhaling my scent deeply. Hers swims around me, tinged with Tarquin’s. It makes me grip her even harder before I let her go.
Tarquin slaps a folder against Eli’s chest. “All done. You will contact her through me only. If I find out that you or one of your men has made direct contact with my omega, this entire department will collapse under the weight of my fury, and trust me when I say, that isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.” He places his hand on Syn’s back and ushers her out of the bullpen, with Declan and me following closely.
Synthia leans into Tarquin as we exit the IPP Headquarters, her small frame shivering despite Tarquin’s jacket. The early morning sun does little to warm the chill that’s settled into all our bones. As Tarquin leads us to his black SUV idling at the kerb, he opens the back door, and Declan climbs in first, then Syn after him.
Before I can duck down to get in, a black Mercedes catches my eye. I narrow my eyes at it and look at Tarquin. He’s seen it as well.
“Rob,” he murmurs without looking at me.
“Figured,” I mutter back and get in the SUV. Tarquin shuts the door and climbs in the passenger seat as James sets off, with all of us lost in our own thoughts.