Chapter 2
CALIX
“Dealing with these guys will be easy,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat as Rack got into the driver's seat. The car roared to life. “You should wait in the car.”
Rack didn’t look at me when he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. His gaze stayed locked on the road ahead, posture carved from stone, but the steering wheel told on him. Crescent moons bit into the leather where his fingers dug in.
“You should always err on the side of caution, sir.”
My face twisted on instinct. “Yyyyeah. No. Don’t do that.” I leaned back, squinting at him. “Call me Cal like a damn normal person. It’s creepy when you pretend you’re not the same guy who helped me and E set off a blood bomb in the cafeteria.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s different now. You’re going to be the boss of the Winstale clan. I’ll be your second. I don’t want anyone thinking—”
“Fuck what anyone thinks,” I snapped.
He finally rolled his eyes at me but still said nothing.
“You’re like the brother I never asked for,” I added, flashing him a grin that leaned sharp and feral.
It didn’t soften him. His frown only deepened.
“Anyway,” I said, turning back to the door, “when I go in—”
“We,” he corrected smoothly. One hand lifted, palm out, inviting me to continue.
My mouth flattened, not amused by his little protest, but it was no use arguing with him. When he dug in his heels, he could be worse than Ezra, and that was saying something.
“When we go in,” I said, “I do the talking. Fitz owes the Syndicate money. A lot of it. He’s been dodging Ezra, so she wants a hard and fast reminder. One he will never forget.”
Neon streaked past the windows, Vegas blurring into color and heat. My knee bounced, fast and restless, a hum lighting up under my skin.
“It’s been a while since I’ve left the lab to get my hands dirty.”
Rack’s even tone settled over me. “Working off some aggression now might make the next few days easier.”
That nudged another thought loose.
“Oh—heads up. I’m taking Val out of town this weekend. I’ll give you the details once she tells me where she wants to go.”
Thinking about that little box in my desk, my stomach filled with butterflies. The box. The ring. Five carats, ruby halo. Perfect.
I hadn’t decided yet how I was going to ask her. Should I do it in some dessert? Slip it on her finger in her sleep? Maybe set something up in public so she felt special in front of everyone?
My heart thumped hard in my chest before I realized that she was probably already waiting for me. Shit! I pulled my phone out, shooting her a quick text.
Cal: Running late. Syndicate stuff.
I braced for it. The crying. The yelling. The long text about how I was putting her last, but I was going to prove to her soon that she wasn’t last.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Val: I understand. Take your time. I’ll wait for you at home.
Staring at the screen longer than necessary, my teeth caught my lower lip.
Huh. I guess treating her and her friends out for the night worked.
Rack turned off the strip, the noise dropping away as the car rolled into shadow. A single neon sign buzzed ahead of us: Ride or Die Chop House.
I huffed a quiet laugh as I stepped out.
The motorcycle gang, The Fanged Beasts, had come to Ezra months ago asking for some help.
Their leader, Fitz, pitched her his dream: a machine shop, steady income, something solid for his pack.
Ezra listened, weighed out the pros and cons, and ended up investing in them.
At twenty percent interest with monthly payments due on the fifteenth of the month.
She gave them a fair shot, but they’d burned through the goodwill fast.
No marketing. No training. Muscle instead of manners when customers complained. The shop dried up and payments stopped.
Three months missed, and prior warnings were ignored, which meant they needed to feel the hammer of the Syndicate.
I took two steps toward the building, ready to take this group on in full force.
“Don’t.”
Rack’s voice cut clean through the night. I turned halfway and lifted my brow at him. What the fuck is he talking about?
He closed the driver’s door, his head bowed, shoulders heavy as he took a breath. When he looked up, those silvery-violet eyes pinned me in place.
“Don’t ask her to marry you.”
The words landed wrong. Too precise. Too close.
My stomach dropped.
“How the fuck—”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Who do you think organizes your desk?”
The drawer. The box. The ring. He knew.
Rack stepped closer, something raw and pleading slipping into his expression. “Just wait,” he said quietly. “A few years. Think about what your parents would say.”
The neon sign buzzed behind us, and I didn’t answer because I could already see it.
The pause. The exchanged looks. The way my mother’s mouth would tighten before she spoke, careful and soft like she wasn’t already disappointed. My dads—all five of them—silence would do the rest. Ezra’s stare, measured and unreadable.
Wait, they’d say. Think about this first. See if your person shows up later.
My mom would bring up mates, like she always did. How I shouldn’t complicate my life before destiny had a chance to catch up… like fate worked on a schedule that she somehow knew.
She never liked hearing the numbers. That only about half of supes ever found a mate. That the odds didn’t magically improve just because you believed harder. In her world, everyone found theirs by thirty, babies followed shortly after, and the universe tied everything up with a bow.
She truly believed that her children were meant to have a happy life just like she had.
I had a different outlook.
I’d run the math and calculated the likelihood, but she wouldn't listen. Then there was what I felt. The absence. That hollow, quiet certainty that there wasn’t another half of me wandering around, waiting to collide. No pull. No echo. Just… me.
I didn't want to sit here and wallow in it. If there was no mate for me, then fine.
I’d built something else instead. A marriage with a woman who’d stay loyal to me and the Syndicate. We could live a very happy life without needing to be mates. Being husband and wife could be enough. It wasn't the end of the world if I didn't have a mate.
So when Rack stood there, telling me that Valentina was a mistake, it went straight through me. Clean. Brutal.
Molten heat spilling through my veins, my whole body tight as I let it consume me. How dare he doubt me.
He thought I was throwing my life away. Thought I was a fool for choosing something real over something imaginary.
I crossed the space between us in a blink. Before the thought finished forming, my hand was around his neck, my fingers digging into his neck so hard it would hurt my mage second.
His gasp tore into the night, sharp and ugly, boots scraping as his hands came up, not to fight, just to pry. My fingers tightened, cutting off air, feeling the pulse hammering against my palm.
“I don’t care,” I snarled, leaning in until our foreheads almost touched, “if you don’t like her.”
He choked, eyes watering.
“I don’t care if you fucking hate her,” I went on, my voice low, shaking with between anger and disappointment. “You will respect her as my wife if I say so. I’m the boss here. Not you.”
He didn’t strike back ,and that registered a half second too late.
Rack could’ve burned me alive or torn the air from my lungs, but he did neither. He just hung there, letting me unload every ugly, molten piece into him.
Something twisted hard in my gut, and my grip loosened.
He staggered when his feet landed on the concrete, but he stayed upright, hand going to his neck as he coughed, his legs finding their balance in seconds. That almost pissed me off more. We trained him too damn well.
I stood there breathing hard, hands still curled like they wanted to go back to his throat.
What was I doing? Rack was like a brother to me, and I would never do that to my sisters.
I didn’t want to destroy what the two of us had built over the long years. Didn’t want this to be the thing that broke us. He’d spoken his mind, and I answered like a tyrant.
I’d just proved his point and mine all at once.
Clearing his throat, Rack slowly straightened, smoothing his jacket like muscle memory could reset what just happened.
“Understood,” he rasped.
The blankness in his eyes hit worse than if he’d yelled back. The sight was too familiar, too distant, like those first days that he’d lived with us. Polite, guarded, untouchable.
I’d told him minutes ago not to treat me like a boss, then the next second I shoved my title down his throat.
Fuck.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, the heat in my heart cooled. Being in charge wasn’t clean, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy.
Wishing it would all go away, I turned toward the entrance. Avoidance wasn't good, but I wasn’t in the right head space to talk about this in depth. We could do that after this job.
“Let’s go,” I threw over my shoulder.
His heavy footsteps fell in behind me, and I inhaled slowly. This was better, I told myself. Cleaner. He wanted lines drawn—boss here, second there. Distance. I’d just given him exactly that… for now.
“Do you want me to do a building check?”
The rasp in his voice made me pause. Guilt flared, colliding with the stubborn righteousness still burning in my chest.
“No.” My hand closed around the knob. “I’m in the mood for a fucking fight now.” I yanked the door open.
Cigar smoke rolled out thick enough to taste as we stepped through the threshold into the lobby.
A fairy with neon green hair sat at a large desk, chomping away at the gum in her mouth like it had personally offended her.
Despite out obvious footsteps, she continued flipping pages of her magazine without looking up.
“If you need your bike looked at, come back Monday. We’re closed for the weekend.”
I slid my hands into my pockets to keep them busy. I didn't want to strangle the girl from the jump. “I’m here to see Fitz.”