Chapter 26 #2
"You told me nothing." Atlas is circling now, slow and predatory, like a shark scenting blood. "You told me what you wanted me to hear. Now tell me what actually happened. Because I'm done pretending I don't know my brother assaulted our stepbrother under our own roof."
The word assaulted lands like a blow. I see Zero flinch.
"That's not—" Zero's voice is strained. "I didn't—"
"Then what did you do?" Atlas stops circling. Plants himself in front of Zero. "He could barely walk the next day, Zero. He couldn't sit down without wincing. He flinched every time someone mentioned your name. So tell me—what did you do that left him like that?"
My stomach is in knots. I remember Max's face that morning. The way he moved like his body hurt. The way he looked at Zero after that like a cornered animal. I knew it was bad. But I never pushed for details.
Zero's jaw works. He won't meet Atlas's eyes. "I cornered him. I kissed him."
"And?"
"I... touched him. I asked but—."
"Touched him how?" Atlas's voice is ice. "Be specific."
Zero's hands clench at his sides. "I pinned him down. Bent him over one of the benches. Ground against him."
The image hits me like a fist to the chest. Max—small, scared, overwhelmed—trapped against the weight bench while Zero—
"He was saying no, wasn't he?" Atlas's voice is quiet now. Deadly. "You told me he didn't say no. But that was a lie."
Zero doesn't answer. Which is answer enough.
"Wasn't he?"
"He—" Zero swallows hard. "His body was saying yes. His scent—"
"I didn't ask about his body or his scent. I asked if he said no."
The silence stretches. Suffocating.
"Yes." Zero's voice is barely a whisper. "He said don’t. He said please. He said… it hurt." He swallows. "And I told myself his body was saying yes. That the heat was what mattered. That he wanted it even if he couldn't admit it."
I can't breathe.
It's worse than I thought. So much worse. We confronted him—I heard him admit Max "came to him," heard him say Max's body "wanted it"—but I never imagined he'd kept going while Max was begging him to stop.
He pinned him down. Bent him over. Made him beg and didn't stop.
The rage comes slowly. Not the explosive kind—something deeper. Colder. It starts in my chest and spreads outward, turning my blood to ice and my thoughts to static.
"His heat doesn't equal consent and you fucking know it.
" Atlas is in Zero's face now, close enough that I can see the tendons straining in his neck.
"You smelled his fear—you admitted that.
And you didn't stop. That's why you don't get to be the one taking care of him now.
That's why I need to be his primary—because you've already proven what you do when you get an omega alone. "
Max. Sweet, guarded, broken Max who flinches at sudden movements and apologizes for taking up space. Max who hides his writing because he's afraid of being seen. Max who looked at me in the library like he was waiting for me to hurt him.
Now I know exactly why. And I know that I failed him too—I saw the aftermath, I confronted Zero, and I still let it go without getting the full truth.
"You told yourself a lie so you could keep going." Atlas's voice has gone quiet. Deadly. "That's not a mistake, Zero. That's a choice. And it's exactly why you don't get a say in how we handle Max's heat. You had your chance. You blew it."
I'm gripping the armrest so hard I hear the wood creak. My vision is tunneling. All I can see is Max's face—the way he looked at us tonight when we came into his room. The fear underneath the need. The way he trembled when we touched him.
He thought we were all like Zero.
He thought helping him through his heat was just going to be the basement all over again.
I can't be in this room anymore.
I can't look at Zero's face—the fury, the deflection, the way he's still trying to justify what he did. I can't listen to Atlas lay down rules like that's going to fix anything. I can't sit here rehashing what happened while Max is down the hall, alone, probably terrified that we're all the same.
I need to see him. I need to tell him that I'm not like Zero. That I would never—that I will never—
I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved.
"Bane—" Atlas starts.
"I need to check on him." My voice comes out rough. Barely controlled. "I need to—he needs to know we're not all—"
I don't finish the sentence. I don't have to. Atlas's face shifts—understanding, maybe, or resignation—and he doesn't try to stop me as I shoulder past him toward the door.
The hallway feels endless. My footsteps echo against the hardwood, too loud in the quiet house. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking, and all I can think about is Max's face. The fear in his eyes. The way he trembled when we touched him tonight.
He thought we were all like Zero.
He thought helping him through his heat was just going to be the basement all over again.
I have to fix this. I have to show him—
His door is open.
I stop in the threshold. My lungs forget how to work.
The room is empty. Bed unmade, sheets tangled like someone left in a hurry. Closet door hanging open, gaps on the hangers where clothes used to be. Drawers pulled out and rifled through, socks and underwear spilling over the edges.
The air still smells like him. Honey and vanilla and smoke. But it's fading. Going stale. The scent of someone who isn't here anymore.
No. No no no—
"Atlas!" My voice cracks. I don't care. "Zero! Get over here—now!"
Footsteps. Pounding down the hall. They appear in the doorway behind me, and I watch their faces as they take in the empty room. Watch the color drain from Atlas's skin. Watch Zero's expression shift from confusion to horror.
"He's gone." The words taste like ash. "He's not here. His bag is missing. He's gone."
I surge in and scan the room, desperate, looking for something. Anything. My eyes land on the nightstand.
His laptop. Still there. Screen dark but not closed.
I cross to it. My hands are trembling as I tap the trackpad. The screen flickers to life, harsh and bright in the dim room.
Browser tabs. Half a dozen of them, lined up across the top like accusations.
Black market suppressants no prescription
Omega suppressants buy online
Heat suppressants fast delivery
And in another tab—a forum thread. Replies. Phone numbers. One of them highlighted, copied to the clipboard.
My stomach drops through the floor.
"Bane." Atlas's voice comes from behind me. Close. I didn't hear him follow. "What is it?"
I turn the laptop toward him. Watch his face as he reads. Watch the controlled mask crack and shatter, watch the color drain from his skin until he looks like a ghost.
"He went looking for suppressants." My voice sounds wrong. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else. "In the middle of his heat. Alone."
Behind me, I hear Zero make a choked sound. I turn. He's standing by the chair in the corner, one of Max's jackets pressed to his face, breathing in the lingering scent like a man drowning. When he lowers it, his eyes are wet. Wild.
"Fuck." The word comes out broken. "Fuck, he didn't—"
"He did." I turn back to the laptop, scrolling through the browser history. "There has to be something here—an address, a meeting place—"
"Move." Atlas shoulders me aside, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He pulls up the text messages synced to the laptop, scanning through them. "Here. He was texting someone about suppressants."
I read over his shoulder. The conversation is short. Desperate.
How soon can you meet?
Tonight's tight. Got another pickup at 11.
Any chance you can do tonight? I can pay extra.
Fine. 10:30. Same price. Don't be late.
And then an address. An intersection on the east side.
"I know that area," Zero says, his voice flat. Dead. He's stopped sniffing the jacket, his whole body gone rigid. "That's not a neighborhood. That's trafficking territory. That's where the Kline operation runs their processing."
The word processing hangs in the air like a death knell.
"Why would he do this?" Zero's voice cracks. He throws the jacket down and starts pacing, short angry strides that eat up the small room. His hands keep clenching and unclenching at his sides, knuckles white, tendons straining. "Why would he just leave? We helped him. We took care of him. We—"
"He thought we didn't want him."
The realization hits me like a fist to the chest. Knocks the air right out of my lungs. And then the pieces start clicking together—horrible, devastating pieces that form a picture I can't unsee.
"Think about it from his perspective." I'm pacing now, working through it out loud, my voice rising as the horror builds.
"First, Zero corners him in the basement.
Assaults him. Shows him exactly what alphas do when they want something—they take it.
They don't ask. They don't care if you're scared or if you say no. They hurt you."
Zero flinches. I don't care.
"So Max learns that lesson. He learns that alphas are dangerous.
That we'll hurt him if we get the chance.
He's been walking around this house for weeks, terrified that one of us is going to—" I have to stop.
Breathe. "And then tonight happens. His heat spikes.
Three alphas show up in his bedroom. And instead of hurting him.
.." I look at Atlas. "You were gentle. You took care of him. You made him feel good."
Atlas's face is ashen. He knows where this is going.
"So he lets his guard down. He thinks maybe he was wrong. Maybe we're not all like Zero. Maybe he can trust us." My voice cracks. "And he puts himself out there. He begs you to claim him. He makes himself completely vulnerable—probably for the first time since Zero, maybe ever—and you say no."
"I was trying to protect him." Atlas's voice is wrecked. "He couldn't consent. Not in that state. I wasn't going to take advantage of—"