The Glass Room
Nico
The lobby of Maleth Media is all black marble and cold white light, and even at nine at night the place is packed.
Staff cross the floor with lanyards swinging.
A woman argues into her phone about a graphic that missed air.
A cluster of suits stands in front of a wall of muted screens where the same anchor mouths the same silent words.
"Look at all these people." Adrian tips his head back and takes in the full height of the atrium. "It's nine o'clock. Why is nobody home?"
"Twenty-four-hour news cycle," I say as I scan the lobby.
There are two cameras sitting in the ceiling coffers.
One hangs over the security desk, and the other points at the elevator bank.
One guard stands behind the information desk, and a second one keeps watch over the turnstiles.
I mark the doors and the exits, and the lines of sight. This place is covered in cameras.
Good.
"Do you have an appointment?" The woman behind the information desk barely looks at me.
"Bennett," I say, giving Adrian a wink. He forces a smile at me, but that’s it. Fuck, he’s wound tight.
The receptionist's nails click loudly across the keys.
"Crispin Maleth is expecting us."
Her eyes narrow at the monitor. "Mr. Maleth is on thirty-five." She raises a hand, pointing toward the elevators and a guard peels off the wall. "Rico will take you up."
Adrian slides his phone out of his jacket. His thumbs move fast across the screen, and then he shoves it back into his pocket. He has been talking to Lyra all night, trying to keep her calm. But she can do this.
I know she can.
The numbers climb over the elevator doors as we head up with Rico by our side. I crack my knuckles once against my thigh.
In the blink of an eye, the elevator dings and Rico leads us out. The hallway runs long and straight, and office doors line both walls, more of them than I bother counting. Rico stops at the far end and badges us through a heavy black door.
The room on the other side is dark and loud. Dozens of people sit at long desks wearing headsets and punching keys, while monitors light their faces blue. Every one of them faces the same wall of glass where two news anchors talk to cameras on the other side, hot lights, baring down on them.
Rico walks us around the edge of the room. A few heads lift as we pass. Their eyes catch on our jeans, plain shirts, and then the dirt dried into our boots.
I’m sure they don’t get many men like us up here.
And then I see the motherfucker.
Crispin waits on the far side of another glass wall. So much damn glass. It looks like some kind of viewing room, where he can watch both the command center and what's on camera at the same time. There’s a long conference table running down the middle, and it’s all completely exposed.
Every person in this dark room will be able to see us the whole time.
Coward.
Adrian looks at me, his expression hard. I simply nod, trying like hell to reassure my nervous mate.
Rico badges us through the last door, then holds it open.
The second we step inside, Crispin turns to us and a smile fills my face.
The bruise Mack gave him at the party is still there. It’s blue and black along his jaw, sitting right over the bone.
I hope it aches every time he talks.
"That'll be all, Richie." Crispin waves a hand at the guard without looking. "Close the door on your way out."
Rico doesn't correct the fucker, he steps back and reaches for the handle, and for half a second his jaw sets hard and something tired moves through his eyes. Then he wipes it clean and pulls the door shut, leaving us alone with his boss.
"Gentlemen." Crispin smirks at Adrian as he crosses to a small glass bar cart. He pours two fingers of something amber, not offering us any. Not that we’d take it.
The fucker moves so slowly, making my anger rise with each passing second.
He sets the bottle back down, turns the bottle label out, then pushes the stopper down softly.
Fuck, I’d love to break that goddamn bottle over his smug face.
"I spent the weekend reading up on you." Crispin turns, looking right at Adrian.
He lifts his glass and takes a small sip.
"Adrian Bennett. Structural carpenter, employed with Cruz Construction.
" His eyes move to me. "Nicolas Cruz. Small business owner and site foreman.
And Mackenzie Shaw, all living in one house.
" His eyes narrow as he cuts them back to Adrian.
"Oh, and lets not forget your beta, Owen. "
My body jerks toward the asshole, my hands coming up, every muscle in me set on beating that look off his face. But Adrian's arm bands across my chest, stopping me cold.
"No," he whispers, before shooting a look toward the command room behind us. "Everyone will see."
He’s right. Stick to the plan.
My fists shake as I force them down to my sides. I curl them tighter until my nails bite my palms, and my breath finally comes out even and slow.
"Tell me, Bennett." Crispin sets his glass down on the long table between us. "How long did you think you'd get to keep my Lyra before someone came looking for her?"
And Adrian, God love him, glances at me.
It's nothing. A flicker of his eyes, the old reflex of a man checking with his pack alpha before he answers. But Crispin catches it, and I watch him realize it in real time.
"Holy shit." The fucker’s mouth pulls up into a shit-eating grin. "You’re the one in charge of this little gang." His gaze sharpens on me, like he found a hidden treasure. "You're the pack alpha." He pops the P. "You're the one they kneel for."
"Enough," I growl softly, struggling to keep it together. "We didn't drive all the way across the city to listen to you run your mouth. Cut the shit and tell me why we're here."
"You know." Crispin turns back to Adrian, slowly picking up his glass of whiskey. It’s obvious he has no intention of getting to his goddamn point.
"Here's what I have never understood about alphas like you.
" He points at Adrian. "Why would you so willingly fall to your knees for another alpha?
" His dark eyes move up and down Adrian’s tall form, but my mate doesn't even blink.
I wish I was that calm right now.
"I guess it makes sense," Crispin keeps running his mouth. "I read the police reports about you. How your father beat the shit out of you. You were a grown man." He makes a face like it’s ridiculous. "Why didn’t you press charges?"
Adrian’s facade finally cracks. His jaw works, and my patience breaks.
"What the fuck do you want?" The words tear out of me so loud they bounce off the glass.
The command floor goes dead quiet behind me. The low hum of a few dozen people drops all at once, and I don’t have to look to know that every set of eyes is looking right at me. But I keep my eyes nailed to Crispin and let them stare at the back of my head.
For half a second Crispin's eyes go wide, caught off guard, the smirk knocked clean off him. Then it climbs back, slower this time and wider, and he looks at me like I've done something that greatly pleases him.
"What a temper." He chuckles. "Do you speak to Lyra that way?"
"Why do you want her?" Adrian finally asks. "There are plenty of other omegas in this damn city. Why her?"
Crispin swirls his whiskey, watching it move, before taking another slow sip. My rage ticks up another notch with every second that passes, but I try like hell not to let it show.
"There's a reason old families guard their bloodlines.
" Crispin looks between us and I can tell already this is going to be a long fucking explanation. "Strong families want to hand their companies down to an alpha child so they know it’s in good hands. After all, alpha’s fight for their legacy tooth and nail, and no one will be able to take that power away from them.
" He tips the glass toward me. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the burden of protecting a legacy, but you can take my word for it. "
I grit my teeth, struggling not to react.
How the fuck is Adrian holding it together so well?
"But to produce alpha children, you pretty much have to mate with a she-alpha.
" Crispin talks like he’s sharing an interesting fact.
"Because of that, powerful families are filled with alphas, who mate other alphas, looking to keep their bloodlines filled with men and women who can’t be controlled.
" His dark eyes slide between me and Adrian. "Do you follow me so far?"
Neither one of us answers the asshole. Hell, we don’t even blink.
"I’ll take that as a yes," Crispin smiles, clearly pleased with himself. "The downside to all this alpha mating is that it’s become very hard to find an elegant, well-trained omega. And that’s what I want.
" He shakes his head, like this has become a real burden for him.
"She-alphas have no interest in bowing down to their husbands.
But an omega." A wide smile cracks across his face, "Those lovely creatures are wired down to the bone to make their alpha happy. "
I've got my jaw clamped tight enough to crack a molar.
"I want a mate I can mold into the perfect woman." Crispin’s eyes flash, growing more excited by the second. "I need someone young enough to teach. A pure omega from a traditional household."
Something cold and enormous rises up the back of my throat.
He isn't describing a woman. He's describing a thing he intends to break down to the studs and rebuild in a shape that suits him.
I think about Lyra and the way she always falls asleep in her nest with her hand curled under her chin. I think about her sweet laugh, and dry sense of humor. I think about every part of her that this fucker would have crushed had he had the chance.
"And I'll admit," Crispin goes on, "I was livid when I figured out that a house of degenerates were fucking her." His lip curls as he casts a glare at me. "I preferred Lyra before you got your hands on her. Fresh. Untouched." He sighs hard. "But, I’m willing to forgive her."