Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
MAYA
I ’ve been a ball of nervous energy since returning to the apartment.
The photoshoot and visit with Logan’s family left me with conflicting emotions I can’t begin to untangle.
These glimpses of normalcy make it harder to hold on to my righteous anger.
I need to stay focused on why I’m here, on my goal of making them pay for what they’ve done.
Claiming a need to change before dinner, I escaped to Logan’s bedroom, desperate for a moment alone to collect my thoughts.
I can hear the men in the main room, their voices rising and falling as they celebrate Logan’s victory at the games.
The clink of glasses and bursts of laughter filter through the door—they’re clearly settling in for a night of drinking.
Good. Let them drink and carouse. Let them forget about me for a while.
I pace the length of the bedroom, my fingers drumming restlessly against my thighs. Seeing Logan with his family today revealed a side of him I’d never imagined—attentive to his sisters, playful with his nieces and nephews. It humanized him in a way that makes my plans more complicated.
And I can’t afford complications. Not when I’ve come so far, not when I finally have opportunities to act.
I open the bedside drawer, hoping the sound of drawers opening and closing will give the impression I’m busy changing clothes. My fingers brush against something smooth and cool—a small bag of pink powder.
Blush.
I freeze, staring at it. The drug that tore down my inhibitions, that made me act on desires I barely acknowledged. The drug that led to my encounter with Cillian, then the three of us together, and finally my shameful public display with Ares during Logan’s fight.
An idea forms, dangerous and seductive.
Logan keeps the blush hidden in his nightstand. Not locked away, but private. For personal use. He wants control so desperately, yet voluntarily takes something that strips it away. The irony isn’t lost on me.
What if I could use this against him? What if I could make them all vulnerable at once?
My fingers close around the bag, weighing it thoughtfully.
If I could get them all to take it—perhaps mixed into their drinks as they celebrate—they might reveal secrets they’d otherwise keep hidden.
The blush might loosen tongues enough for me to learn more about Ander’s death, about the king’s plans, about any leverage I could use.
And in their drugged state, they would be less guarded, less able to maintain their careful control. I could plant seeds of discord between them, whisper doubts that would take root and grow.
Or I could do something with even more devastating—and immediate—impact.
It’s risky. Incredibly risky. If they realized what I’d done, there would be consequences. And there’s no guarantee I could remain clear-headed enough to take advantage if I had to pretend to drink with them.
But the potential reward is finally showing Logan exactly what it means to be at someone else’s mercy.
I slip the bag of blush into my pocket just as a burst of raucous laughter erupts from the main room. The sound of their camaraderie, their brotherhood, only strengthens my resolve. They’ve taken everything from me—my freedom, my choice, my body. All while maintaining their tight-knit pack.
Perhaps it’s time I took something from them in return. Their trust in each other.
I rub the silky powder between my fingers through the bag, feeling the power it represents. A weapon hidden in plain sight, one they themselves brought into our shared space.
The men continue drinking and laughing in the next room, completely unaware of the chaos I’m preparing to unleash.
I take a deep breath and step confidently into the main room. The men are gathered around the low table, glasses in hand, celebrating Logan’s victory. Their conversation halts as I enter, four pairs of eyes turning toward me.
“Need something?” Logan asks, golden eyes shining with a slight glaze of the early stage of drunkenness.
“Actually,” I say, forcing a sweet smile, “I thought I’d offer to refresh your drinks.”
Ares raises an eyebrow. “You’re volunteering to play servant?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “I could use a drink myself after today. Thought I’d be... helpful.”
“Well, that’s new,” Logan says, but he hands me his empty glass, nonetheless.
The others follow suit, even Cillian, though his ice-blue eyes study me with suspicion. Only Poe hesitates, his dark gaze searching mine for a moment before relinquishing his tumbler.
“What’s your poison tonight, gentlemen?” I ask, gathering the glasses.
“Melillan whiskey for me and Ares,” Logan says. “Cillian and Poe drink that imported stuff that tastes like lighter fluid.”
I nod, memorizing their preferences as I move to the bar cart in the corner. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I keep my movements casual, unhurried. With my back to them, I set the glasses down and reach for the various bottles.
The bag of blush feels heavy in my pocket.
I wait until I hear their conversation resume—something about security protocols for the upcoming coronation ceremony—before slipping it out.
My fingers tremble slightly as I measure a small amount into each glass, just enough to loosen inhibitions without making the effects too obvious.
I pour the liquor over the powder, watching it dissolve instantly, leaving no trace. I add a few ice clubs, their clinking as cover for the spoon I use to ensure the blush is completely mixed.
For myself, I pour a small amount of lemonade, keeping it well away from the doctored drinks. I can’t risk clouding my own judgment tonight.
“You need some help over there?” Ares calls back, sounding impatient.
As I turn back toward the men, balancing the tray carefully, I plaster on my best Omega smile—demure, eager to please. Logan watches me approach with mild curiosity, clearly puzzled by my sudden helpfulness.
“Here you are,” I say, distributing the glasses. “Bottoms up.”
Logan takes his drink with a pleased smirk. “This is nice. I might have you serve us drinks all night.”
“Just drinks?” I tease in reply, making him nearly choke on a mouthful of whiskey.
I settle into an armchair across from them, sipping my lemonade as they all take long pulls from their doctored drinks. Now I just need to wait for the blush to take effect—for walls to come down, for secrets to spill.
For the cracks between them to widen into chasms.
A fter enough drinks that even I lose count, I help Logan stagger to the bedroom. He is heavy against me, his normally graceful movements reduced to clumsy stumbling. The blush has taken effect faster than I expected, already turning their speech slurred and their emotions volatile.
It took careful calculation to get the dosage right—enough to loosen their tongues but not enough for them to immediately notice the drug’s effects. Too much, and they’d realize they’d been drugged. Too little, and I’d never get them to the state of inebriation I need.
“Careful with the wall,” I grunt as Logan bumps against it hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster. He turns to blink at me, golden eyes unfocused and pupils dramatically dilated.
“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, reaching to touch my face with uncoordinated fingers. “Even when you hate me, you’re beautiful.”
I ignore the uncomfortable flutter in my chest at his words. It’s just the blush talking, breaking down his arrogance to reveal whatever lies beneath. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it?
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say firmly, steering him toward the bedroom.
“Bed,” he repeats, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Our nest.”
The word makes me cringe. A nest is something sacred, something an Omega builds with care and intention. What Logan has is just a bed, nothing more.
“It’s not a nest,” I can’t help but correct him.
“It is,” he insists, suddenly grabbing my shoulders with surprising strength. “Our nest. Where we belong.”
I shake my head, trying to disentangle myself from his grip. “My nest is in the basement,” I remind him, the memory of that violated space helping me steel my resolve. “Remember? Where you found me and Cillian?”
Pain flashes across his face before the blush smooths it away. “We’ll make a new one. Better one.”
I finally manage to get him onto the bed, where he sprawls gracelessly across the covers. His limbs are loose, his expression softened by the drug in a way I’ve never seen before. Without his perpetual mask of arrogance and control, he looks younger, almost vulnerable.
I turn to leave, but his hand shoots out to grab my wrist. “Stay.”
“I need to check on the others,” I say, carefully extracting myself from his grip. “I’ll be back soon.”
His lips form a pout that would be comical if it weren’t so uncharacteristic. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I lie smoothly.
As I back toward the door, I watch him struggling to keep his eyes open.
The blush is working faster than I anticipated—perhaps because they’d already had a few drinks before I added the drug.
He’ll be unconscious soon, all of them will be.
That should give me plenty of time to search the apartment for anything I can use against them.
“Maya,” Logan calls as I reach the doorway, his voice slurring. “I did it for us. All of it. You’ll see.”
I pause, wondering what secrets might spill from his loosened tongue. “Did what, Logan?”
“Everything.” His eyes are unfocused, the blush pulling him into a mental space where his mind isn’t in the driver’s seat. “Kept you safe. Kept Cillian safe. Had to do it.”
I’m drawn to Logan’s slurred words, a chance to probe his unguarded mind while the blush has him vulnerable.
My gaze moves to the corner of the room, to the discrete camera embedded high in the corner from a vantage point that centers Logan’s massive bed.
Taking a deep breath, I perch on the edge of the bed beside him, faux sympathy softening my expression.