Chapter Six #3
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Nothing?”
“Nothing!” I huff, waving my hands emphatically.
“I mean, yeah, they cuddle me constantly and are affectionate. Dare touches me all the time—holds my hand, pulls me close on the couch—and Fox has been sneaking into my nest every night, but no sex. They’re all sweet and perfect and protective.
But sex?” I groan again, louder. “Not even a hint!”
Fallon bursts into laughter, shaking her head at my misery. “Oh my god, Violet. Have you considered that maybe they’re trying to be respectful? Like, they’re afraid of pushing you too fast?”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Respectful, sure. But at this rate, I’m going to spontaneously combust from sexual frustration.
Do you know how hard it is having three incredibly hot alphas walking around shirtless, looking like actual gods, and not having sex with them?
It’s torture. Actual, physical torture. Especially after getting a taste from Fox. Ten out of ten, Fallon.”
Fallon’s laughter only intensifies, tears forming in her eyes as she clutches her stomach. “Poor baby. Three perfect mates who are too nice and respectful. Your life is so tragic.”
“Stop mocking my pain!” I shove her playfully, giggling despite myself. “Seriously though, do I have to spell it out for them?”
She wipes away tears of laughter, taking a deep breath. “Honestly? Maybe you do. Alphas can be dense as hell. Especially protective, morally-upstanding ones.”
I sigh dramatically again, leaning my head against her shoulder. “Great. So now I have to make the first move. Maybe I could walk into a room naked. I figure that should work, right?”
She snorts loudly. “Oh my god. I’m totally doing that later tonight. Just hanging out in the kitchen naked.”
I smile slightly, trying not to laugh. “I need details, and I’ll give you mine.”
Fallon laughs softly, squeezing my hand. “Deal. But trust me, they’re probably as frustrated as you are. Maybe more.”
I smirk a little, hope sparking in my chest. “God, I hope so.”
Because if I have to go another week without my mates touching me in all the ways I’m desperately craving, I might genuinely explode.
“I’m so glad you’re back from Boston,” I say, curling my legs under me as I settle deeper into Fallon’s plush couch. “So, what happened with all that drama?”
Fallon’s usually bright eyes immediately darken with irritation as she lets out a sharp huff, leaning her head back against the cushions.
“Ugh, Marcy is still in the wind. Which sucks, because I honestly would’ve preferred to kill her myself.
The bitch stole so much from me, Vi. More than just money—my peace of mind, too.
My employees' livelihoods, their sanity. I swear.”
Her midnight-blue hair spills messily over her shoulders, and she scowls dramatically, rubbing her temples like the entire ordeal still gives her a headache. Her small frame is tense, dressed comfortably in dark leggings and an oversized emerald-green sweater that hangs loosely off one shoulder.
I frown sympathetically, sipping from my iced coffee. “At least she’s gone now. Did you ever recover the money she took?”
Fallon brightens slightly, a wicked smirk curving her lips.
“Oh yeah, I tracked down her secret bank account. Drained it completely. Then I split all the money between my employees at the Boston shop. Of course, they cried again.” She shudders visibly, pulling a face.
“I swear, Vi, I am not built for tears. Like, at all.”
I snort, nudging Fallon’s knee with mine. “You say you’re bad at comforting people, but honestly? You’ve been holding my shit together with glitter glue and coffee for weeks now.”
Her lips twitch, but the amusement fades almost instantly as her expression tightens.
“Romano and Voss dug deep—like scary deep. And as far as they can tell, it looks like Marcy was just greedy. No bigger connection.” She pauses, her jaw tightening.
“But after everything? I don’t trust that for a damn second. ”
My stomach twists. “So... we’re thinking what? She was just in it for the money?”
“Probably.” Fallon’s eyes narrow. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have concrete proof of anything else. Yet. I swear, though—if one more fucked-up person with a name that starts with ‘M’ shows up, I’m going feral. I mean it. No more ‘M’s. They’re cursed.”
I snort out a laugh, flopping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “God, right? At this point, if someone named ‘Melissa’ tries to hand me a coffee, I’m kicking her in the shin and running.”
Fallon laughs too, but there’s a tired edge to it, the sound brittle underneath. “From what little intel we had before we were, y’know... oh so nicely relocated —there’s more than one ‘M’ involved. That’s the part that keeps me up at night.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean the part where we were literally kidnapped? Dragged out like we were goddamn furniture? Yeah, Fallon. That was not a relocation. That was a hostile eviction from our own damn lives.”
She groans and throws a decorative pillow at me. “Okay, yes, fine. But if I don’t laugh about it, I’m gonna cry. Or throw hands. Possibly both.”
I catch the pillow and hug it to my chest, the humor bleeding out of me just a bit.
“I get it. I really do.” I glance toward the window, half-expecting to see the guys’ truck rolling back in, even though it’s way too early.
“God, I hope they find something during this recon run. I can’t keep holding my breath like this, waiting for the next bad thing to hit. ”
Fallon leans her head against mine. “Same. Just once, I want the other shoe to stay where the hell it is. Preferably in the closet. Untouched. Maybe in a locked box.”
“Buried six feet under,” I add, and we both crack up—because the truth is, if we’re not laughing, we’re just barely holding it together.
And damn, I’m tired of barely holding it together.
The sharp, mechanical click of the front door unlocking cuts through our conversation like a blade, too loud, too abrupt, too wrong.
Fallon and I both straighten on instinct, our laughter silenced in an instant—my heart stutters.
For a half-second, I let myself hope it’s just the guys, back from whatever suspiciously vague “recon” bullshit they’re off doing.
Unfamiliar heavy footsteps send a cold rush of dread slithers up my spine.
Fallon’s eyes meet mine, green flashing with something wild and dangerous. Her body tenses next to me, every inch of her going taut like a drawn bowstring. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until two unfamiliar men step into the living room.
Two unfamiliar men step into the living room first, both dressed in dark tactical gear and armed heavily, their faces impassive and professional.
My heart begins to pound, adrenaline rushing through me.
Fallon curses quietly, subtly sliding her hand between the couch cushions, clearly reaching for the hidden blade I know she always keeps there.
A third man follows them inside, his rifle raised and trained directly at us.
The barrel is dark, cold, and disturbingly steady.
My breath catches sharply, panic flickering briefly through me before anger overrides it.
How dare these bastards interrupt what little peace we’ve managed to scrape together?
“Tsk, tsk, ladies,” one of the men drawls, his voice mocking. “Hands where we can see them.”
My eyes flick briefly to the other two intruders, sizing them up quickly. All three wear identical tactical vests, loaded down with more weapons than seems even remotely necessary. I slowly drag my gaze back to the one holding the gun aimed at my face, meeting his eyes squarely.
His expression stays blank, perfectly controlled, but there’s something in his gaze—a slight flicker of discomfort—that I latch onto immediately. The longer I stare directly into his eyes, refusing to show fear, the more uneasy he becomes. Good.
“What do you want?” I ask coldly, my voice carefully neutral, even bored-sounding.
Fallon’s eyes flick briefly toward me, questioning.
I blink slowly, deliberately at her, silently signaling her to stay calm.
She gets it immediately, relaxing slightly against the couch cushions, though her fingers remain just above the hidden knife handle. Technically, they can see her hands.
With exaggerated slowness, I pick up my iced coffee from the table, taking a leisurely sip through the straw while staring down the three men invading our sanctuary. They exchange confused glances, clearly unsure how to react.
“Hello?” I raise an eyebrow impatiently, speaking slowly and sarcastically. “I assume you speak English, since you literally just talked to us. Can we help you with something? Because honestly, you’re interrupting girl time.”
Fallon makes a quiet, amused noise beside me, quickly covering it by coughing softly into her free hand. Her expression is perfectly relaxed, though I can feel the tension vibrating through her. My own heart continues racing, but I force myself to stay calm, knowing panic won’t help us.
The lead intruder finally scowls, clearly irritated by our nonchalant attitude. Good. Keeping him off-balance is precisely what we need right now.
“You two are awfully casual for women staring down guns,” he growls, stepping further into the room, clearly annoyed by our lack of visible fear.
I shrug calmly, deliberately taking another slow sip of coffee. “If you wanted us dead, we’d already be dead, right? So either get to the point or get out. You’re killing our vibe.”
Fallon snorts quietly, nodding in agreement. “Seriously. You’re terrible at dramatic entrances. Who sent you anyway? Because I’m betting you weren’t stupid enough to walk in here without knowing exactly who we belong to.”