Chapter Eleven #2
Odette, who sits carefully in a wheelchair provided by the hospital, gives Violet a small, tired smile.
Her bruised face is healing slowly, still marked with painful shades of purple and yellow, her vivid orange hair pulled loosely into a braid over one shoulder.
She looks fragile but determined, gripping her small bag tightly.
“Yes, Vi, I promise. I have everything.” She sighed softly, glancing toward her mother’s van, which was waiting patiently a few feet away. “I’m staying with Mom, and Henry already promised he’d come stay with us to keep me safe.”
She pauses thoughtfully, her eyes darkening slightly, distant for a brief moment.
Her voice softens, filled with quiet emotion as she continues, “You know, Henry’s pissed, not at me, but at himself.
He’s angry he let me talk him into going back to Fallon’s mom instead of staying to protect me.
He’s always treated us like his daughters, and right now he’s enraged.
I’ve never seen him lose his cool like this, Vi.
Honestly, I never want to see him cry again for as long as I live. ”
Violet kneels in front of Odette, her eyes glistening with emotion as she takes her friend’s hand, squeezing it firmly. “It wasn’t his fault, and definitely not yours. None of us could’ve predicted something like this. We’re all here for you, O. Anything you need.”
Odette nods slowly, blinking back tears. Violet leans forward carefully, hugging her friend gently but firmly, mindful of Odette’s healing injuries. “I just wish I remembered what happened.” She whispers.
Violet and I then carefully help Odette from the wheelchair into her mom’s waiting van, where her mother, Vaila—a pretty older beta woman with silver-streaked auburn hair pulled neatly into a loose bun—waits anxiously.
Vaila is clearly shaken, as she hovers uncertainty.
She holds her hands half-raised, unsure where or how to help without causing Odette pain, visibly fighting tears.
“Here we go, sweetheart,” Vaila whispers softly, eyes darting nervously to Violet and me with gratitude and sadness. “Let’s get you home safe.”
Violet gently closes the door after ensuring Odette is safely buckled in. She steps back, leaning slightly against my side for comfort. I wrap an arm securely around her waist, drawing strength from her warmth as we watch the van pull slowly away.
“She’ll be okay,” I whisper reassuringly into her hair, pressing a comforting kiss to the top of her head. “She’s got people who love her. Including you.”
Violet nods silently, blinking rapidly to hold back her tears. She exhales shakily, turning fully into my embrace, gripping my shirt as we watch until the van disappears down the road.
I gently squeeze Violet’s shoulder, sensing the tension still radiating off her as we stand quietly on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.
The warmth of the afternoon sun seems almost out of place given everything we’ve just gone through —Violet’s friend brutalized, the bitter aftertaste of helplessness still lingering heavily in the air.
She’s quiet beside me, eyes distant, arms crossed tightly as if she could physically hold her emotions in. I hate seeing her this way—so lost, so drained from pain I can’t erase. But maybe I can give her something else, a distraction—purpose.
Leaning down, I brush my lips softly against the shell of her ear, my voice low and conspiratorial. “I think I know exactly what might take your mind off things.”
She blinks up at me slowly, eyes shadowed but curious. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
I let a slight smirk curve my lips, making sure my voice holds enough dark promise to catch her attention. “Helping us destroy an auction house.”
She snorts softly, but the spark of interest immediately lights up her eyes. Something fierce and determined replaces the vulnerability, her posture straightening as her confidence returns. A dangerous smile spreads slowly across her face, transforming her from wounded to warrior.
“You’re damn right,” she says firmly, voice stronger now, eyes glittering with renewed fire. “I definitely feel like fucking someone’s day up.”
I chuckle darkly, pride swelling in my chest as I wrap an arm securely around her waist, guiding her toward our truck. “That’s my girl. Let’s go ruin some lives.”
Fox
June 6th
12:12 P.M
The library—the so-called war room—is charged with intensity, the air humming with quiet tension as we finalize our plans.
Maps and detailed surveillance photos spread across the heavy oak table, pinned down by mugs of coffee and empty takeout containers.
Fallon’s meticulous notes are scattered amongst them, scribbled in purple ink with annotations so precise it’s almost terrifying.
Violet sits beside me, legs tucked underneath her on the oversized armchair, her purple curls twisted into a messy bun.
She’s quiet but focused, blue eyes sharp as she traces a fingertip over the layout of the auction house.
I gently rub my thumb along the back of her neck, a silent reassurance I know she appreciates.
Across from us, Fallon and Kingston have their heads bent together, quietly debating entry points and exit routes.
Fallon is fierce, passionate, radiating controlled fury that mirrors the mood of the room.
Kingston is calm as always, but there’s a cold edge of barely-restrained violence beneath his careful composure.
“We’ve confirmed guard shifts,” Jex announces from beside me, tapping a printout listing names and times. His voice is steady, authoritative. “The place is heavily guarded, but their rotations leave a fifteen-minute gap between shifts at 1:45 AM. That’s our best opportunity to get in undetected.”
Dare leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, expression calculating.
“And this new ‘M’ person is running the auction. We have actual information this time. Marcus Whitlock,” he says, voice dripping with disdain.
“He’s cautious. Careful. Has no known vulnerabilities other than his arrogance.
He’ll be surrounded by guards until the bidding begins.
Then he’ll want to be front and center.”
“Meaning he’ll be exposed,” Romano points out, pushing up his glasses with a smirk. “Perfect time to take him out.”
“Exactly,” Jace agrees, studying a photograph of Marcus—sharp-eyed, smug, in a tailored suit. “But we have to be careful. He’s well-connected, and people notice when men like him vanish.”
Violet leans forward slightly, eyes narrowed with determination. “Then we don’t vanish him—yet. First, we dismantle his operation, free the omegas, and expose him. Make it impossible for him to hide.”
I glance at her, warmth swelling in my chest at the fierce confidence radiating from my omega.
“Agreed,” I say firmly, scanning the faces around the room.
“We strike fast, hard, and coordinated. Fallon and Violet can move in to handle the omegas—calming them and getting them out safely. Voss will go with them. Kingston, Dare, Jex, and I will infiltrate security, neutralize guards quietly, and secure the exits.”
“Romano will run tech, shutting down surveillance and keeping comms open,” Kingston adds, nodding in approval. “Jace will be our eyes outside, intercepting reinforcements and handling any surprises.”
We all exchange glances, a quiet surge of determination binding us together. Violet squeezes my hand softly, her expression fierce, unwavering.
“Marcus won’t know what hit him,” she whispers, the quiet intensity of her voice sharpening every word.
No, he definitely won’t—not after tonight.
“Thank you for including us even though we both know your alphas are probably pissed we will be in the middle of the danger.” Violet gives us a half smile.
I look at her and chuckle. “And if we asked you to stay here?”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. Fallon snorts, “We’d just go anyway.”
“I thought so.”
Dare
June 8th
12:42 P.M
The sun’s warm, low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the backyard as a gentle breeze moves through the trees.
It’s one of those rare quiet days—the kind we never used to get before her.
Even though we know we are about to be knee deep in it.
While we are getting confirmation on action, we have this rare moment to ourselves, and I’ll be dammed if I wasn’t going to take it.
Violet’s sitting a few feet away on a weathered stool, perched in front of a tall canvas propped up on an easel.
She’s wearing a loose black tank top and shorts smudged with flecks of purple and blue paint, a pair of sunglasses pushed up into her wild curls.
Her bare feet tap absently against the patio pavers as she works, brush moving with sure, easy strokes.
She’s in her element, completely focused—but I know she’s listening. She always is.
I’m stretched out on the outdoor sofa, shirt off, one arm slung behind my head, a glass of water sweating on the table beside me. Watching her paint is one of my favorite things. She doesn’t even realize how peaceful she makes the world feel.
“You ever been to the coast?” I ask, letting my voice drift lazily through the air.
She hums. “Only once, but it was gray and rainy. I kinda liked it.”
“My mom’s place is about twenty minutes from the beach. Warm most of the year. Smells like jasmine and saltwater. You’d probably love it.”
Violet glances back over her shoulder, giving me a soft smile before returning to her canvas. “You close with your family?”
“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised by how easily the answer comes.
“At least, now I am. I grew up with two younger sisters, and my mom—she’s the glue.
Strong as hell, kind of loud, and she absolutely loses her mind over anything romantic.
When I told her about you…” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Let’s just say she cried and threatened to show up uninvited in the same phone call. ”
That earns a genuine laugh from Violet, bright and beautiful, and it pulls something loose in my chest.
“She’s just happy I found you,” I add, quieter now. “She worried I’d keep pushing people away. That I’d forget how to want a pack outside of the job.”
Violet pauses mid-stroke, her body still for a moment before she sets her brush down carefully and turns fully toward me.
“You didn’t forget,” she says, meeting my gaze. “You just hadn’t found the right reason to want it yet.”
I blink at her, swallowing the sudden tightness in my throat. “Maybe. Or maybe I just hadn’t found you.”
She stands slowly, walking over to me with paint still smudged on her fingertips, and settles herself on the edge of the sofa beside me. Her hand rests gently on my chest, right over my heart, and I cover it with mine.
“I want to meet her,” she says softly. “Your mom.”
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. “She’s going to love you.”
Violet grins, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my cheek before whispering, “Tell me more, Dare. Tell me everything.”
So I do.
And for the first time in years, I feel like every word matters.
The sun has shifted lower in the sky, casting long amber shadows across the backyard.
Violet returned to her stool after curling up beside me, her brush lazily dancing over the canvas, but we’re not really talking anymore.
It’s the kind of silence that feels lived in—like something shared, not empty.
I’m still on the outdoor sofa, head tilted back, eyes half-closed, just listening. To the rustle of trees. To the soft sound of bristles against canvas. To her breathing. Every detail grounds me more than I think she realizes.
After a few minutes, I hear her set the brush down gently in a jar of murky water. Then footsteps—bare and careful—cross the stone path. She doesn’t say anything right away; she just eases down into the space beside me, legs tucked under her, one hand finding mine where it rests on my knee.
I turn toward her, and there she is—blue eyes steady, cheeks kissed with the faintest blush of sun, lips parted like she’s working up to something.
And then, in the softest voice I’ve ever heard from her, she says, “I love you.”
I blink, stunned for a heartbeat. And she smiles—this small, radiant thing that shatters me all over again.
“I do,” she repeats, stronger this time. “I love you, Dare. You’re… everything I didn’t even know I needed. Strong without being loud. Protective without ever making me feel caged. You always make space for me to just be.”
My throat tightens. I don’t dare interrupt her.