Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Twelve
Dare
“You’re an incredible Alpha,” she continues, fingers tightening slightly around mine.
“Not because you’re dominant or dangerous or can tear through an enemy like paper—though, yeah, that’s super hot—but because you care so quietly.
So deeply. You’re the one I feel safest with when I’m not sure what I feel at all. ”
She shifts closer, pressing her forehead against my chest. “I couldn’t have dreamed a better pack, and you’re a big part of why it feels like home. You don’t have to be anything more or less than exactly who you are, Dare. You’re enough. You always have been.”
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until my arms are around her, pulling her into my lap, burying my face in her curls to hide the way my voice breaks when I whisper, “You wreck me, Vi. In the best way.”
She leans back just enough to look up at me, tears in her eyes now, but smiling. “Good.”
And just like that, with her wrapped around me and the sun sinking low behind us, I know—this is the moment I’ll remember when everything else goes quiet. This is the one that matters.
Because she sees me.
And still, she stayed.
She’s still in my lap, warm and real and wrapped in sunlight and trust, and I don’t want to let her go.
Violet’s fingers trail down my jaw, tracing the edge of my jaw like she’s memorizing me with touch. “You’re blushing,” she murmurs, clearly amused.
“Yeah, well,” I say, voice low as I rest my forehead against hers, “you just hit me with a full-blown confession like I’m not madly in love with you already.”
She grins, eyes sparkling, and leans in to kiss me. It starts slow—just the gentle press of lips, her hands cradling my face like I’m something fragile. Like I’m something precious. I kiss her back with the same reverence, my fingers running up the curve of her spine to hold her steady against me.
Her body shifts, instinctive and fluid, until she’s straddling my lap, arms wrapped around my neck.
The kiss deepens—still unhurried, but no less consuming.
Her scent floods my senses—sweet lemon frosting, sunshine, and a hint of paint—and it settles something deep in my chest I didn’t realize was still restless.
My hands move down, gripping the hem of her oversized tee. “Can I?” I murmur against her lips.
Violet nods, her breath catching, pupils blown wide. “Yeah, Alpha.”
I lift her shirt slowly, kissing every inch of skin as I reveal it—her ribs, her stomach, the swell of her hips. She shivers under my touch, but doesn’t hesitate. Her hands are already working on my shirt, dragging it over my head, her palms smoothing over my chest like she’s claiming it.
This isn’t rushed. It’s not about the hunger—though it’s there, coiled low and heavy—it’s about showing up. Letting her feel, through every touch, kiss, and whispered word, how deeply I see her. How much I want her.
We shift together, finding rhythm in the quiet. Her thighs cradle my hips, and I hold her like she might disappear if I don’t. But she doesn’t. She’s here. Moaning softly into my mouth, tugging my hair, guiding my hands where she wants them.
Our breaths grow heavier, movements bolder. But through it all, she’s watching me, and I’m watching her—like we’re trying to memorize this, because somehow, it still feels like a dream neither of us can believe is real.
And when she gasps my name, her forehead pressed to mine, her hands clutching my shoulders like I’m the only solid thing in the world—that’s when I know.
And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to her she made the right choice.
Jex
June 10 th
1:45 A.M
The auction house stands like a monolith in the dark—silent, squat, and bloated with secrets. My pulse thrums, low and steady, as Kingston gives the signal to move. One sharp nod. That’s all we need.
Fox adjusts his grip on his weapon beside me, calm and dangerous as always. I match his pace as we close in on the east side entrance, my own gun cradled in my hands, my blade tucked close and humming with purpose.
Romano’s voice crackles through our earpieces. “Cameras down. You’ve got a fifteen-minute blind spot starting now.”
We glide forward like shadows with teeth, Fox slipping ahead to disable the side door lock in seconds. It clicks open, and the black swallows us whole. No one speaks. Our breath is steady. Footfalls light. Inside, the place smells like money and rot.
Romano guides us through the twisted halls with surgical precision. Voss peels off to link with Violet and Fallon—his presence is quiet, cold, and terrifying. He’ll burn this building down if either of them gets touched. No question. They vanish into a side corridor, heading for the holding cells.
Jace’s voice filters in quietly through the comms. “Perimeter clear. No movement. Still quiet.”
Kingston leads the charge, all sharp lines and barely leashed violence. We round a corner—and freeze. Two guards. Armed. Alert.
Kingston signals. Fox lunges, snapping one man’s neck in a clean, brutal twist. I handle the second—catch his arm mid-swing, twist until his shoulder gives with a muffled pop, then drag him into a chokehold. He slumps against me, limp and unconscious, in under ten seconds.
We pull the bodies into a supply closet. Fox locks the door with a soft click behind us.
Everything in me is dialed in—my senses razor-sharp, my blood thrumming hot. There’s a calm that comes with this kind of work, a lethal kind of peace. Each hallway we clear is methodical, fast, and silent. Just like training. Just like hundreds of ops before.
Except this time, Violet’s inside.
Her voice murmurs through the comms, steady but strained. “We’ve reached the omega room. A dozen inside—alive. We’re getting them out.”
The tightness in my chest eases, just a bit. She’s okay. For now.
We reach the auction floor doors, every muscle coiled and waiting. Kingston glances at us once, green eyes dark with wrath.
Marcus is behind that door.
“One… two… three.”
We breach.
Chaos explodes.
Alarms blare. Gunfire cracks through the vaulted space. Buyers scream and scatter. Bidders dive for cover as Marcus leaps off the podium, eyes wild.
“Marcus Whitlock!” Kingston’s voice booms above the noise, perfectly calm. “This ends tonight.” But Marcus is a cockroach. Instead of going down, he hides behind his guards—wave after wave of mercs in tactical gear swarm us.
No matter. We go to work.
Fox plows forward like a wrecking ball, fists flying. I move with him, knife gleaming, my strikes precise, silent, devastating. Blood sprays across polished marble. A body crumples beside me, and I don’t stop. Dare is a whirlwind behind me. We fight like one unit—trained, brutal, clean.
I don’t even register the ache in my knuckles anymore. Just Marcus. Then it’s done. Bodies everywhere. Breathing hard, I scan the room. No Marcus. “Fuck!” I bark, slamming a bloodied fist into the wall. “He slipped!”
Kingston’s voice cuts through the static. “Move. He’s still inside.”
We storm through the back halls—dark, tight, silent. Marcus isn’t getting out of this building. Not this time. I’d tear the whole damn place down with my bare hands if it meant getting Violet back.
I tap my comms. “Jace. Status?”
“Still inside. No visual. Stay sharp.”
We sweep deeper into the compound. Fox and I fan out around Kingston, every hallway a threat. My blade is already red, still warm from the last man who tried to slow me down.
Then—I hear it.
A muffled sound. A shout.
My heart claws its way into my throat.
Fox’s head jerks toward the sound. I raise my fist—signal to halt. We edge toward the intersection of three halls. There, in the middle, stands Marcus.
And he has Violet.
His arm is locked around her waist, a knife pressed tight against her throat. Her legs dangle, tiny compared to his hulking frame, blood smeared across her skin, her curls wild, mouth stained crimson.
My vision goes white-hot.
But then she grins. A slow, feral, wicked thing that slices right through my panic. She winks— winks —at me, bloodied and bruised like some vengeful goddess. “Don’t make a short joke,” she drawls with venomous sweetness. “Or I’m kicking you in the shin the second I get down.”
The laugh that rips out of me is half-mad, half relief. She’s not scared. She’s pissed. And she’s waiting for us to finish the job. I adjust my grip on the blade in my hand. Every breath, every heartbeat narrows to this moment.
Marcus has no idea he’s already dead.
Dare
June 10th
2:35 P.M
“Don’t worry,” she drawls, voice calm and almost amused despite the blade pressed to her neck, “None of the blood’s mine.”
Marcus yanks her upward slightly, clearly panicking, but he only manages to make himself look absurd as he tries unsuccessfully to hide his tall, bulky frame behind her petite body. Violet’s legs dangle a good foot off the ground, toes barely brushing the floor.
She narrows her eyes at us playfully, despite the knife. “If anyone makes a short joke, I’m kicking you right in the shins when this is done.”
Fox snorts quietly, shoulders shaking slightly in amused disbelief, while Jex’s eyes glitter dangerously, tension rippling through him as he assesses the situation. Kingston’s expression darkens with lethal fury.
Marcus shouts frantically, desperation cracking his voice. “Stay back! I’ll kill her, I swear!”
I step forward, the sight of Marcus clutching Violet against him sending a surge of cold fury pulsing through my veins.
My voice cuts through the tension, each word measured, icy with lethal promise.
“If you harm her, Marcus, your death won’t be quick or merciful.
Put the knife down now, and maybe we’ll let you live. ”
Violet huffs loudly, visibly annoyed, despite the blade pressed tightly to her throat. Her brilliant blue eyes roll dramatically, unimpressed as always. “Oh, please. This jackass could barely pick me up. If he’d just put me down, I’d handle him myself.”