Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Fallon
The screen in front of me is a blur of neon explosions and pixelated gore. I’m hammering the buttons on the controller with a rhythm that’s nearly instinctual, my thumbs flying over the plastic.
On the TV, my character—a heavily armored space marine—slides behind cover, reloads a plasma rifle, and pops up to nail a sniper across the map.
Headshot.
“Yes!” I shout, pumping a fist in the air, even though there’s no one here to see my victory but the potted fern in the corner of the room.
The living area of our warehouse apartment is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the massive flat-screen and the floor lamp in the corner. The high ceilings absorb the sound of the game, making the gunfire sound distant and hollow.
I’ve been at this for an hour, working off the residual energy from the dinner rush. Usually, by this time, I’d be out at a bar, or maybe back at someone’s place, but tonight, the couch and a virtual warzone were calling my name.
The heavy steel door to the apartment clicks open. I don’t pause the game—never pause—but I glance over my shoulder.
Knox steps in, looking like he’s just run a mental marathon. He’s shed his chef’s whites for a pair of dark sweatpants and a plain gray T-shirt. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, his posture rigid.
He stops in the entryway, frowning at the back of my head. “You’re home.”
“I am,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the screen as a grenade arcs toward my position. I vault over the barrier just in time.
“I didn’t expect you back before midnight.” He walks further into the room, the scent of rosemary and black pepper trailing him. “Usually, you’re out scouring the town for companionship until the wee hours.”
“Eli offered to handle the close,” I explain, tapping a button to sprint toward the extraction point.
Knox arches a brow, moving to the kitchen island to pour a glass of water. “Eli? Volunteering to scrub the floors and stack the chairs? That doesn’t sound like him. He usually hates closing.”
“Maybe he’s in a mood. Or maybe he’s just being a saint.” I shrug, dodging enemy fire. “I wasn’t going to argue. I got out of there while the getting was good.”
Knox takes a long sip of his water, leaning against the counter and watching me play. “So, you’re just going to sit here? On a Tuesday night? No date? No lucky lady from the motel?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You sound so judgmental. Is that the professional chef in you, critiquing my performance?”
“I am merely stating facts,” Knox says, his voice dry. “You have a reputation to maintain, Fallon. If people start seeing you home alone on weeknights, they might think you’ve lost your touch.”
“My touch is intact, thank you very much. I’m just…
taking a breather.” I pause the game finally, setting the controller on my lap and twisting around to look at him.
“Besides, we should go out soon. The three of us. It’s been a while since we hit a bar together.
Maybe we can find a nice Omega, bring her home.
Remind ourselves why we’re the top pack in town. ”
Knox sets his glass down with a clink. The easy atmosphere in the room evaporates instantly. His face shuts down, that unreadable mask slipping into place.
“I’m not interested,” he says flatly.
“Come on, Knox. Don’t be like that.” I swing my legs off the couch, planting my feet on the rug. “It’s been months. We work, we sleep, we repeat. We used to have fun. Remember Portland?”
Knox turns away, staring at the dark window. “Portland was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, and we were legends. Three Alphas, one objective. It was electric.” I stand up, walking over to the island. “Why are you so against it?”
“Do you have a problem satisfying women on your own?” He grunts.
“Why don’t you join in and see? Then you’ll understand why I keep the fridge stocked with Gatorade. C’mon. We no longer have to worry about the restaurant going under. We’re doing well. We should totally go out and celebrate. Show us you still know how to get down.”
I say it with a grin, teasing, trying to get a rise out of him. It usually works.
Knox turns back to me, his eyes cold. “I can satisfy a woman just fine, Fallon. You know that. I have no desire to prove anything to you or anyone else.”
“Then what is it?” I grab an apple from the fruit bowl, tossing it in the air. “Don’t you miss it?”
“It’s not just sex, and you know it,” Knox says, his voice dropping an octave. “This is a small town, Fallon. Things get complicated very fast here when we start bedding the locals. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone talks.”
“Who cares about talk?” I take a bite of the apple, the crunch loud in the quiet room. “Let them talk.”
“I care about the restaurant.” Knox steps closer, his intensity radiating off him. “I care about this pack. We have a rule for a reason. A very good reason.”
The rule. Just the mention of it makes the air feel heavy.
Years ago, in Portland, when we were younger, stupider, and fueled by ego and adrenaline, we thought we were invincible. We thought we could share everything.
And we did. We shared Omegas like they were appetizers, passing them around, enjoying the thrill of the group dynamic.
Until it wasn’t thrilling anymore.
First, there was Angela. She was sweet, soft-spoken, and she fell hard. The problem was, she didn’t fall for all of us. She fell for Eli.
She looked at him like he hung the moon, and while she tolerated us to be near him, the imbalance created a friction we hadn’t expected.
Eli got attached. Knox got possessive of the pack’s equilibrium. And I… I just felt like a third wheel in my own dynamic. It ended in tears, a shouting match in the kitchen, and Angela leaving with a broken heart.
Then came Mary. She was the polar opposite—witty, calculating, and manipulative. She knew exactly how to play us.
She pitted us against each other, whispering in Knox’s ear that I was mocking him, telling me that Eli was planning to leave. She nearly destroyed the friendship that built this business.
We didn’t speak for two weeks. If we hadn’t realized what she was doing before we signed the lease for this place, Blade & Butter wouldn’t exist.
“We made a vow,” Knox says, his eyes boring into mine. “Never let an Omega come between the pack. Jamais. No emotional connections. No permanent relationships. We’re friends first, business partners second, and Alphas third. That is the order of operations.”
“I know the rule, Knox. I helped write it.” I finish the apple, tossing the core into the trash. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be monks. It’s just sex. Physical release. It doesn’t have to get complicated. We keep it casual. We keep it distant. No sleepovers, no breakfast, no promises.”
“Sex is rarely just sex for us,” Knox argues, though his tone loses a fraction of its edge.
He looks tired. “We are a pack. When we come together, it’s intense.
It consumes people. If we start dragging locals into that, we risk the balance of this town.
We risk the reputation of the restaurant.
I will not jeopardize what we’ve built here for a few hours of pleasure. ”
“I think you’re overthinking it.” I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. “But fine. Have it your way. You go focus on your chess set and your cookbooks. I’ll just sit here and wither away.”
“Ne sois pas têtu. It’s better that way.”
“You know I don’t understand when you speak French.” I can’t hide the frustration in my voice.
“Sorry. All I’m saying is that I’d rather focus on the restaurant than repairing a broken friendship,” Knox says quietly.
The words sting, mostly because they’re true. We walked a fine line back then. We’re walking a fine line now.
I sigh, the fight draining out of me. “You’re no fun anymore, you know that?”
“I’m plenty of fun,” Knox retorts, a small smirk finally breaking through his stoic facade. “I just channel my fun into creating a Michelin-star worthy menu instead of orgasms.”
“Your loss.” I walk back to the couch and pick up the controller. “Are you going to join me, or are you going to stand there and brood about logistics all night?”
Knox looks at the TV screen, then at the empty seat next to me. He rolls his eyes, but he walks over.
“Move over. You’re hogging the couch.”
I scoot over, making room for him. We sit shoulder to shoulder, the tension from the argument dissipating into the comfortable silence that comes from years of brotherhood. I hand him the second controller.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” Knox warns, powering it on.
“In your dreams, old man. I’m already level twenty.”
“I don’t care about your level. I have superior strategy.”
“Strategy doesn’t help when I have a rocket launcher.”
We load into the game, the electronic music filling the room. We fall into the rhythm easily, calling out targets, covering each other, reviving each other when we go down.
“Merde. Left flank,” Knox barks, his fingers moving with lightning precision.
“I got him. Reload, I’m covering.”
“Watch out for the sniper on the ridge.”
“Got him.”
We play for an hour, two. The talk of women and rules fades away, replaced by the binary world of the game.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Knox actually smile—a genuine, relaxed smile—when he pulls off a particularly tricky maneuver.
This is good, too. This is enough. For now, anyway. But as I watch the digital bodies pile up on the screen, a small part of me wonders if he’s right.
If the danger is real. Or if we’re just hiding behind our fears because we’re terrified of what happens when we finally find something we don’t want to share with anyone else.
I push the thought away and focus on the game.