Chapter 11 It Ends Now
It Ends Now
Jethro
Morning light creeps past the edges of the blackout curtains, turning the bedroom a dim gray. I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling. The room is quiet except for the steady, synchronized breathing of my pack.
Sandra curls against my left side. Her dark hair spills across my chest, smelling of her sweet jasmine and sage; there’s a hint of marshmallow as well now that she’s bonded with us.
I look down. The heavy comforter is pushed down to her waist, showing the gentle curve of her stomach. Our baby is growing there.
I rest my hand over the bump, feeling the heat of her skin. A heavy, absolute protectiveness tightens my chest.
Yesterday nearly wrecked her. The memory of her shaking in that boutique back room, her eyes wide with panic, is burned into my brain. Nero found her. The miles between her old life and Willowside didn’t matter. My locked doors and perimeter checks didn’t matter. The mafia tracked her down anyway.
She begged us to reaffirm the bond. She needed the physical weight of us to chase the panic away. We gave it to her, burying her in our warmth and touch until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.
But that’s just a temporary fix.
Sergio’s mafia operates on a ledger. Her father racked up debt, and the syndicate sees Sandra as the collateral.
They’re going to keep hunting. They’ll keep sending guys like Nero to idle outside her safe spaces, smoking cigarettes and waiting for her to slip up.
She’ll spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.
She’ll teach our kid to flinch at the sound of a heavy diesel engine.
I’m not letting that happen.
I won’t let my Omega live in a gilded cage, jumping at shadows.
A cold resolve settles over my mind, pushing down the protective instincts running in overdrive. I know what I need to do to fix this. I have to sever the tie. I need to clear the ledger once and for all.
I carefully slide out from under Sandra, slipping a thick pillow in my place to keep her warm. The shift in the mattress is slight, but it’s enough.
Ross wakes up instantly. His blue eyes snap open, clear and alert in the dim light. I meet his gaze and give a short nod toward the door. He gets it. He taps Caleb’s arm. Caleb stirs, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he puts on his dark frames.
Within thirty seconds, the two men are moving with practiced efficiency. Caleb carefully untangles himself from Oli, pulling the comforter up over the golden-haired Omega’s shoulders so he stays deeply asleep beside Sandra.
We grab our clothes off the floor and head out into the hallway. The hardwood is freezing against my bare feet. We get dressed in the dim light of the corridor. I pull on dark denim jeans and a heavy black henley, threading my belt through the loops.
I lead them downstairs into the kitchen. The house is dead quiet. I bypass the coffee maker—we don’t have time to wait for a pot to brew. I lean against the cold marble island and look at the guys.
“I’m ending it today.” I keep my voice low so it doesn’t carry upstairs.
“I caught the plates off that black SUV yesterday. I sent the numbers to an old buddy who’s a PI with old connections to the police force, and he just texted me back.
Sergio’s crew is operating out of a commercial shipping depot on the outskirts of Pueblo. ”
Ross crosses his arms over his chest. He leans against the fridge, his posture rigid. “Just tell us what we need to do. I’ll pull the rifles from the safe.”
“No violence.” I shake my head. “Not yet. Violence just gives Sergio an excuse to escalate. If we kill Nero, they send ten more guys to retaliate. It turns into a war, and Sandra is still the target. We cut the root instead.”
Caleb pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You want to buy her debt.”
“I want to wipe it out.” I meet his gaze. “Her father owes Sergio twenty thousand. They see her as unpaid merchandise. We clear the debt in full, we remove their claim entirely.”
Caleb frowns, folding his arms. “Twenty grand is a lot to pull in liquid cash on short notice without triggering a bank flag.”
“The Lucky Road.”
The two of them stare at me.
“We keep an emergency surplus sitting in the floor safe in the office.” I look between them. “Clean cash. We can cover the twenty thousand without touching our personal accounts or our investments. It won’t hurt the business.”
Ross pushes off the fridge and steps right into my space. “Then we use it. We built that bar together, and we’re building this family together. She belongs to all of us. That money is for the pack.”
“Exactly.” Caleb adjusts his glasses, his expression resolute. “We handle the debt together.”
I look at the two of them. The absolute loyalty radiating from their expressions fills my chest. I reach out and grip Ross’s shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze.
“Alright.” I drop my hand. “I’ll head to the bar, grab the cash from the safe, and take it straight to Sergio’s hideout.”
Ross plants his feet, meeting my gaze head-on. “We’re going with you.”
“No.” I set my jaw, leaving no room for argument. “You’re staying here. Neither of you has military combat experience. I do. I spent years doing tactical entries and threat assessments. If I walk into a trap and don’t come back, Sandra and Oli need you. I am not leaving them defenseless.”
Ross opens his mouth to argue, but the hard truth of my words shuts him down. He nods slowly, his jaw tight. He steps forward, gripping my forearm in a firm hold. Caleb does the same on my other side. We stand there for a second in the quiet kitchen, cementing our resolve.
“Come back home, Jet.” Ross drops his hand.
“I will.”
Ross looks toward the stove, already falling into his role. “Oli is still asleep with her. When they wake up, I’ll make a big breakfast.”
Caleb pushes off the marble counter, nodding in agreement. “We’ll keep them distracted. She can’t know you went to Pueblo. At least not until you get back.”
“Exactly. If she knows I’m walking into a mafia stronghold, she’ll panic. She’ll try to stop me or try to negotiate herself.” I look between Caleb and Ross. “Give me five hours.”
I grab my jacket from the mudroom hook, shrugging it on.
I check the steel lockbox under the bench, pulling out my sidearm.
I check the chamber, making sure a round is loaded, and holster it at the small of my back.
I’m not looking for a shootout, but I’m not walking into Sergio’s territory unarmed, either.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, looking up into the shadows. My chest aches. I make a silent promise to the woman sleeping in my bed.
When I get back, the shadows will be gone forever.
The Lucky Road is dead quiet.
I lock the heavy deadbolt behind me, shutting out the rising sun.
The familiar smells of the bar wash over me—lemon wood polish, aged oak, and the sharp, distinct aroma of my homemade bitters.
Jars of smoked paprika infusions and clove extracts line the shelves behind the counter.
I spent countless hours perfecting those recipes, turning mixology into an art form.
I walk past the long mahogany bar and the neatly stacked stools.
I remember the day we bought this place.
It was a complete disaster. We spent a year and a half doing the electrical work, fixing the ancient plumbing, and patching a roof that leaked like a sieve.
We built this business with our bare hands, turning it into the financial safety net that allows us to handle mornings like this without breaking a sweat.
I step into my back office and lock that door, too. I push my heavy oak desk to the side, exposing the scuffed floorboards beneath it. I pull back a hidden panel and punch the code into the digital keypad of the floor safe.
The heavy steel locking mechanism clicks open.
I pull the heavy door up. Inside, arranged in neat, banded stacks, sits the bar’s emergency cash. I pull out twenty thousand dollars, counting the hundred-dollar bills with practiced efficiency. Two hundred bills. It’s barely an inch thick.
I grab a manila bank envelope from the desk, slide the two banded stacks inside, and fold the metal clasp shut.
I slip the envelope into the deep inner pocket of my jacket, the weight of twenty thousand dollars pressing solid against my chest. It isn’t a life-ruining sum.
We still have our pack’s investments and savings intact.
But this cash is more than enough to buy an impenetrable wall around our Omega.
I push the desk back into place, leave the office, and step out into the freezing alleyway. I climb into my truck and head for the highway.
The drive takes about an hour. I treat the route like a tactical operation, checking the mirrors and keeping a vigilant eye on the traffic around me. As the snowy plains of southern Colorado give way to the sprawling industrial sectors of Pueblo, my mindset shifts.
I push down the softer, domestic side of myself.
I slip back into the cold, calculated headspace from my military deployments.
Sergio’s operations run out of a legitimate-looking commercial shipping depot.
Massive corrugated steel walls stretch for an entire block, surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire and a fleet of idling semi-trucks.
I don’t bother parking discreetly. I drive my heavy truck right up to the main security gate and put it in park in front of the barricade. I roll my window down, letting the freezing morning air rush into the cab.
Two men step out of the guard shack and approach the driver’s side. They wear coats, their hands resting lazily near their waistbands.
I don’t try to look friendly or approachable. I rest my arm on the open window frame and stare the taller guard down.
The guard’s lazy bravado drops the second he meets my eyes. He stops a few feet from the door, recognizing a genuine threat when he sees one.