33. Blake’s Escalation To Acquire The Present #4
"No," Cole agrees, meeting my eyes finally. "But you're facing the same kind of monster. And we'll be damned if we lose someone else to male pride and possessive rage."
Chief Reyes clears her throat.
"Which brings us to immediate concerns. Mr. Harrison's behavior today, combined with this surveillance evidence, gives us grounds for enhanced protective measures.
But I need complete honesty from all of you.
No cowboy justice, no taking matters into your own hands.
We do this legally, or we risk giving him ammunition. "
"Legally didn't save Celeste," Mavi points out, an edge to his voice.
"No," the chief agrees. "But that was a different department, different time.
I run things differently." She stands, authority radiating from every line of her body.
"Patrol units will do hourly passes starting tonight.
Any suspicious activity, you call immediately.
Don't confront, don't engage. Let us build the case. "
"And if he escalates before you can build it?" Cole asks what we're all thinking.
Chief Reyes meets his gaze steadily.
"Then we'll be ready. I've got officers trained in domestic violence response, omega protection protocols, pack dynamics. This isn't some backwoods department that looks the other way."
As if to punctuate her words, another set of headlights appears in the distance. This time they slow as they approach our gate, and everyone tenses. The car idles for a long moment—ten seconds, twenty—before continuing on.
"Could be nothing," the deputy offers. "Could be rubbernecking."
"Or it could be reconnaissance," Mavi counters, already typing something into his laptop.
Chief Reyes nods.
"Which is why we start protocols tonight. Deputy Martinez will do the first perimeter check, establish baseline normal for your property. Tomorrow, we'll have a full security assessment."
She turns to me, expression softening slightly.
"Ms. James, I know this is overwhelming. But you're not alone in this. Not anymore."
The echo of what my men keep telling me, now backed by a badge and the weight of law. But all I can think about is Celeste—another omega who thought she'd found safety, who had these same men promising protection, who died anyway.
Outside, that darkness feels alive with threat, Blake's presence poisoning even the sanctuary of home. Luna babbles something that sounds almost like "mama," and my heart cracks a little more.
Because now I understand the weight these men carry, the ghost that haunts their every protective instinct. And I understand why Blake's threats hit them so hard.
They've failed before.
And the cost was everything.
Wendolyn shifts her weight, the movement breaking the suffocating silence that followed the revelation about Celeste. She clutches a leather portfolio to her chest like armor, knuckles white against the dark material.
"That's actually why I'm here," she says, voice steadier than her hands. "Well, part of why. I brought someone who can help."
She glances at Chief Reyes, who nods permission, then continues.
"After what happened at the market today, I made some calls. Dr. Sylvie agreed to share her documentation with law enforcement. She's... she's been keeping very detailed records."
"Dr. Sylvie?" I frown, surprised she’d be here this late. "Iris, the Omega Health Specialist?"
"And also a Clinical Psychologist," Wendolyn adds gently. "Trauma specialist, and surprisingly, she's the one who treated you that first night in the hospital after you were brought in from the rescue."
The memory surfaces hazily—those first hours after Cole pulled me from the burning house, everything smoke-blurred and shock-cold. A woman with gentle hands and careful questions, documenting bruises I'd forgotten existed, recording symptoms of long-term abuse I hadn't even recognized as abnormal.
"She's been documenting everything," Wendolyn continues, opening the portfolio with reverent care. "Your physical condition upon arrival. Behavioral markers of sustained abuse. Clinical observations that paint a very clear picture of what Blake Harrison put you through."
Chief Reyes leans forward, professional interest sharpening her features.
"May I?"
Wendolyn hands over the portfolio, and I watch the chief's expression darken as she flips through pages.
Whatever Dr. Sylvie wrote, it's clearly damning.
River moves closer to read over her shoulder, and his sharp intake of breath makes my stomach clench.
"Malnutrition," Chief Reyes reads quietly. "Chronic sleep deprivation. Hypervigilance consistent with ongoing threat assessment. Scarring on wrists consistent with restraint marks." She looks up at me. "This is from your first night here?"
I nod, unable to find words. Austin pulls Luna closer, like he can protect her from the words hanging in the air. She babbles contentedly, oblivious to the way her fathers have gone still as stones.
"There's more," Wendolyn says, pulling out a second folder. "Dr. Sylvie also documented the progression of your recovery. Weight gain, improved sleep patterns, decreased startle response. Clinical proof that removing you from Blake's influence had immediate positive effects."
"This is evidence of systematic abuse," Chief Reyes states flatly. "Combined with the financial records Mr. Cross uncovered and today's incident, we're building a strong case for criminal prosecution."
"Building," Cole repeats, the word bitter in his mouth. "While he's out there watching. Planning."
"Which is why we implement protective protocols immediately." The chief's voice brooks no argument. "Deputy Martinez is already beginning the perimeter assessment. By tomorrow morning, we'll have a complete security evaluation."
She pulls out her own notebook, shifting into tactical mode. "First, we establish safe zones within the property. Primary residence, barn, any outbuildings you use regularly. Motion sensors at all entry points, panic buttons in each zone."
"I've already ordered the hardware," Mavi interjects. "Military grade, with redundant systems."
"Good. Second, we vary all routines effective immediately. No predictable patterns, no regular schedules that can be tracked. Third, check-in protocols. You miss a scheduled contact, we respond like it's an emergency."
"Seems excessive," River murmurs, though his tone suggests he knows it's not.
"Celeste thought so too," Chief Reyes responds quietly. "Said we were overreacting, that her ex had moved on. Three weeks later, she was dead."
The comparison lands like a punch. Luna fusses, picking up on the spike in tension, and Austin stands to walk her around the room. His movement breaks the frozen moment, lets us all breathe again.
"There's something else," Wendolyn says, producing a business card from her pocket. "Dr. Sylvie wants to offer ongoing documentation. Regular sessions to establish a clear record of recovery, any incidents of harassment, psychological impact of Blake's actions. Pro bono."
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Why would she?—"
"Because she's seen this before." Wendolyn's eyes are too knowing. "Different faces, same story. And because Sweetwater Falls takes care of its own."
Through the window, Deputy Martinez's flashlight sweeps across the yard.
He's methodical, checking fence lines and shadowed corners, establishing what normal looks like so any deviation will stand out.
It should feel comforting, but instead it emphasizes how much our lives have changed in a single day.
"I need honesty from all of you," Chief Reyes says, closing the portfolio of evidence. "Any previous incidents you haven't reported. Any threats, no matter how minor they seemed. We need everything."
The men exchange glances, and I see the weight of unspoken experiences. How many small violations have they absorbed, thinking they were protecting me from worry?
"He called," Cole admits quietly. "Three times last week. Blocked number, but it was him. Asked about the ranch, made comments about pack structure."
"Someone left a dead rabbit on the fence post," River adds. "Tuesday morning. Could have been coyotes, but..."
"But it was positioned too deliberately," Mavi finishes. "Displayed, not dropped."
Each revelation feels like another stone added to the weight in my chest. All these threats I didn't know about, dangers they've been quietly handling while I played house and pretended we were safe.
"You should have told me," I whisper.
"We handled it," Cole says, but there's apology in his tone.
"Like you handled Celeste's situation?" The words escape harsh and accusing, and I immediately want to take them back. But they hang in the air like smoke, impossible to reclaim.
Cole flinches like I've slapped him. River's hands clench into fists. Even Austin stops his pacing, Luna whimpering at the sudden stillness. The comparison is cruel but accurate—they're making the same mistakes, thinking protection means keeping me in the dark.
"That's not fair," Austin says quietly, but there's no heat in it. Just hurt.
"Isn't it?" I stand, needing movement, needing distance from the suffocating weight of their good intentions. "You're doing exactly what you did before. Deciding what I need to know, when I need to know it. How did that work out?"
"Willa—" River starts, but I'm not done.
"I'm not a child. I'm not fragile. I survived years with Blake and his calculative pack, survived that fire, survived starting over with nothing." My voice cracks, betraying the strength I'm trying to project. "I deserve to know when I'm being threatened. I deserve to be part of protecting myself."
Heavy silence follows my outburst. Luna's soft whimpers are the only sound until Chief Reyes clears her throat.
"She's right," the chief says simply. "Protective isolation often enables predators. Information sharing is crucial for safety."