Chapter 24 Pizza, Games, And Pack Chaos #2
"'Be Mine.'" Julian's voice is flat as a board. "How devastatingly original."
"Eat it or I will," Tank warns darkly.
Julian eats it, looking deeply inconvenienced by the requirement.
This is ridiculous. This is absurd. Three grown Alpha men arguing over heart-shaped candy and throwing conversation hearts at each other like children. And somehow, impossibly, it's exactly what I needed.
We cycle through several board games as the evening progresses.
Monopoly gets abandoned after Julian threatens to flip the board when he lands on Tank’s property for the third time.
Scrabble lasts longer, but devolves into an argument about whether "Yeet" is a real word. Uno nearly causes a genuine fistfight.
"This is supposed to be a non-competitive bonding night," Elias says, separating Tank and Julian after the third Draw Four card in a row. "Can we please act like adults?"
"He cheated," Tank accuses.
"Prove it," Julian challenges.
"I will literally search your sleeves right now—"
"Okay!" I interrupt before someone throws a punch. "New game. Truth or dare. No physical contact required."
The three of them exchange glances—suspicious, considering, eventually agreeable. We settle into a loose circle on the living room floor, pizza boxes pushed aside, candy scattered between us. Sasha has claimed the couch as his throne and watches us with the judgment only a dog can achieve.
The first few rounds are tame. Elias dares Tank to do an impression of Julian's scowl, which is surprisingly accurate and makes Julian look like he's considering murder.
Tank makes Elias admit to his most embarrassing call as a firefighter, which involves a cat, a tree, and a ladder that broke at the worst possible moment.
Julian opts for truths exclusively, revealing nothing more scandalous than his preferred brand of wine.
Then it's my turn.
"Truth," I say, because dares with three Alphas seem like a dangerous path.
Elias considers for a moment. "What's something you've always wanted but never gotten?"
A loaded question. There are so many answers I could give—freedom, respect, a family who actually loved me. But my brain goes somewhere unexpected instead.
"Those viral bookshelf things," I hear myself say. "You know, the ones that wrap around the wall? Floor to ceiling, with the rolling ladder? I really wanted one when I first became an Omega."
The admission feels silly the moment it leaves my mouth, but I keep going.
"Maybe it was my way of wanting a nest of sorts.
A space that was just mine, filled with things I chose, you know?
A place to curl up and feel safe." I trace a pattern on the carpet with my finger, not quite meeting their eyes.
"I actually started building a little reading space in the shed behind my ex-pack's house.
Had some shelves set up, a few books, a cozy chair. It was tiny, but it was mine."
"What happened to it?" Tank asks quietly, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"It burned down." The words come out matter-of-fact, almost casual—the way you talk about things that hurt too much to give proper weight.
"My ex-pack burned the shed. I still haven't determined if it was intentional or an attempted murder thing, honestly.
It happened at night while I was sleeping in the main house—woke up to the glow through my window, thought it was the sunrise at first. Could have been an accident.
" I shrug, picking at the carpet fibers.
"But probably wasn't. They never liked that I had something that was just mine. Something they didn't control."
I realize I'm still talking, the words spilling out like they've been waiting for someone to hear them.
"I let it brush aside because I figured I could just build a new one, you know?
Start over. But... I never did. There was always something else they needed, always something more important than my little nesting space.
And then I ran, and by then it didn't matter anymore because I didn't have anywhere to put a bookshelf anyway. "
Silence. Heavy, loaded silence.
I look up to find all three of them staring at me with expressions of barely contained horror.
Tank's hands have clenched into fists so tight his knuckles have gone white.
Elias's usual sunny demeanor has gone completely dark, like storm clouds rolling in.
Julian's jaw is tight enough to crack, and there's something dangerous in his eyes that I've never seen before.
The atmosphere in the room has shifted from playful game night to something heavier. Something protective and barely restrained.
"Hmm." I try for a light laugh that comes out more nervous than intended. "Maybe that was too dark of lore for truth or dare. We can go back to asking about embarrassing firefighter calls if you want."
"All I need is a name," Tank says, his voice low and dangerous—the voice of a man who has killed before and would do so again without hesitation. "And I can kill him by morning. Make it look like an accident. I have training."
"I'm sure my boys at the station can help hide the body," Elias adds, completely serious, all sunshine gone from his tone. "We know a lot of remote locations. Lots of places a person could disappear forever."
"And I can ensure an investigation never happens," Julian finishes, his tone ice cold and businesslike. "I have lawyers. Very good, very expensive, very morally flexible lawyers. They've made problems disappear before."
Oh my god. They're actually planning a murder. A coordinated, multi-step murder. Over a burned shed. Over me.
And the terrifying part is, I genuinely believe they would do it.
"No!" I hold up both hands in surrender.
"Absolutely not! No murder mysteries becoming reality for Valentine's Day, thank you very much.
I appreciate the sentiment, truly, deeply, from the bottom of my heart—but I'd rather not spend the holiday visiting you all in prison.
Orange is not my color and neither is jumpsuit gray. "
They exchange glances that suggest they're filing this information away for later rather than actually abandoning the idea. Tank's fists haven't unclenched.
Note to self: never give them actual names. They will absolutely commit crimes.
"Alright, new question," Elias says, visibly forcing himself to relax. "What would you actually want to do these last few weeks leading up to Valentine's Day? Hypothetically. If you could do anything."
I feel heat creep up my cheeks. "I actually... made a list. A stupid list. Ruby told me to just write down things I wanted to try, experiences I wanted to have." I wave a hand dismissively. "But I don't know where I put it, so maybe it wasn't meant to be."
Julian reaches into his pocket and produces a folded piece of paper.
I recognize it immediately. The pink paper. Ruby's handwriting in the margins. My own chaotic list scrawled in the center.
"YOU TOOK IT!" I lunge toward him, but he holds it out of reach with infuriating ease.
"I didn't take it," Julian corrects primly. "I was cleaning up and found it while you were sleeping on my couch. I had to endure the agonizing torture of carrying you to the bed so you wouldn't have aching muscles in the morning before your shift at the bakery."
I groan, burying my face in my hands. "You're making it sound like I'm heavy!"
"Nah," Tank interjects, smirking. "Julian's just weak as fuck."
"Go fuck yourself."
Before Julian can use the list as blackmail—which is clearly where this is heading—Elias snatches the paper from his hand with firefighter reflexes. He unfolds it, scanning the contents, and his expression shifts from curiosity to genuine interest.
"Hey, this is actually doable," he says.
I'm already blushing furiously. "No, it's probably stupid! Ruby just told me to write things down, to offer to try, but we don't have to do anything! It was just a brainstorming exercise, not an actual—"
"We'll do it," Elias interrupts. He folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. "I won't read the whole thing right now. But we'll pick one item from the list and make it happen. Each of us."
I gawk at him. "Some of them are unhinged! Like—" I try to remember what I wrote in my late-night fever dream of hopefulness. "Like getting matching tattoos! That's something we can't do when we barely know each other!"
The three of them shrug in perfect unison.
"Why not?" Tank asks.
I stare at them, horrified. "Are you all horny or drunk? Both? Which one?"
Tank's smirk widens. "Could be either. Or both. Haven't decided yet."
"Take your hard-on elsewhere!" Elias groans, throwing a pillow at him. "No sex things tonight. We agreed. This is a pack bonding experience, not an orgy."
Julian stands abruptly, brushing invisible lint from his clothes. "I'm going to bed. I have a modeling shoot in the morning and I need actual beauty sleep." He points accusingly at Tank. "So don't wake the whole house with your masturbating grunts."
Tank laughs—a genuine, full laugh that transforms his usually stern face.
"Yeah, you're loud as fuck," Elias agrees. "Even in the shower. We can hear you through three walls."
Tank shrugs, completely unashamed. "Can't help my Alpha needs."
I giggle despite myself, then realize I should probably figure out my own sleeping situation. "I guess I should head home—"
"You can stay," Tank says immediately.
"The guest room is always ready," Elias adds.
I shake my head. "I feel like I'm intruding. I have a place. It's fine."
"You're not intruding," Tank says firmly. "You're our Omega. This is your home too. A place of rest, whenever you need it."
Our Omega. Your home too. Words I never expected to hear from anyone, let alone three Alphas I've known less than a month.
"Stay the night," Elias encourages. "Though fair warning—if you sleep in one of our rooms, you're not getting beauty sleep either."
A wicked idea crosses my mind. I smile sweetly.
"Okay. I'll sleep with Julian, then."
Julian, who was halfway down the hall, freezes. "Fuck no."
"Too late!" I'm already moving, slipping past Tank and Elias's stunned expressions. "I'm intruding! It's happening!"
I reach Julian's door just as he does, darting inside before he can slam it in my face.
His room at Tank's house is exactly what I expected—meticulously organized, neutral colors, everything in its perfect place.
A king-sized bed with crisp white sheets.
A small desk with papers stacked in precise piles.
A closet that's probably organized by color and season.
"What are you going to wear?" Elias calls from the hallway, laughter in his voice.
I spin toward Julian's closet with glee. "I'll just steal one of his elegant pieces of clothing. And no—" I hold up a hand before he can protest. "—I'm not giving it back. Though I probably couldn't afford whatever brand this is even with two years of bakery money saved up, so someone pay the tab."
Elias loses it, his laughter echoing down the hallway. Tank chuckles and calls out, "Just take it out of his card or some shit."
Julian groans—a sound of pure, distilled suffering—and closes the bedroom door behind us, shutting out the chaos of his packmates.
I take a moment to properly admire the room. It's impersonal in the way Julian's spaces always are—no photographs, no mementos, nothing that reveals who he actually is. But it's comfortable. The bed looks expensive and inviting. The lighting is soft and warm.
Julian points firmly at the left side of the bed. "That side is MINE. Don't move anywhere near it."
"Fine." I skip over to the right side, bouncing experimentally on the mattress. It's ridiculously soft—like sleeping on a cloud wrapped in money. The sheets are crisp and cool, probably some absurd thread count that I can't even fathom. "Hope you don't snore."
He huffs. "Tank snores like a fucking freight train, and that didn't seem to wake you up."
I grin, feeling that boldness rise up again—the version of me that emerges when I'm comfortable, when I'm with people who make me feel safe. "That's because when you're too exhausted after amazing sex, you can sleep through anything. It's like a superpower, really."
I wink at him and skip toward his closet before he can respond. His face does something complicated—part shock, part indignation, part something warmer he's desperately trying to suppress—and I commit the expression to memory for future enjoyment.
The closet door opens to reveal exactly what I expected—rows of designer clothes arranged with military precision, organized by color and style and probably season and occasion.
Every hanger is equidistant. Every item is perfectly pressed.
It's like a boutique showroom rather than an actual functioning closet.
I run my fingers along the fabric of various shirts, feeling silk and cashmere and cotton so fine it's probably illegal in some countries.
My hand stops on an oversized silk button-down in deep navy—the kind of shirt that probably costs more than my monthly rent, possibly more than two months if I'm being realistic.
"This one," I announce, pulling it from the hanger with zero hesitation. "This is mine now."
Julian watches me from the doorway, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperated and something softer he's trying very hard to hide beneath all that practiced irritation.
The firelight from the living room catches his features through the crack of the door, and for a moment he looks almost.. . fond.
This is good. This is right. Three Alphas who argue over Uno and throw candy at each other and threaten to commit murder when someone hurts me.
Three men who almost set a house on fire attempting to make dinner and then argued about pizza toppings like the fate of the world depended on it.
A pack that feels like it could actually become home.
I don't know what's going to happen after Valentine's Day.
I don't know if this arrangement will become something more or if I'll be back to running and hiding and surviving alone.
I don't know if my family will find me, if those threatening messages will become threatening actions, if everything will fall apart the moment the deadline passes.
But right now, in this moment, I have a stolen silk shirt and a grumpy Alpha and a bed that's softer than anything I've ever slept on. I have Tank's laughter still echoing in my ears and Elias's warmth still wrapped around my memories and Julian's carefully hidden softness slowly revealing itself.
And I'm going to have a good night's sleep whether he likes it or not.