Chapter 19
Kane
It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do.
It’s not even nine a.m., and I’ve already gotten in a solid workout, doled out next week’s enforcer assignments, and signed off on half a dozen disciplinary reports. At this rate, I should be finished up with the boring shit by noon, leaving me plenty of time for field check-ins and patrol audits.
I’ve been slacking on those lately– which means the lower-level enforcers have almost certainly been slacking, too. They’re overdue for a reminder that their positions aren’t guaranteed. Complacency spreads fast in a pack this size, and it’s my job to burn it out before it turns to rot.
I scroll through my inbox, already deciding which rookies could use a fresh dose of intimidating, when my desk phone rings.
I ignore it. I’m not in the mood to derail my renewed productivity with menial bullshit. If it’s important, whoever it is will call my cell.
The phone rings again almost immediately.
I glare at it, then cave, jabbing the speaker button with more force than necessary. “Kane,” I bark, not bothering with a greeting.
“Um, yes, Commander Kane, this is Nina from pack admin down on level three.” Her voice wobbles just enough to grate on my nerves. “We got word that your mate would be starting with us today, but she hasn’t reported in yet. Her start time was half an hour ago, and–”
“I’ll take care of it,” I cut in, my hands curling into fists on top of my desk.
There’s a pause. Then, hesitantly, “So… should we still expect her today, or–”
“Yes, I’ll handle it,” I growl, already reaching for the button to end the call.
The line goes dead. I exhale sharply through my nose, rolling the tension out of my neck.
So, she’s testing me. Of course she is. Violet would never miss an opportunity to push, poke, or see exactly how far she can take things before I snap.
I could send some grunt down to fetch her, have them drag her into admin kicking and screaming, let her embarrass herself by making a scene in front of people who don’t matter.
Or I could go myself, remind her what happens when brats defy direct orders.
Brand my handprint on her ass until she remembers who’s in charge here.
The second option is far more tempting.
I swipe up my keys and phone and leave my office, heading down the hall to the elevator. It takes forever, as always, my patience fraying with every second that crawls by. By the time I ride it down and the doors open on the twenty-ninth, I’m wound tight, my inner beast clawing at my chest.
I move down the corridor in long strides, keys in hand. Less than a minute later, I’m crossing the threshold of the apartment, greeted by that addictive lemon and peony scent that my wolf can’t seem to ever get enough of.
My boots echo as I stride down the long entry hall, doing a quick scan at the end.
Living room– empty.
Kitchen– also empty.
There’s a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter– more sugary crap that she insists on poisoning her body with– but no leggy brunette bent over it with her ass in the air, daring me to teach her a lesson.
“Violet?” I call, voice carrying through the apartment.
Nothing.
Frustration mounts as I go to check her bedroom next.
The door is ajar, the bed a tangle of blankets and sheets.
She never bothers to make it. The panties and t-shirt she stripped off last night are still strewn across the floor, even though the hamper sits two feet away.
I’m starting to think she keeps her space this messy just to spite me.
She’s not in the bedroom. Not in the en-suite bathroom, either. Not fucking anywhere.
I pull out my phone, thumb through to her contact, and hit call. It rings twice before I’m forwarded to voicemail, so I hang up and fire off a text instead.
Kane
Admin called. You’re late. I expect a reply in the next five minutes or I hunt you down, mate.
I watch the little bubbles pulse below the message. Delivered. Read. Then nothing.
I resist the urge to hurl the phone through the fucking window, my inner wolf pacing with agitation. Instead, I pocket it and march out of the apartment, heading back to the elevator.
She can’t have gone far. I’ll return to my office, give her a few minutes to come to her senses before making good on my threat.
The ride up is mercifully quick, and I step off on the thirty-second floor twice as irritated as when I left. As I cut down the main corridor toward my office, Frazier appears, lifting a hand to get my attention.
I ignore him. I don’t have the patience to deal with another disappointment right now.
“Commander!” he calls. “Your mate–”
“I already know,” I grumble, not bothering to look at him as I stomp past. “She’s playing games. If I don’t hear from her in the next five minutes, I’m heading out to track her down.”
His boots clomp against the floor behind me as he jogs to catch up. “Uh, no, sir, it’s just… I know where she is.”
I stop cold, swiveling around and fixing him with a look that could shatter glass.
“Explain,” I snarl.
Frazier swallows hard. “I have a friend in training at the TTC,” he says, nervously extending his phone toward me. “He just sent me this.”
I snatch the phone from his hand, my eyes dropping to the grainy video playing on the screen.
It’s the indoor training arena at the Tactical Training Center, the camera panning to track a sparring match already underway. One of the fighters is a big, blond slab of muscle, and he’s squaring off against someone smaller and faster, darting in and out of reach.
My stomach drops when I realize it’s Violet.
She’s dressed in the enforcer standard black shorts and sports bra, but she moves like she’s on fire, every line of her body humming with violent grace.
Her opponent tries to sweep her leg. She hops over it, snaps a jab to his jaw, then spins clear before he can grab her.
The crowd ringing the mat is loud and wild, the noise bleeding through the phone’s speaker in a roar of approval.
I can’t stop watching.
She holds her own for a full minute, never letting up. At one point she actually grins– mouth split open in a wild, fearless smile– as she circles the big guy, teasing him with quick, taunting feints.
It’s the most alive I’ve ever seen her.
The video ends with her ducking under a right hook and dropping him to the mat, rolling smoothly into a chokehold that forces him to tap out, the crowd going insane.
I hand the phone back, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
“Thank you, Frazier,” I say, my voice disturbingly calm.
He hesitates as I turn away, clearly unsure whether he should follow. He wisely doesn’t.
I stalk back toward the elevator, the doors popping open as soon as I hit the call button this time, like even the machinery knows better than to keep me waiting. Once inside, I punch the button for the parking garage, stuffing a hand into my pocket and thumbing my key fob.
If she wants to test the limits of my patience, fine.
But she’s about to learn I never make empty threats.
My presence isn’t required at the TTC often, so when I enter the building and start navigating the corridors, people stare like they’re seeing a ghost. Everyone I pass reacts one of two ways– heads down, stepping aside, or tossing out eager greetings, angling to impress their superior.
I acknowledge none of them. I just keep moving, my purpose singular and unyielding.
As I draw closer to the indoor training arena, the sound of a rowdy crowd grows louder, echoing off the cinderblock walls. I follow the noise, passing a handful of startled trainees who flatten themselves against the corridor as I barrel past.
The doors are propped open, and when I step inside the arena, it’s packed– at least three dozen bodies circling the edges of the mat, hooting and hollering.
In the center, a fresh spar is already underway.
I zero in on the action, and sure enough, Violet is right at the heart of it, facing a new challenger who has at least a foot of height and fifty pounds on her.
Even with a dozen screaming idiots between us, she radiates a kind of kinetic charge that’s impossible to ignore.
Her knuckles are split and bloodied, hair pulled into a loose, messy ponytail that’s already half-freed itself.
She paces with a feral energy, eyes locked on her opponent with laser focus.
Fierce. Beautiful. Mine.
My inner wolf shoves forward, watching her through my eyes with rapt attention, and I’m just as riveted.
Violet baits the guy as he tries to corner her. Lets him take the first swing, then pivots cleanly out of reach and snaps a kick into his ribs. He stumbles back, regains his footing, and lunges again. She weaves, dodges, then drives a brutal punch into his kidney that nearly drops him to his knees.
The crowd goes nuts, and while I didn’t come here to spectate, I can’t look away.
She’s good– far better than I’d expect for someone who’s never served as a pack soldier. Not just strong, but genuinely skilled. She fights dirty, though, pulling slippery, underhanded moves like she learned how to spar in back alleys rather than sanctioned matches.
Fascinating.
I thought I’d almost solved the puzzle that is Violet Slayter, but this…
This is a curveball I never saw coming.
Her challenger recovers, slings an arm around her waist, and tries to slam her to the mat.
For a split second, it looks like she’ll go down– then she wrenches sideways, drives her elbow into his temple, and uses the momentum to flip him clean over her hip.
He hits the mat with a hollow thud, and she pounces, pinning him with her knees bracketing his thighs and her forearm tight across his throat.
Her eyes flick up, bright and alive, skimming the crowd like she’s searching for someone to share her victory with. She’s grinning from ear to ear until our gazes lock.
Her smile falters.