14. Malcolm
Ipour a steaming mug of black coffee in the quiet kitchen. Afternoon sunlight streams through the large windows, catching the dust floating over the marble island.
The mansion smells like a bakery.
The distinct aroma of warm apple pie and crushed cinnamon blankets every room.
The scent drifted through the ventilation system over the last hour, carrying the unmistakable proof of our Omega.
Beneath the sweetness, the crisp ozone of Finn’s scent and the spicy bite of Lawrence’s black pepper weave together into a dark, satisfied musk.
I take a sip of the bitter coffee.
The door to the basement gym swings open. Victor marches into the kitchen. He wears dark sweatpants and a tight athletic shirt; his blond hair sticks to his forehead. He looks like he spent the entire morning attacking a punching bag.
He paces the length of the hardwood floor.
His icy eyes burn with exhausted rage. The juniper of his scent turns sour with jealousy and regret.
He spent the last hour listening to his packmates knot our omega while he remained banished to the other side of the house.
He ruined his own chances, and the isolation eats him alive.
Footsteps shuffle down the main staircase.
Finn and Lawrence walk into the kitchen. They look like they survived a war and won the lottery.
Finn wears gray sweatpants low on his hips.
Dark scratches mark his broad chest and his shoulders.
A relaxed, dopey grin stretches across his face.
Lawrence trails behind him, wearing a white t-shirt and athletic shorts.
He runs a hand through his dark curls, his brown eyes shining with euphoric peace.
They both reek of her slick.
Victor stops pacing. He glares at them, his jaw clenching with enough force to crack his teeth.
"Hey." Finn grabs a clean mug from the rack. "She fell asleep a few minutes ago. We gave her both knots, but we haven't satisfied her. Her body still burns. The fever dropped enough for her to rest."
"Good." I lean my hip against the counter. "You two look dead on your feet."
"I could sleep for a week." Lawrence stretches his long arms over his head. "Surviving morning skate and dealing with a Heat drains the tank. Coach rode us hard on the ice today."
Victor steps forward. The dark energy rolling off his frame demands a target. "I need to hit something. You two are coming with me."
Finn pauses with his hand on the coffee pot. He looks over his shoulder. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to the suburbs." Victor bares his teeth, a vicious snarl ripping past his lips. "We're going to find that disgusting brother-in-law. We're going to drag him out of his house and break his spine in the driveway for putting his hands on our omega."
The peaceful atmosphere in the kitchen shatters.
Finn sets his empty mug on the counter. Taking two knots eased Olive's heat, but the encounter makes Finn's protective instincts lethal.
"I'll drive." Finn turns toward the mudroom. "I want to shatter his kneecaps with a tire iron."
"Stop." I drop my voice into a low, rumbling command.
Both of them freeze in their tracks. I push off the counter, letting my towering frame fill the space between them and the door.
"Nobody leaves this house." I look Finn in the eye. "You aren't going to the suburbs. Nobody is breaking any knees today."
Victor glares at me. "He attacked her, Malcolm. He cornered her in a kitchen and tried to force himself on her. He deserves to bleed."
"He deserves to die." I keep my tone flat and even. "But beating him to death in his own driveway guarantees three things. You catch a murder charge. You ruin our playoff run. And you leave Olive in this house by herself while we wait in a jail cell."
Finn flinches. The logic hits him hard. The thought of abandoning her crushes his violent urge.
I turn my attention to Lawrence. "We use our brains and resources. We don't act like feral animals. Lawrence, you have the deepest pockets and the most ruthless lawyers in the city on your payroll."
Lawrence drops his arms to his sides. A dark, predatory smirk curves his lips. He understands the assignment.
"I want him ruined." I issue the directive with cold precision.
"I want his bank accounts frozen. I want his employer investigating him.
I want a mountain of legal trouble burying him so deep he never sees the sun again.
Find every unpaid parking ticket, every tax error, and every shred of dirt on his life.
Bankrupt him. Make him suffer within the confines of the law. "
Lawrence pulls his phone from his pocket. "Consider it done. He won't have a penny to his name by next Friday."
A loud, grinding noise echoes from the driveway. Air brakes hiss through the open kitchen window.
I look outside. A large white box truck parks on the asphalt next to our garage. Three men wearing matching blue work shirts step out of the cab.
"The movers. I'll handle this. You three hit the showers and get some rest. Keep your heads out of the suburbs."
I walk out the side door and meet the moving foreman on the driveway. He holds a clipboard and a pen.
"Mr. Walker." The foreman shakes my hand. "We emptied the storage unit like you requested. We have all the boxes and the furniture loaded in the back."
"Take it all to the east wing. Use the side entrance near the gardens. Keep your voices down. Don't drop anything. The woman who owns these boxes is sleeping, and I'll fire your entire crew on the spot if you wake her up."
The foreman nods, intimidated by the warning. He gestures for his crew to lower the ramp.
The moving truck pulled out of the driveway two hours ago. The crew was fast and kept their mouths shut. They stacked the boxes in the spare sitting room attached to the east wing suite, leaving the bedroom untouched.
I walk down the long corridor leading to the east wing. I carry a tray holding a plate of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and a tall glass of ice water. She needs food.
I expect to find her buried under the blankets, sleeping off the exhaustion as I turn the brass doorknob and push the heavy oak door open.
Olive wears one of Finn's oversized black t-shirts.
The hem hangs down to her mid-thigh. Her dark bob sticks up in messy angles.
She stands by the window, staring out at the trees, but she isn't really looking at anything.
Her fingers twitch against her arms. She's wrapped in a tight self-embrace, as if she's trying to hold her own skin together.
Her breathing sounds ragged and shallow.
The sweet scent of her apple pie turns sour, laced with raw panic.
I step into the room and set the tray on a small side table. I stay quiet, watching her.
"It hasn't even been twelve hours and I've already fucked two of you." Olive mutters, her voice vibrating with a mix of fury and self-loathing.
She turns away from the window, and I see the frantic energy in her eyes. She isn't looking for boxes to unpack; she's looking for an exit that isn't there. She paces to the corner of the room, her footsteps uneven.
"I spent my entire life building a wall.
" Her hands flying up to grip her hair. "I told myself I would never submit.
I told myself I would fight it. But the second they walked in the room, I surrendered everything.
I let them claim my body. I let them erase my independence.
I don't even know who I am anymore. I lost control. "
Tears spill over her eyelashes. She paces the length of the room, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
"I'm a fucking disgrace," she lets out a broken, terrified sob.
"I told myself I was stronger than this.
I told myself I was smarter than this. But my body didn't care about my plans.
It just wanted them. And I hate it. I hate that I couldn't stop myself.
I hate that I'm already standing here in this house, like I belong here. I don't belong here!"
I watch her spiral.
Finn would pull her into a hug and offer sweet, comforting words. He would coddle her and tell her everything is fine. Lawrence would use his smooth charm to distract her, offering a joke and a warm smile to ease the tension. Victor would bark an order for her to sit down and stop panicking.
None of those tactics work right now.
Olive spent her entire life steering the ship.
She curated her Beta existence to be safe, predictable, and independent.
She controlled every variable. The presentation heat stripped the steering wheel from her hands.
Waking up in a mansion, surrounded by Alphas, smelling like slick and sex, shattered her foundation.
She's trying to process the fact that her own nature betrayed her, and she feels like she's already lost the war.
She needs someone strong enough to take the crushing burden off her shoulders. She needs a wall to lean on.
I step forward. My boots sink into the plush carpet.
Olive stops pacing, her eyes darting to me. She looks trapped. She tries to back away, but her heel catches on the edge of the rug, and she stumbles.
I close the distance between us before she can hit the floor. I catch her by the elbows, pulling her steady against me. I don't pull her into a hug; I just provide a solid, unmoving presence.
"Look at me." I issue the command in a soft, dark rumble.
She lifts her chin. Her terrified, tear-streaked face meets my calm, steady gaze.
"You are exhausted." I keep my voice steady, offering an honest truth. "You carry a burden too large for one person. You fight a war inside your own head. The battle is over, Olive. You don't have to steer the ship today."
Olive stares at me. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths. Her brown eyes dart across my face. She braces her tense shoulders, looking like a woman expecting a lecture or an Alpha command to force her into submission.
I take a deliberate step backward, giving her space. I keep my hands open at my sides.