Chapter 29 Asher, Kane, Nitro, Xander, & Fallon
ASHER, KANE, NITRO, XANDER, my fingers curled around the stove knob.
Click. Click. Click.
I let the gas spill out just enough to catch flame, then I cut it. Each spark echoed like a reminder that no match had come in twelve months. The itch was already back, to burn things, along with myself.
I kept my bandaged palm hidden. Fallon had noticed it already, though he’d said nothing.
I welcomed the most recent burn’s radiating dull ache; at least it was something tangible when every Eros update had been a dead end.
How long had we waited? Forever. More than a mother fucking year.
Xander had called us all together before to talk about the Institute.
The first few times, I’d let myself hope. Now, I didn’t.
Click. Click. Click.
I hesitated in the middle of the next click of the ignitor, letting gas spill out without a flame to spark it.
I waited long enough that when I did edge the knob into position, the flame erupted six inches over the burner, pulsing heat against my skin.
“Going to light it properly or just torture us?” Nitro’s growl cut through the air. He held the knife up, poised to slam it down again and ruin another bit of the butcher block.
I flashed him a grin as hollow as my chest. “Just seeing who snaps first. Congratulations, you’re in the lead.”
He bristled but stayed silent. I pressed on, each click scratching that invisible itch.
“Xander ever fucking getting here, or is he playing a prank?” This from Kane, perched on a barstool, hands dicking around with a beat-up car part.
“Xander doesn’t do that kind of shit,” I retorted, leaning down and putting my face perilously close to the clicking. Just a centimeter more to the right and it would ignite. I let the glass bleed out again, ready to light myself on fire.
KANE.
I’d counted forty-seven clicks since I’d walked in and sat down. The smell of gas was intensifying. If Asher was set on blowing up the place, he was well on his way.
I rolled the spare engine part between my grease-coated fingers, tracing its grooves.
It wasn’t the piece I’d hunted for at Otto’s junkyard, but it was enough to keep me busy—and sane—while we all waited for Xander.
Rolling my shoulders, I felt layers of dried muck crack.
I’d skipped showering after getting home. The grime felt like armor.
Armor like Asher’s bandaged hand, Nitro’s mutilated counter, Fallon’s stoic control—all signs of us fraying at the edges but trying to hide the truth.
I wanted to be under a car right now. I wanted to focus on problems that came down to finding the right part and installing it.
That method wouldn’t work with our pack.
We couldn’t go to AutoWorld and grab a new Alpha timing belt to get our engine back in rhythm.
Hell, there wasn’t even a human catalytic converter we could install to help convert the toxic build-up inside our bodies.
Frustration pulsed through me and I curled my hand around the part. I clenched hard enough that it dug painfully into my palm. When the ache dulled, I tightened my grip to renew the discomfort.
I’m alive. We’re all still alive.
We just had to keep going, full of bad oil and out of sync, limping from one destination to the next while hoping we didn’t have a complete breakdown.
Shit. If only humans were like cars. If only we could hook ourselves up to a diagnostic machine, pinpoint the problem, and shop for a solution.
NITRO.
I slammed the tip of my knife into the countertop wood again, driving it deep into the wood before yanking it free.
The solid thunk of metal penetrating wood was satisfying in a way that nothing else had been tonight.
My body still hummed with restless energy, my mind replaying the image of scattered blades and the destroyed target.
Thunk. Pull. Thunk. Pull.
Across the room, Asher's incessant clicking grated on my last nerve, but I bit back another comment. Starting a fight wouldn't help, though my body craved the release of physical confrontation. I caught Fallon watching me from his position by the fireplace, his gaze cool and assessing. Though they were fading, I could still see the memory of small bruises on his skin. They showed anywhere clothes didn’t cover. He’d visited the dominatrix again.
We were all spiraling, each in our own way.
Thunk. The knife went particularly deep this time, and I had to twist it to free the blade.
The counter was already a mess of scars and gouges from similar moments of frustration.
Kane would bitch about it tomorrow and give me shit about having to replace it yet again.
But tonight, he was too absorbed in whatever car part he was fidgeting with to care about the counter.
I twirled the knife between my fingers, a habitual motion that usually centered me. Tonight, it just reminded me of my failures at the target. I drove the blade in again, harder, imagining it was my own weakness I was stabbing.
Thunk. Thunk. Xander better get here fucking fast or I’d split the countertop in two tonight. I wouldn’t stop until it was well and truly ruined. Then that asshole could have it replaced again, and I’d have a brand-new flawless surface to fuck up.
XANDER.
I lingered in the hallway, listening through the cracked open door.
Heat from the kitchen drifted out in sluggish breaths, tinged with the scent of gas, sweat, and Alpha pheromones gone unchecked.
Like always, every sound funneled into my head and refused to exit.
Thunk. Click. Another click. Kane pissed that I hadn’t shown up yet.
Asher defending me. Click. Click. Another motherfucking click.
Moving to the wall, I pressed my forehead against its smoothness and let it ground me.
The noise from the common room continued, but I found the will to peel myself away from the wall and face the pack.
What I was going to tell them could be the best news in the world, or the worst. I hadn’t decided yet.
As I stepped into view, I watched their reactions with keen eyes.
Asher, hand on a stove knob, went perfectly still, not moving even as the clicking gave birth to blue flame.
Fallon backed a foot closer to the fireplace, sweat beading on his brow.
Kane dropped whatever he was holding; it thudded hard against the floor.
Nitro slammed his bladed into the countertop but then placed both palms flat on either side of it, not yanking the knife free again.
“Turn the stove off, Asher,” I commanded in a low voice.
“Turn all four burners on?” he challenged.
I just stared him down, unblinking, until he shrugged and killed the flame.
FALLON.
Xander looked… torn.
I stood with my back to the fireplace, its hearth raging with a well-fed fire, letting its heat seep through my clothes while my face remained carefully neutral.
The common area of the DemonX compound stretched before me—exposed brick, industrial steel, our signature blend of grit and precision.
My pack brothers were all in sight, not far from one another, still drawn together by every scar we carried on our bodies and souls and fucking hearts.
Xander asked us all here, but he didn’t say the reason.
Was it Eros? No, that was improbable at this point.
We’d been under contract with the Institute for over a year.
Despite their promise and hefty fee, they couldn’t find an Omega who was batshit crazy enough to match us.
I moved a little, shifting so that my back was more parallel to the fire.
My left side, which had been fractionally closer to the flames, had gotten uncomfortably warm.
We were all staying so quiet. Every mouth glued together. Every set of eyes narrowed. Every brother fidgeting.
“Eros called.” Xander finally broke our bubble of silence.
The two words seemed to explode into the room.
He didn’t say more.
Why the fuck did he only say those two words?
Quiet again. Achingly so. A deprivation tank rather than a living room.
Was he just gearing us up for disappointment again? Or maybe he’d brought us all here to discuss giving up on Eros and its empty promises.
The silence stretched out, becoming miles long.
None of us mentioned the client baskets, full of inane bullshit, that we’d either destroyed or mailed back to Eros mutilated…
once containing several dead rats. None of us mentioned the scent sampling and bloodwork, how our glands ached for days afterwards but we embraced the pain as proof we were solving our problem.
None of us voiced that we—DemonX, a pack of daredevils who never said die—were slowly losing our mother fucking minds.
Tension grew between us all, years of bandages over unhealed wounds sloughing off to reveal acrid puss.
We were all so damn stubborn that we’d ride our bikes off a cliff before we admitted weakness.
My gaze roved over each of my pack brothers.
I catalogued their silent tells—Nitro’s twitching shoulders, Kane’s fingers twirling that car part, the muscle in Xander’s jaw jumping, Asher with one hand in a pocket, likely toying with his lighter.
Once upon a time, when our unit felt solid as rock, these details would have slipped past me but now they screamed for mercy.
“You got to give us more than that, you bastard.” Kane’s voice burst through the tomb-like air as he slid off the barstool and closed the distance to Xander.
A foot from our brother, Kane halted. He waited, hands curling into fists.
I moved over to them. I gripped Kane’s upper arm with all my might. He winced and then glared at me. “Get your hand off me.”
“I will if you take a step back.” My grip tightened. I wasn’t bigger or stronger than Kane—in fact he had at least twenty pounds of muscle on me and far more hours lifting heavy shit in the garage—but he seemed to come up for air, stepping back from Xander.
Xander cleared his throat. “They found us an Omega.”
The mood of the room shifted lightning fast, giving me whiplash. Excitement. Relief. Curiosity over what she’d look like. She had to be a fearless badass.
My brain began envisioning the perfect woman. Tall. Amazonian. Fierce.
“She’s a goddamn medical nightmare,” Xander breathed out.
“Hospitals most of her life. A fucking case of Severe Combined Immunodeficiency and Omega genetic abnormalities. They haven’t sent a photo of her yet.
Think they’re trying to keep that under wraps.
Fucking lifetime of sickness. Can’t imagine what she looks like. ”
The exhilaration gave way to disbelief.
“There’s no motherfucking way our perfect mate is some weak ass Omega with one foot in the grave,” Nitro snarled, yanking his knife from the countertop and brandishing it as if he planned to throw it right at Xander’s head.
Xander continued. “Apparently, they’ve found a way to cure her. She’ll have to take precautions when she comes here from Seattle, but—”
“Tell Eros we don’t want her,” Asher stood next to the sofa now. The lighter was out. He leaned down and whispered the flame across the top of the leather back.
“Contractually, we have to accept her for a probationary period,” Xander said slowly, tone level. He was holding back his own anger.
“Fuck the contract,” Nitro snapped.
“We can’t take someone broken,” Kane breathed out, looking down at the car part he’d retrieved from the floor. “We got enough shit to fix.”
“Then we lose every goddamn cent we invested, and Eros is released of any obligation to try and find a new match,” I reminded them of the fine print.
I’d poured over the contract for days last year.
I remembered every word. “But if we fulfill the probationary term, then we can request a second match.”
“Goddammit,” Asher breathed out, echoing my own thought.
“So, we take her or look for another solution,” Xander added, driving the nail into the coffin.
Another solution.
There was no other solution.
A fragile Omega was coming.
We’d simply have to break her and send her back.