48. Syn
48
SYN
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Tarquin asks, his blue eyes worried. “We can fight it.”
I check my reflection in the hallway mirror one last time, adjusting the casual ponytail I’ve styled my hair into. Nothing too polished. Nothing that screams ‘undercover operation.’
“No, this was part of my immunity. If we start messing about, they could arrest me,” I reply, though my stomach twists with nervous energy. “I started this. I should finish it.”
Two weeks have passed since we brought Amélie home. Two weeks of rediscovering my daughter, of tentative smiles growing more confident, of nightmares gradually giving way to peaceful sleep. Two weeks of building a new normal that sometimes feels too perfect to be real.
And now, reality bitch slaps me in the form of Commander St. Clare’s phone call yesterday. The sting operation cannot be delayed any longer. They need me to set up the alpha who sold me the illegal heat inducers.
“Mummy?” Amélie’s voice carries down the hallway, followed by the patter of small feet. “Are you going out?”
I turn to find her watching me, her hair neatly braided by Tristan. She wears a purple dress she insisted on this morning, paired incongruously with red rain boots she refuses to remove, even indoors.
“Just for a little while, sweetheart,” I tell her, crouching to her level. “Remember how I explained I need to help some important people today?”
She nods solemnly. “The police need you to catch a baddie.”
“That’s right.” I marvel at how readily she accepts things now, her natural resilience reasserting itself after Jeremy’s controlling influence. “I won’t be gone long, and you’ll have lots of fun with Tarquin, Tristan and Declan until I get back, and then, it might be warm enough to go swimming!”
Her eyes light up, and she claps. “Pool!”
Tarquin had initially insisted on accompanying me, but we ultimately agreed that having all three alphas remain at the estate with Amélie made more sense. Her security remains our highest priority, even with Jeremy gone. An event that I have neither inquired about nor have they offered up the information. It’s best left alone.
“We’re going to bake cookies,” Amélie informs me with grave importance. “Chocolate ones.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Save one for me?”
“Two,” she decides generously. “One for you and one for the police man.”
A lump forms in my throat at her thoughtfulness. “Perfect.”
Footsteps announce Declan’s arrival. He moves with his usual grace, but has taken to making deliberate noise around Amélie, careful not to startle her.
“Ready for our baking session, little one?” he asks, his typically intense expression softening as it always does for her.
Amélie nods, though she remains half-hidden behind my legs. Of the three alphas, she’s most wary around Declan—perhaps sensing the contained power in him, the capacity for violence he keeps carefully leashed.
“You’ll watch her carefully?” I ask, unnecessary anxiety bubbling up despite my complete trust in him.
“With my life,” Declan answers simply.
The sincerity in his voice settles something in me. I kiss Amélie, then stand to leave before panic renders me useless.
“The IPP cover car is waiting at the gate,” Tarquin informs me, walking me to the front door. “Remember, they have to arrest you too, to make it look real. You will be released immediately. If, on the off chance, they don’t, ring me as soon as you get to the station. I will rain down hell on earth.”
I nod, trying not to think about that.
He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Be safe. Come back to us.”
“Always,” I promise, squeezing his fingers before releasing them.
Outside, a nondescript black car idles at the end of the long driveway. I don’t look back as I walk toward it. Looking back might break my determination.
The driver—a stone-faced IPP officer—opens the rear door for me without a word. Inside sits Commander St. Clare himself, impeccable in his uniform despite the early hour.
“Ms. Fuller,” he greets me with a formal nod. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Is that what we’re calling it? Let’s just get this over with,” I reply, buckling my seatbelt as the car pulls away from the estate.
He throws me a regretful smile, and we fall into silence for a while.
The journey into the city takes half an hour, during which St. Clare briefs me again on the operation. “We’ve had the café under surveillance for three weeks now. The alpha in question arrives consistently at 8:30, stays for his six-hour shift, and conducts between three and five transactions on an average day.”
I nod, absorbing the information while watching the landscape change from rural estates to suburbs to city blocks.
“Remember, we’ll detain everyone, including you,” he explains. “Your apparent arrest is crucial. It could compromise other ongoing investigations if anyone suspects you were working with us.”
“Speaking of that, Tarquin will bring his wrath if you don’t release me immediately,” I state, staring him in the eye.
“I have no doubt. You have our word, Ms. Fuller. And by the way, Caroline McFee has been found. She is fine. But she wasn’t easy to find. I have her address.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to disturb her. She cared for Amélie, but she left for a reason. I don’t want to drag her back into something she fled.”
“If you ever change your mind…”
“Thank you.” I’m glad she’s okay, but honestly, if it were me, I wouldn’t want anyone showing up at my door after I ran, even if it was for heartfelt thanks. She wanted to disappear. I will honour that.
The car turns onto a familiar street, and I feel my heart rate accelerate. I haven’t been back to this part of the city since before meeting Tarquin on that pavement. It feels like returning to another life—one that no longer fits.
“One more thing,” St. Clare says as the car slows, approaching our drop point two blocks from the café. “After today, your obligation to the IPP is complete. The reduced charges against you will be formally dropped, and your temporary immunity will become permanent. You’ll be free to move forward without this hanging over you.”
The significance of his words isn’t lost on me. This is the final thread connecting me to my former life, my final debt to pay.
“I understand,” I say, straightening my shoulders as the car stops.
“We’ll be watching,” St. Clare assures me as I open the door. “Good luck.”
I step onto the pavement, adjusting my jacket where the marked pound notes are stashed in my pocket. Taking a deep breath, I walk toward the café, my steps casual despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.
The familiar streets seem strange and ordinary. Unchanged, while I’ve transformed completely. I pass the boutique where I used to shop, the pharmacy where I filled prescriptions for my birth control, the corner where I once waited for a client’s car. Ghost images of my former self superimposed on present reality.
As I turn the final corner, the café comes into view, welcoming and unremarkable. The perfect front.
The door is open on this warm mid-Spring morning, and I enter.
The alpha is there, his cute face forming a frown when he sees me. I didn’t think he’d remember, and now I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
“What can I get you?” he asks warily.
I smile, affecting the nervous energy that came naturally during my previous visits. “A cheese and avocado panini, please.”
The code phrase feels clumsy on my tongue, but his expression shifts subtly.
He leans forward with that same seductive look he gave me the first time. “We don’t do those here.”
I blink and smile, what I hope is a sexy curve of my lips. “What a shame.”
“Meet me out back, sweetheart, my break is due.”
I give him the ‘I want to fuck you look’ and he grins, giving it back to me as he steps back.
Leaving the shop, my hands tremble as I check my pocket again for the money.
The alleyway leading to the rear exit feels longer than I remember.
I wait opposite the door, and a few seconds later, the alpha pushes it open.
He moves into my personal space, and I try to not flinch. I may not be physically mated to my alphas yet, but I am bound to them through our scent-matching and through our souls and our family. Having this alpha near me sets off every omega instinct I have to knee him in the balls and run.
But I have to see this through.
He tilts my chin back and presses his body against mine. Slipping his hand into my pocket, he makes the exchange. “You know the score.”
“I do,” I say and prepare for the takedown words. “I’ll be back.”
The code words trigger immediate action. The alley suddenly floods with IPP officers in tactical gear, seemingly materialising from nowhere.
Commander St. Clare’s voice rings out. “You’re under arrest for distribution of illegal synthetic hormones.”
The alpha’s expression transforms from shock to fury in an instant. He looks like he is about to run, but officers tackle him to the ground.
As rehearsed, rough hands grab me as well, forcing me against the wall as officers tell me I’m under arrest. The performance must be convincing; no one can suspect I was involved in the setup.
“Please,” I exclaim. “I didn’t do anything!” I make sure to lock onto the alpha’s furious stare, portraying my fear and panic. He must buy it because he scowls and looks away. He doesn’t think it was me that set him up.
I allow myself to be handcuffed and led toward a waiting police vehicle separate from his. St. Clare approaches, maintaining his role as the stern, uncompromising commander.
“You are in some serious shit here, Miss,” he says loudly for the benefit of onlookers.
I’m guided into the back of an unmarked car, my heart still pounding with adrenaline. Through the window, I watch the café being raided, staff and customers lined up outside as officers search the premises. The operation I set in motion is larger than I imagined.
The car pulls away, heading not toward IPP headquarters but back toward Tarquin’s estate. Once we’re safely out of view of the café, the officer sitting next to me says. “We can remove the cuffs now, Ms. Fuller.”
“Is it over?” I ask, leaning forward so he can unlock them. I sit back when he removes them and then remove my jacket. “Here. Right pocket.”
He takes them with a grim smile.
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes as we eat up the miles back to Tarquin’s, our, home. I still can’t get used to that. How so much has changed in such a short space of time.
The IPP car drops me at the front steps. I wait until they’ve departed before allowing my shoulders to slump, the tension of the day finally releasing its grip.
Before I can reach for the door, it swings open to reveal Tristan, his expression full of relief.
“You’re back,” he says, pulling me into a tight embrace. “St. Clare called. Said everything went perfectly.”
I lean into his warmth, drawing strength from his solid presence. “It did. They got him.”
He leads me inside, where the rich scent of chocolate and vanilla fills the air. “Someone has been anxiously awaiting your return,” he murmurs, guiding me toward the kitchen.
The scene that greets me there squeezes my heart with unexpected emotion. Declan stands at the island, his usually immaculate appearance marred by flour dusting his dark hair. Beside him on a raised stool, Amélie concentrates intently on decorating cookies, her small tongue poking out between her lips in focus. Tarquin observes from the breakfast bar, a mug of tea in his elegant hands, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.
“Mummy!” Amélie exclaims, spotting me in the doorway. “We made the cookies! And Declan let me crack the eggs all by myself!”
“She has quite the technique,” Declan comments with pride. “Very enthusiastic.”
I cross to them, examining the slightly misshapen but lovingly decorated cookies spread across the cooling rack. “They look delicious, sweetheart.”
“This one’s yours,” Amélie declares, pointing to a cookie with an excessive amount of sprinkles. “And this one is for the police man,” she adds, indicating another equally decorated creation.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” I tell her, throat tight with emotion.
“Did you catch the baddie?” she asks suddenly, her expression serious beyond her years.
I exchange a quick glance with Tristan, unsure how much to explain. “Yes,” I answer simply.
She nods, satisfied with that. “Good.”
“Why don’t you help Amélie finish decorating while I make some tea?” Tristan suggests. “You look like you could use a moment to decompress.”
I nod gratefully, taking my place beside Amélie. I lose myself in the simple joy of decorating cookies with my daughter, marvelling at how natural it feels, how right. The illegal heat inducers, the sting operation, Jeremy—all seem to belong to another lifetime.
“Can we go swimming now?” Amélie asks, and Declan chuckles.
“She has not stopped asking that since you left.”
I giggle. “Yes, sweetheart, we can go swimming now. Let’s go and get you in your swimsuit.” I lead her out of the kitchen with the alphas following me too closely. Something is up.
“Head on up, love, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Amélie races ahead, and I turn to them with a suspicious stare. “What is going on?”
They exchange glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
“We’ve been talking,” Tristan says carefully. “About making things more official now that your stint as confidential informant is over.”
“Oh?”
“A formal mating,” Tarquin clarifies. “Traditional, binding, recognised by law and society.”
“Our family is complete,” Declan adds, his deep voice unusually gentle. “Amélie is home. The threats against you are neutralised. We’re ready to build a future with you and Amélie.”
Tears prick at my eyes, overwhelmed by their faith in me—faith I’m finally beginning to share.
“We have something for you,” Tristan says softly. “Traditional gifts, to formalise our intent.”
Tarquin produces a small velvet box from his pocket. “In the old traditions, an alpha offers protection, security, a foundation.” He opens the box to reveal an exquisite platinum pendant, intricate knotwork surrounding a deep blue sapphire. “This has been in my family for generations, given only to true mates. The stone matches your eyes,” he adds softly.
I accept it with trembling fingers, the weight of its significance not lost on me. “It’s beautiful.”
Declan is next, his usual intensity tempered with unexpected vulnerability. “Traditionally, an alpha offers strength, loyalty, unwavering commitment.” He extends his hand to reveal a bracelet of braided leather accented with delicate silver beads. “I made this,” he admits. “The traditional materials symbolise protection earned through action, not just words.”
The personal nature of his gift touches me deeply. “You made this yourself?”
“All forms of art are my thing.”
Tristan smiles. “An alpha traditionally offers understanding, partnership, emotional sanctuary.” From his pocket, he withdraws a simple but elegant ring. It’s not a traditional engagement ring, but a band of rose gold intertwined with platinum. “This represents the joining of separate paths into one shared journey. Different elements creating something stronger together.”
I accept each gift, touched beyond belief. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll be our mate,” Tarquin says, his voice unusually rough with emotion. “Officially, completely, permanently.”
“Say you’ll allow us to be Amélie’s guardians,” Declan adds.
“Say you believe this is real,” Tristan finishes softly. “That you deserve this happiness we’ve found together.”
“Yes,” I whisper, the simplicity of the answer belying the complexity of emotion behind it. “Yes, to all of it.”
They move as one then, surrounding me in an embrace that feels like coming home. My alphas. My mates.
“When?” I ask, my voice muffled against Tristan’s chest.
“As soon as you are ready,” Tarquin answers. “You and Amélie.”
I nod, grateful for their consideration of my daughter’s needs alongside our own desires.
As we stand together at the foot of the stairs, I feel a certainty I’ve never known before. Somehow, against all odds, we prevailed.
The escort who once sold sex to survive has become a mother reclaiming her child, a mate claimed by three remarkable alphas, an omega discovering her own strength. Not a fairy tale ending, but something better. It’s a beginning, messy and real and gloriously possible.
“There is one thing,” Tarquin states, then, returning to his cold, wrathful self.
“What?” I gulp.
“Rob.”
“Hmm?”
“Ranier,” he spits out. “It was he who told the IPP about you buying heat inducers.”
I frown. “How do you know?”
“We saw him outside the station the day you were arrested as we were coming home,” Tristan says.
“Is this going to be a problem?” I ask carefully. The IPP said I was free and clear.
“Only for him,” Tarquin grits out. “He has been out of the country since that day. Probably seeing us together made him realise he made a big mistake. I have made my feelings quite clear that if he comes within a hundred miles of you, he is dead. He informed me he was moving abroad anyway.”
“That’s not necessary?—”
“Yes, it is. He actively tried to hurt you out of jealousy? Possession? Who knows? He doesn’t get a pass.”
“A hundred miles is quite far,” I murmur with a smile. “I’m not worried. If Ranier is such a sore loser, it’s not my problem.”
“I’ll make it a thousand if you think this is so fucking funny,” he growls.
I laugh openly. “I am not worried about him. I have you three, and he is nobody.”
Tarquin glowers at me, but he can’t hold it for long. He grins and sweeps me up into his arms. “Fucking right he is a nobody. I always said that, and no one ever listened.”
Tristan laughs, and then we look up as Amélie shouts down. “Hurry! I want pool!”
“Coming!” I shout back and pulling away from Tarquin, taking the stairs two at a time to reach my daughter as quickly as I can.