Chapter 27
My phone buzzes on Orien’s kitchen counter, the sudden vibration cutting through the quiet morning, and every muscle in my body tenses.
The last two days have been radio silence from the burner phone I use to contact my family, but it appears they’ve decided to deal with me.
For one stupid second, I consider leaving it there.
Pretending I didn’t hear it.
Pretending the outside world can’t reach me inside Orien’s apartment.
But the illusion shattered that day in Rowan’s office.
The screen lights up with a single message.
Alexei: Come home. Now.
The words wrap around my throat, choking off what little scraps of peace I managed to glean from this entire mess.
Of course, my brother can still text me while keeping me blocked.
Across the kitchen, Orien stands barefoot at the stove with a spatula in one hand, flipping pancakes as if we’re just another newly mated couple settling into a domestic routine instead of two people standing in the center of an approaching war.
Morning light spills across his bare skin, catching on the fading scratches I left across his back during my Heats.
My mate.
The thought still hits me with enough force that my heart aches.
The last few days have been so quiet with Orien brewing coffee before I was awake, his hand caressing my nape while I read, and falling asleep with the heat of him beside me. He’s been so attentive, ensuring I eat enough, and applying the ointment to my Marks until the scabs came off this morning.
I hadn’t known what it meant to be taken care of. I’m not sure I ever believed such contentment was meant for people like me.
Maybe that’s why I can’t quite trust it to last.
Because while Orien hums to himself in the kitchen, my missed check-in and skipped drug pickup yesterday are already detonating consequences somewhere across the city.
Mikhail won’t ignore that kind of insubordination.
Neither will the rest of the family.
And Alexei blocking my number means one of two things. Either my brother has lost control of the situation…or he’s now written me off, as the rest of the family did the day I presented as an Omega.
While Orien hums over the stove, preparing breakfast, I let myself imagine setting the phone down and never picking it up again.
Orien would try to protect me. I understand that now in a way I didn’t a week ago.
He would put every resource the Blue Note had between the Vartanians and me.
He would burn the city down before he let my family touch me, and it would not be enough.
But my family has been burning cities down for generations. They would dismantle everything he has built, every person he has protected. Everything he has built with Rowan, everything I have sacrificed so much to protect, would be ash inside of a month.
And they would do it without blinking, just to prove the point.
The only leverage I have left is walking back through the compound gate and using my new bond to negotiate on the Blue Note’s behalf before this becomes a war Orien can’t win. That was the whole reason we took such a risk when Orien bonded me in the first place.
I can’t lose my courage now.
My hand shakes as I set the phone face down on the counter, my palms growing damp. “I have to go.”
Orien’s shoulders tense, the spatula halting mid-motion before he sets it down.
“You have to go,” he repeats in a tone I’m learning to recognize as dangerous.
I lick my dry lips. “To the compound. I need to see Alexei.”
Orien turns, all traces of emotion wiped clean. “The compound where your family is right at this moment planning to destroy everything I’ve helped Rowan build?”
I flinch. “Yes.”
His posture shifts, feet planted shoulder-width apart, shoulders squared. “You’re not going alone.”
I keep my hands on the counter, trying to project calm. “If I show up with you at my back, Alexei will view it as a declaration of war. He’ll negotiate with his brother. He won’t negotiate with a bonded Omega’s Alpha standing behind him. He’d view it as weakness.”
“I don’t care how he chooses to view it,” Orien bites out. “You’re not going without me.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t.” He takes a single step forward. “You’re choosing to.”
The accusation burns. “That’s not fair—”
“You told me their plans,” he cuts in. “You confirmed their suspicions about your loyalty were true. Now you want to go back? Alone?”
“Alexei won’t hurt me,” I say, the invisible hand around my throat tightening. “But if you come, he’ll have to respond as the head of the family. He’ll have to maintain appearances in front of witnesses. His pride will cost us both.”
The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. Orien’s jaw works, tension visible in the line of his throat and the set of his shoulders.
Finally, he speaks. “Three hours.”
I blink. “What?”
“If you’re not back in three hours, I’m coming for you.”
“Three hours isn’t—”
“Not negotiable.” He cuts me off. “Three hours, or you don’t leave.”
“I need more time,” I argue. “The compound is forty minutes from here. Alexei won’t—”
“Three hours,” he repeats, a rumble starting in his chest. “Starting the minute you walk out the door.”
My mouth opens to continue the argument, but his hard stare stops me. “I understand.”
Orien draws in a steadying breath. “Go dress.”
I do as he says, moving on autopilot. My clothes are scattered across his bedroom, the evidence of our hours together. I gather them piece by piece, pulling on boxers, jeans, and a soft sweater that carries both of our scents.
As I step back out, Orien follows me to the door and waits as I kneel to put on my shoes. When I straighten, he holds my jacket in his hands.
He helps me to put it on, then grabs the lapels and yanks me close. “I hate this plan.”
“Me, too.” I offer him a wavering smile. “But this is our best bet.”
With a growl, he swoops down, his mouth bruising as he slams into mine.
One hand fists in my hair and the other grips my jaw, opening me up for his tongue to slide in and reclaim every nook and cranny he’s already spent days claiming.
Pulling back, he catches my lower lip between his teeth and tugs.
I whimper, gripping his bare shoulders as I melt into him.
But then it’s over, and he sets me back from his warm body. “You better be right about your brother.”
Dazed, my lips still stinging from his kiss, I can’t manage more than a quiet, “I am.”
His arms cross over his chest. “Stay alive.”
“Keep my pancakes warm,” I say.
With a last look at my mate, I open the door, step into the hallway, and close the door behind me.
I never make it to the compound gates.
Two miles out, a black SUV rolls across the intersection ahead of me, forcing me to slam on my brakes to avoid driving straight into it. The large vehicle stops at an angle, with no clear route around it, the front bumper angled toward the curb, and the rear swung out to block the lane.
A textbook lane block.
I raise my hands from the steering wheel so they can see I’m unarmed.
The front driver and passenger doors open in unison, and two men step out, their faces blank behind mirrored sunglasses despite the winter-gray sky.
Through the windshield, I size up the one on the driver’s side, a tall, lean man with close-cropped hair and a square jaw. The other one is shorter, broader across the shoulders, with a scar that bisects his left eyebrow.
Neither is family, but they’re both Alphas I’ve seen on a dozen duty rosters.
The tall one reaches the car and opens my driver’s side door from the outside. “Your phone.”
“It’s in the right pocket of my jacket,” I say, not lowering my hands.
He reaches past me and shuts off my car, putting it into park before he fishes out my phone. He powers it down and tucks it into his jacket pocket.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
I comply, motions slow so as not to spook them.
The second man steps forward. “Arms out, sir.”
Sir. Discomfort crawls across my skin at the formality of it.
“No weapons,” he reports as he moves to secure my wrists with a zip tie, and I let him.
Fighting here accomplishes nothing except confirming whatever suspicions prompted this intercept in the first place.
“Get in the vehicle,” the tall one says, opening the rear passenger door of the SUV.
I duck my head and climb in. The leather seat is cold through the thin fabric of my jeans, and the interior carries the scent of the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror that can’t mask the faint chemical tang of cleanup fluid from a recent job.
The doors lock with a soft click as soon as I’m settled, and I gaze outside. The windows are tinted dark enough to turn the street into a gray blur, details lost to shadow.
I sit upright, wrists in my lap. This wasn’t how I pictured my homecoming, and once again, I’m glad I convinced Orien to stay back at his apartment. My deadly mate would not have reacted kindly to this reception.
The thought amuses me, and I catch the driver frowning at me in the rearview mirror. Probably not used to prisoners finding anything funny.
The driver does a three-point turn and pulls back onto the road, heading in the same direction I had been before they stopped me.
No conversation from the front seat, no radio to fill the silence.
Only the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the dispatcher through the speaker mounted on the dash.
I breathe through the first surge of distress, forcing myself to think clearly despite the fear crawling up my throat. My primary concern is what happens if—when—the three hours Orien gave me runs out with no word from me.
I had hoped to send him a message when I arrived, to at least tell him I hadn’t been in any accidents along the way. Followed by more texts if Alexei decided to leave me sitting in a waiting room for an hour before we spoke.
But now, with my phone confiscated, all those plans have turned to smoke.