Chapter Seven

Sam sat across from the detective he hardly knew. That was how it worked with special groups, though they didn’t interact much. He knew the omega crimes area folks, but vice was a different matter.

Detective Grayson Harper was a hardass, but honest, if Sam had learned anything. Still, departments didn’t like to share their information or cases, always afraid someone would one-up them.

Mason sat in the hallway, the detective unwilling to talk in front of a stranger, and a civilian at that. Not that Mason minded. He tended to be happy about anywhere.

“I can’t say anything about ongoing investigations to anyone outside our department. You know the rules, Sam.”

Sam shifted to ease the pain in his side. He’d dialed way back on his medication so he could come in this evening, so he could be clear-headed enough to ask the right questions. It meant the pain, which had been just an inkling before, was now a full-sized presence knocking against his skull.

“I’m not trying to take your case. I’m just trying to keep someone important to me safe.”

Grayson sighed and suddenly looked every day of his hard fought forty-five years. “I can’t tell you much, Sam. I can tell you that Mario Navarro is bad news, but given your stay in the hospital, I’d guess you know that. It means I don’t need to tell you to stay out of his way, either.”

“That isn’t possible anymore. This isn’t a ‘tend to my own garden’ situation. He’s pissed in my yard, and now I have to deal with it.”

Grayson sat back and rubbed his fingers against the bridge of his crooked nose. “You’re with Richard Pera’s mate, right? Yeah, you’ve stepped in some shit, there.”

“I noticed. No one will say anything, won’t do anything. I’ve put in requests with all my favors, and I’m getting a whole lot of nothing back.”

“Not surprising. Richard dealt with money transfers between a lot of very bad people. I’m talking omega trafficking, drugs, guns. Navarro is only one of the people he dealt with, and really, he’s small time compared to a few others we’ve linked Richard to. Tracy should really go into hiding, because if Richard did leave files behind, if he wasn’t just bluffing, I doubt Navarro will be the only one looking.”

“She has a kid, a life. That asshole tore everything apart for her once, and I’ll be damned if he does it to her again. She can’t just pick up and leave.” Especially because doing so would mean leaving Sam, and he just couldn’t get behind that idea.

“I’ve looked at what I can find on Navarro, on Richard, on whoever else we’ve linked them to. There’s a reason no one has gone after Richard or what he has, why nothing sticks, and it’s because there are too many bought and paid-for politicians and cops in this. I have no idea who is keeping everything quiet, but someone with a lot of clout is. If you push this, if you get any files, I doubt you’ll live long enough to use them. Hell, she barely survived Richard, and keep at this? He might still get her in the end.”

Sam curled his hand around the cane he’d used to help him walk, fury replacing the pain. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Tracy.

It didn’t matter how many ant hills he had to kick over, how much tigers he had to poke or just how many wounds he got from it, they’d get to the bottom of this.

He swore it right then, that no matter what it took, Tracy and Karen would be safe.

* * * *

Dylan hated staying up late, but sometimes there weren’t other options. With Mason and Sam meeting with that cop, Dylan had to keep an eye on Tracy, Karen and the house. The place was wired like a fortress, but nothing beat a good old-fashioned watch.

It meant when he’d have rather been curled up in his warm bed, he was sitting in the living room with the television playing, volume almost all the way off.

Karen had gone to sleep a few hours before, after sitting beside him and watching a nature show on predators. Seemed she liked lions. Funny, since Dylan had always liked lions. Maybe it was some male fantasy, the whole ultimate manly symbol being a lion, but Dylan had always favored them.

The kid was sweet. Too sweet to have gone through what she had. Still, she hadn’t batted an eyelid at sitting beside him and watching the show. She’d even spoken up a few times, asking questions about why the lionesses did all the hunting, about if they were stronger than the males. Not that Dylan had been able to answer too many of them, because zoology wasn’t exactly his specialty.

Still, she’d listened to what he could say, enraptured like he was way smarter than he was.

Tracy, for her part, had remained on the sidelines, like a lioness from the show, watching over her cub. She hadn’t spoken to him, casting him only a blank look when Sam had explained he had to leave.

Fine by me. I don’t need to talk to her.

She’d headed off to sleep herself just after Karen, and Dylan found he didn’t care for the silence. He should—he was used to it after all. He lived alone, which meant silence was sort of his constant companion. Now though? Without Karen’s questions and Sam and Mason’s conversations, Dylan felt unsettled.

A sound had him rising, and when he hit the hallway, a creak came from the floor of Tracy’s room.

Was she awake? Couldn’t sleep? Mason had mentioned she’d woken up each night and ended up sitting outside with him.

Maybe that’s what this was? Well, I’m not sitting outside, so she’s on her own.

Which wasn’t true, because Dylan wouldn’t let her outside without a set of eyes on her. His declarations didn’t ever seem to stick.

Another sound, soft and cut short, like someone trying and failing to be quiet. The green blinking and silent state of the security panel in the hallway said nothing had tripped the alarm.

He didn’t go for his pistol, safely tucked away in the gun safe in his room. It would take too long, and he was still sure no danger lurked inside the room.

In fact, he wanted to turn around. He wanted to go back to his spot on the couch. As long as no one was inside her room, as long as she and the kid were safe, anything else just wasn’t his business.

Except, a broken gasp tugged at him.

Dylan snarled to himself, low and angry, as his feet moved without him thinking about it. Before he knew it, he stood in the doorway of her room.

His eyes adjusted slowly, the darkness taking form from nothing. The bed remained made and empty, so his gaze followed the hitching of breath.

Sure enough, cowering in the corner, Tracy sat with her back to the wall, her knees to her chest.

He froze, indecision tugging at him. I should turn around and go. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed, but dealing with this? Not my job. Even as he told himself that, his feet wouldn’t budge.

No matter how much he said he needed to go, that he had no business getting involved with female hysterics, instinct kept him rooted. An omega was crying, afraid, and his instinct drew him to look after her, to fix it.

He kept in the growl that threatened to leave him when he realized there was no chance of him walking away so long as she poured tears like that. A sound like that would just make her cry harder, make it take longer for him to get the hell away.

With Karen’s room just beside them, Dylan used the dimmer to turn the lights on low as he shut the door. She might not like the door shut, but she’d like her daughter waking up even less.

Her gaze jumped to his, a moment of panic before she blanked it.

She did that a lot, didn’t she? Hid whatever was there, whatever she thought or felt. As someone who was constantly showing shit on his face, he envied that sort of control.

“What do you—” She broke off the snapped question, then tried again in a mild voice lacking the attitude. “How can I help you?”

Dylan crossed his arms, trying for annoyed. Annoyed with being bothered, of course, not annoyed because the red that rimmed her eyes and the wetness still on her cheeks tore at him. “You were making enough noise, I could hear you from the living room.”

She ran her tongue along her teeth, as if she wanted to say something sharp but couldn’t bring herself to do so. “I’ll stay quiet,” she said instead.

And, fuck, that riled up his temper. “Didn’t ask you to keep it down.”

“What are you asking for, then?”

It was his turn to open his mouth and say nothing.

Why pretend? Truth was getting more and more obvious. Even though it was just fucking hormones and pheromones and biochemical bullshit, he wasn’t going to get a step away from this fucking omega until he calmed her down, until he’d settled her into bed, and she was relaxed.

Sometimes being an alpha sucks.

“Come on,” he grated out. When she didn’t move, Dylan gestured at the bed. “Let’s go. Get in.”

She swallowed so loudly, it had to hurt her throat. Still, she rose, using the wall for balance as she got to her feet. It was the first time he’d gotten a full, good look at her. He almost thought she wore those huge, baggy clothes to bed. Nope, seemed she dressed down to sleep. A T-shirt that was form-fitted highlighted her small breasts and narrow waist. Pajama bottoms with polka dots wrapped around her legs, the entire ensemble practical rather than seductive. Still, he wanted to groan at what it did to him.

He’d said she could use eating more, because in his experience women were always looking for compliments, always thinking they were too fat. She didn’t have an ounce of stray fat on her, but none of that detracted from her beauty.

And he hated her more for that, for the fact he wanted her, that the want and desire thrummed inside him like a living thing needing out and at her. He didn’t like feeling out of control.

She moved with slow, careful steps, her bare feet padding against the carpet. She cringed slightly as she slipped past him, and he’d swear she didn’t breathe.

Dylan pulled the blanket out, and she took the spot without complaint. Even with the tension through her, the masked fear, she crawled into the bed where he’d indicated.

Which, honestly, surprised the hell out of him. He’d expected a fight. He’d expected arguing. While he wasn’t an alpha who wanted to spend his time reassuring some flighty omega, he had fucking expected it to happen.

Why hadn’t she? Clearly, she wasn’t interested in doing as told.

Lines appeared in her lids as she squeezed her eyes shut, not looking at him, not saying or doing anything. Again, he stared at her, his brows furrowed. She looked so small there, her hands fisted tight, her body stiff.

A tremble in her bottom lip and it all became far too clear.

She expects me to demand sex. A growl left him at the idea, at the thought of anyone forcing her to do anything.

Worse? At the idea that if it happened, if he were that sort of asshole, that she’d just lie there.

Then again, a scar on her cheek, probably from catching a ring when backhanded, showed the price she’d paid in the past.

Guess I can understand how giving in can be easier.

His growl made matters worse, and the tenuous hold on her emotions snapped. The tremble of her lip grew, and her breathing sped until he worried she’d pass out or throw up.

Neither seemed good.

“Oh, fuck,” he snapped without trying to soften his voice at all. This was him, and it was best she knew it now. He sat on the bed, above the covers, and slid his fingers into her hair. He grasped those wavy strands tight enough, her eyes snapped open. “I’m not going to fuck you, Red.”

Red. The nickname slid off his lips with more than a little venom in it.

The name fit her, with that wild mess of fiery hair and those freckles on her nose that he absolutely refused to think of as cute.

She blinked, eyes clearing before a deep inhalation from her said she’d drawn his scent into her lungs.

And look at those pupils blown wide. They sat like saucers in her eyes, obscuring the amber. It wasn’t lust, not yet, but damn if his snapped voice didn’t shake loose that fainting-goat shit she was doing.

“You’re not?” she asked so softly he strained to hear it.

“No, I’m not. You think, what? The second Sam turns his back, I’m going to be in here on top of you? I’m not a fucking monster. Better question is why the fuck you were gonna let me?”

Her tongue, pink and soft-looking and able to conjure up far too many filthy thoughts, slid across her bottom lip. “I learned a long time ago it’s safest not to fight alphas. I always lose.”

And there went that punch to the gut feeling he was really resenting her for. He didn’t want to feel shit for her, but she kept drawing it out of him.

Dylan softened his grip in her hair, though he didn’t pull his hand away. Why not? He refused to think too deeply about it, choosing to grasp the soft red strands in a gentle touch. “That’s not true. You may suffer a little less at the start, but you’ll have it way worse for longer. You’ve got fight in you, whether or not you see it.”

A lot of doubt spread across her face, and that didn’t shock him. Still, she didn’t argue.

Funny that a female not arguing would annoy him.

“Now that you aren’t crying anymore, go to sleep.”

He pulled back, but her eyes did that wide shit again.

Fucking wonderful.

Dylan let out a long sigh, one he made sure sounded just as annoyed as he felt, and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fine,” he muttered. He didn’t crawl beneath the covers, sure that wasn’t what she wanted, and instead lay on top of the blankets on the bed. Neither of them needed any skin-on-skin contact.

Sure, he wanted to fuck her, but when that happened it would be hard and fast, just bodies. Lying in bed, comforting her, that shit wasn’t him and it sure as hell wasn’t what he wanted between them.

Despite the tension in her, she relaxed slowly, as though each second he didn’t pounce helped her to ease.

An ache he couldn’t ignore forced him to speak. “Sorry about dinner last night.”

Tracy rolled to her side to face him, a good swath of space between them. She pillowed her head on her hands, strands of her hair obscuring her pretty eyes. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. No idea what I said to hurt your feelings so much, but you hadn’t done anything to deserve it. I can be an asshole a lot of the time.”

He waited for her to explain, but when she didn’t, a wave of his hand encouraged her.

“I eat plenty. Richard liked to point out that I was scrawny, that I looked more like a boy, that I wasn’t womanly.” Didn’t that last word hold a wealth of weight?

That nearly made him choke on his own spit at the absurdity. Had her old alpha been blind? As much as he didn’t want to admit it, no matter how hard he fought it, Tracy was a knock-out. She had that innocent-pixie thing that just wasn’t fair. Hell, she looked like some fairy creature, too fucking ethereal for their world, and the red hair? Made her look like trouble.

“Well, he was an idiot, Red. There isn’t a thing wrong with your body.”

“I’m not—”

He lifted an eyebrow to shut her up. “Not a thing. And trust me, I’d have no issue telling you if there were. “

She waited a moment, lips pressed together as if deciding if she’d say anything at all. Finally, she went for it. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Not really, no. Isn’t exactly your fault, I’m just not a fan of omegas. I’ve seen the shit they can do too many times to want to be anywhere around it. Seeing as you don’t care for alphas, I’m thinking that should suit us both just fine, right?”

She nodded, though hesitation made the reaction slow, and the word sure didn’t sound all that confident. “Right.”

Dylan relaxed back on the bed, ignoring the way she stared at him, letting her look her fill. This whole lying next to her thing? That was him being selfish. He was just trying to keep her quiet so he could have some peace.

It isn’t about her, not a bit.

He let the lie remain even as he closed his eyes and drifted off to the sound of her even breathing.

* * * *

Tracy woke to an alpha’s scent all over her. All over the bed. All over everything.

It sparked a deep panic as her brain sorted through the night before. She recalled the breakdown, when her life had seemed too big, too out of control. She’d slid down in the corner of her room as she’d realized how much she had resting on her shoulders and how ill-equipped she was to handle any of it. Mario. Richard’s affairs. Living with three alphas. It had all been too much.

Dylan had come in, and not being sweet, he’d managed to pull her free of the panic attack before it had fully taken hold.

Sam would have been sweet. Mason, too, she suspected. They’d have offered kind words and soft caresses, if she’d let them. They’d have told her it would be fine, that they’d protect her. She wouldn’t have believed them, of course, but the attempt would have been nice. She’d have considered offloading those worries to them.

Not Dylan, though. Instead, he’d all but snapped at her. In fact, he had. Still, his no-nonsense tone and his lack of interest had helped.

Instead of someone else picking up the pieces, she’d done it.

Somehow, with him there, she’d realized she could pick up the pieces herself, that she didn’t need someone else to put her back together. She’d done it, and afterward? The rest of the problems had seemed manageable.

And funny enough, he still lay in the bed beside her, stretched out on top of the blankets. His eyes were shut, hiding the dark brown of them, the light of the rising sun just peeking in through the window. He had unhappy lines carved deep into his expression, as if he wanted to complain even when asleep.

Why is he so unhappy? She’d thought at first he was just a jerk. Perhaps even like Richard.

Though, Richard had been sweet, hadn’t he? He’d been good at playing the game, at seeming like the perfect mate. He’d doted on her in the hospital when the doctors were there, played the part of the loving, worried mate.

He’d hidden his monster so well, few caught a glimpse of it beyond the evidence it left on her.

Dylan had seemed like that monster on the front, like someone who would backhand her for talking out of turn. Then, when she’d been ready to accept whatever he’d do to her, he’d been the one to bolster her, to tell her she didn’t need to accept what any alpha did, even him.

He’d not taken advantage of what she’d have given without a fight, then stayed when he’d seen it in her face that she’d wanted him to remain.

He’d even spent all night in her bed and hadn’t so much as touched her.

It made Tracy brave in a way she hadn’t much in her life. She sat up to look at him, to really study at him for the first time. He had a light ghosting of dark hair on his jaw, and she knew without touching it that it would be rough against her skin. He wasn’t as dark as Sam, and his hair was a light brown that almost made him seem young. Lines sat between his eyebrows and in his forehead, creases that said he frowned. A lot.

Then again, had she seen his smile? Dylan’s only two moods seemed to be pissed off and indifferent.

Though, the way he called her Red made her heart flutter. It wasn’t with any particular fondness, at least on the surface, but each time he rumbled it out in an almost growl, she melted a bit.

What is wrong with me? I’ve been down this road, and I know where it leads.

Even still, she watched him, fascinated by the strength he carried, by how different he was from her, from Sam or Mason.

Her quiet contemplation shattered when his dark eyes snapped open, his face setting in the hard lines of annoyance he always wore.

His gaze darted around, then settled on her. “It’s late,” he snapped like an accusation before sitting up.

It forced her to lean back to not risk getting too close. If she’d stayed put, their lips might have brushed.

Or slammed together, with how quickly he moved.

“Thank you,” Tracy said. “You didn’t have to stay last night, so thank you. It helped.” The words stuck in her throat, so used to remaining silent. Still, he’d done something for her, a small act of kindness—no matter how grudgingly given—and Tracy appreciated it.

Dylan turned to cast her a withering glare, as if any of the sweetness from the night before had evaporated and left an angry, different man in its place. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not going to waste my time whenever you decide to have a breakdown. I’m not Sam. I don’t get off on omegas with victim complexes.”

The words came out so flat and angry, Tracy drew back as though to fend off a blow. The words themselves were sharp, each syllable serrated and deadly. The harshness on his face said he’d meant them to cut.

Tracy opened her mouth to say something, anything about his terrible attitude and sharp words, but she hated herself a little more when she only squeaked out a soft “Sorry.”

Would she always be like that? The shadow Richard made her into?

His face softened, the action so fleeting she’d have missed it if she’d blinked. As quickly as it happened, it was gone. “No reason to get up right now. Give yourself another hour, Red.”

The door shut with a decisive click, and in the moments afterward, when she ached from the cutting edge and truth of his words, only one thing soothed the sting.

He’d called her Red, and that damn nickname had been spoken gently, almost affectionately, like an apology.

And in that, she worried. Richard had drawn her in with sweetness, but how much more dangerous could a man like Dylan be, who lashed out with such ease?

And why did she want to hear him call her Red again so badly?