When it’s clear no one’s broken anything, Alex loses it. His laugh bursts out, loud and helpless, and I join in. Skyla giggles against my shoulder, her small hand clutching at my arm.
After a few minutes, I collect myself, then slowly sit, checking out the damage. The chair is totally wrecked, lying on the floor in three separate pieces. “How pissed do you think Knox is gonna be when he finds out we murdered his recliner?”
Alex props himself up on one elbow, grinning like a wolf caught in the henhouse. “He’s still groveling, remember? As long as we say Sky did it, we’ll be fine.”
Skyla gasps, smacking his arm. “That’s horrible!”
Alex only laughs harder, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince.
“I can’t take advantage of him like that,” Sky says, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. Her mouth twitches at the corners, betraying her. “He’s already having a hard day.”
I tilt my head, dying to know what his emotions feel like in her head. “Is he pissed?”
“No,” she shakes her head gently, “Just…tense.” She nods when she settles on a word.
“He’s tense all the time.” Alex snorts loudly. “Come on,” he leans into her side, that sexy smile working overtime, “This one time.”
Skyla frowns as both Alex and I give her matching pleading looks—little pouts with puppy-dog eyes.
Finally, the omega groans, huffing out a resigned sigh. “Fine. You can tell him it was my fault.” Then she jabs a finger at us both. “But that’s it. No more torturing Knox.”
“Deal,” Alex says instantly.
“Scout’s honor,” I add, crossing my heart.
“Alright, my sexy mates.” Alex slowly shifts to stand. “Let's see how many naked people we can cram into that shower.”
In the Car
Knox
The drive home is peaceful.The radio’s tuned to a classic rock station, the sound of gritty guitar riffs and scratchy vocals vibrating around me. It’s the same kind of music that used to make Alex groan every time we drove together, muttering about how “old man rock” was killing his brain cells.
Humming along, I tap my fingers in time with the beat, trying to shake off what’s left of my agitation.
It’s been one hell of a day.
Not bad—long.
I grip the wheel a little tighter as I turn into the neighborhood, the cut across my knuckles stinging like it wants to remind me of every punch I threw.
I fucking hate collecting other alphas for Marc. They always put up a fight—half pride, half stupidity—and it’s never clean. A good brawl used to clear my head, but that was before I had an omega waiting at home.
Now every hit is a bruise she might see.
And the last thing I want is for Skyla to find out how I make my money. She’s all soft edges and quiet grace, a lady through and through. She’s used to polished alphas with high-profile jobs and clean hands. Not guys like me, who spend their days dragging grifters out of gated driveways for a loan shark boss.
I flex my hand once, watching blood bead along the scab before the sting fades.
At least it’s small.
When I pull up to the house, Tadeo’s car isn’t in the driveway. I’m sure he’s working late again. The CEO has been riding the whole company hard lately, trying to up their numbers for some promising investors. I make a mental note to check on him later, then head up the walk.
The moment I step inside, I stop dead.
What’s left of my recliner—myfavoritedamn recliner—is sitting in a sad, splintered pile in the middle of the living room.
For a heartbeat, all I feel is dread. My stomach drops, a dozen possibilities hitting at once. Was the house broken into? Did someone get hurt?
