He stands, broad shoulders filling the small space. “Omega.” His voice is so gentle. “We should probably talk.”
For half a second, my pulse stutters. Old instinct rears up before logic can catch it—talkused to mean pain, punishment, rejection.
But then my bond with Knox flickers, raw and trembling. I feel his fear, not anger.
He’s terrified that I hate him.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Come and sit, omega.” Knox pulls out the chair closest to him, but I don’t move.
“Actually, I have a few questions,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be.
Tadeo and Alex shift to properly face me, Dakota sits a little straighter, and Knox freezes mid-breath. The energy in the room tightens, like everyone’s afraid of what I’m about to say.
“Okay,” Knox says, before adding, “What do you want to know?”
I take a deep breath, deciding to start with the little stuff. It’ll make it easier to ease into the massive questions that pound at the back of my skull.
“Last night,” I ask, “what were the bells for?”
Deep lines crease Knox’s brow, like the question doesn’t quite compute. “The bells?”
“The ones duct taped to the back door.”
Knox pauses, frowning like he’s not sure whether to answer or dodge the question. For a moment, the silence stretches, then he finally exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “The bells were so we could hear if Brayden tried to come in through the back.”
I guess that makes sense. “And the plywood? With the screws?”
Knox’s frown deepens, like he can’t figure out why on earth I’m asking about this stuff, but he answers anyway. “If Brayden bolted out the back, there was a good chance he’d get a foot full of metal. Feet bleed fast, so it would’ve left a trail for us to follow.”
I hum and nod. “What about the glass by the kitchen and the nails by the front door?”
“We needed something to alert us when he entered the living room,” Knox says, before cutting a slight glare at Alex. “We didn’tneedthe broken glass. Alex just likes making a mess.”
Alex stares down at his bare feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like the sound they make when they shatter,” he mutters, then shakes his head.
If this conversation wasn’t so scary, I might find his confession cute. Maybe even funny.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, look directly at Knox, then push into the bigger stuff. “You knew to do things like this because you aren’t a mover, right?”
“I’m not a mover,” he says simply. “Not in the traditional sense.”
The way he says that feels like he’s opening it up for me to ask more questions about what he does, but I don't think I’m ready for that. I might never be.
“You’re not a mover either?” I ask Alex.
He stares at his feet, suddenly looking about twelve years old. “Nope.”
“And you?” My eyes find Tadeo. “Are you really a CFO?”
“I am,” he says softly. “I’ve never been in the…moving business,” he glances at Knox, “but I did work in construction at one of Marc’s side businesses.” His voice drops as he adds, “I’m pretty sure it was for money laundering, but the work was real.”
I nod, not really sure what that means.
Then, I finally look at Dakota. The sweet beta looks exhausted, with dark bruises under his eyes, and a tinyBand-Aid slapped across the gash on his temple. It looks like he attempted to clean it, but gave up halfway through.
“Was the protein powder story real?” I ask, praying it wasn’t a lie. I needsomethingabout my pack to be real. “Is that really how you met Tadeo?”
