A muscle jumps in Brayden’s jaw. His eyes flare with something vicious. “You don’ttrustme?” His voice lowers to a growl, deep and dangerous. “You think I’d…what? Hurt her? Beat her? Kill her?”
Martin hesitates. “No. I—I didn’t mean it like that.” But it’s too late. The damage is done.
Brayden turns slowly, eyes blazing with fury andbetrayal. “After everything we’ve been through, you honestly think I’d hurt her on purpose?”
I want to laugh bitterly at his ridiculous words.
While it’s true that Brayden has never outright hit me, he does leave bruises on my body all the time. He squeezes my arms and wrists. He grips my face until my cheeks burn. He’s even started grabbing a fistful of my hair, and pulling hard so I’m forced to look at him when he yells at me.
He might not be “beating”me, but he’s definitely hurting me.
“Brayden.” Martin swallows hard, bowing his head in submission. “I’m sorry. I—she’s scared, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Brayden doesn’t answer. His gaze stays fixed, unblinking, until Martin finally nods, looking wrecked.
“I’ll go,” Martin says quietly, his voice stripped of defiance.
I want to beg him to stay, but there’s no point. They’ll only fight more, and I’ll get caught in the middle.
“I’ll check the west side,” Martin says, casting one last look at me. “I think Douglas has a cousin out that way.”
Then he walks off down the hall. A few seconds later, the front door closes with a final-soundingclick.
And it’s me and Brayden.
Alone.
I hate that I'm afraid of the pack alpha.
There was a time I spent every moment he was gone missing him—aching for his touch. But now, I dread the sound of his key in the door. And I think he dreads coming home just as much.
“Let’s go.” Brayden takes a step toward me, the air around him crackling with dominance. “Grab your coat.”
I blink. “My coat?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “Get yourfucking coat.” His glare is sharp, and his voice is cold. “We’re going for a drive.”
My legs move before my mind can catch up, carrying me through the spotless living room and toward the entryway. The silence in the house is unbearable—so thick I can hear Brayden breathing right behind me, tight and tense.
I pull my coat out of the entryway closet, then reach for my purse.
“You don’t need that,” he says, his voice deep and final.
My hand hovers, fingers curled above the strap. “I don’t need my ID?” I ask, confused. All omegas are supposed to carry certification documents at all times—proof of mating status, pack affiliation, everything.
Alphas caught with undocumented omegas are arrested. No exceptions.
“I’ve got everything you need.” Brayden yanks on his heavy coat, then pats the bulging side pocket.
Something inside me curls in on itself.
When did he go through my bag?
Why did he take my ID?
And where the hell are we going?
My pulse drums against the base of my skull. I try not to let my fear show, but it’s there—twisting under my ribs, making my breath feel too shallow.
