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My rumbling purr rattles the office door.
Then my phone rings, and the name on the screen euthanizes my warm fuzzies.
Scorpio.
“Sir?” I stuff the word with scorn.
“My office.” He hangs up.
So much for playing hooky.
I stand and wince.
Hard as fuck.
Hope Scorpio likes my pheromones.
I cross the building and take the elevator to the bunker of their executive suite.
My palms sweat.
It’s Atlas’s job to meet with the dads.
I won’t cave to their bullshit, but I’d feel stronger having him at my back. Now he’s busy grilling his new BFF, Granny Celeste, for omega secrets.
After Jett’s morning therapy session, he and Finn went radio silent, off to hunt Secretary Stacey who thinks she can fucking run after overseeing years of violence at the OCC.
I commanded them to bring her in alive, but I wasn’t real specific about how or when, so I expect the woman back in pieces.
I’m usually the one reigning in their antics.
Fuck with Lilah and you can get fucked.
It’s a good reminder as I walk into the dads’ suite, alone.
The guys can’t be with me, but we’re one hundred percent on the same page.
Protect Lilah.
Especially from the scheming mercs who passed us their DNA.
The secretary waves me past, and a second atmosphere sinks onto my shoulders. Fighting the pushback, I enter Scorpio’s office to find all four horsemen clustered in the sitting area.
Scorpio and Hikaru take up the couch, both wearing their typical we’re-businessmen-not-mercenaries suits that fool no one when they reek of gunpowder and ash.
My dad and Kieran sit across from them in more casual camo, everyone absorbed in the stacks of reports scattered on the coffee table until their heads whip to me.
I manage not to stagger, but the dominance has my knee joints creaking.
I pound way too much collagen powder to be going arthritic this young.
They’re that ridiculous.
And that used to getting exactly what they want.
I take a breath.
Much as I want to bail, much as I’ll probably always want to bail, I’ll step up for her.
