Page 11

Chapter eleven

VIOLET

I help Sofie strip out of her dress and her panties, throwing her the extra shirt and shorts I keep stocked in the car. I have to help her into those, Sofie trembling against me as she then climbs under the blankets on the backseat. I brush damp strands of hair from her face, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead as she curls up in the backseat. “I’ll be out in an hour, tops. Just rest, okay?”

She nods weakly, but her eyes don’t open all the way, like even that small movement is too much. The way she shudders, the way her fingers twitch against the blanket, makes something deep in my chest twist.

The car door clicks shut louder than I mean it to, my fingers lingering on the handle for half a second longer than necessary before I lock it. One last glance at her, tucked into herself like a wounded animal, before I force my legs to move, turning back toward the gallery.

Of course, the moment I step back into the event, my luck ends.

“I don’t pay you to disappear whenever the fuck you feel like it.” Xavier’s voice cuts through what little calm I had left. “This is a showing, Violet. A busy one. Get your ass back into the crowd and make sure the tables stay clean and stocked.”

It takes everything in me not to turn and rip into him, to let the violence simmering just beneath my skin break free. My fingers twitch at my sides, nails biting into my palms, but I force my face into something neutral, something he can’t sink his teeth into, something I won’t regret later. “I’ll be in and out,” I say, voice smooth despite the fury burning in my gut. “I just needed a minute.”

Xavier scoffs, stepping closer, crowding into my space like he thinks he’s intimidating. “You’re already on thin ice,” he sneers. “Don’t fucking test me.”

My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I just turn, shoving my way toward the main event before the temptation to swing at him takes over completely. God, my luck just keeps getting worse—Lance waiting a few feet away.

His body tenses the second he sees me, brows furrowed, concern bleeding into his voice. “Is Sofie okay?”

My jaw clenches, the words sticking in my throat. I don’t have the energy for this. Not when my hands are still shaking, not when my head is a mess, not when every second that passes is another second Sofie is suffering in the car alone. “She’s fine,” I grit out. I’m thankful to Lance but I also don’t want to cause a scene. Without this job, I’ll have to start over and as much as I despise Xavier, he pays more than the grocery store across from our apartment.

Hawk is with him this time, standing slightly behind him, his gaze scanning me like he’s looking for cracks, like he can see something I don’t want him to. I don’t like the way he’s watching me, the way his attention lingers a little too long. “What’s going on?” he asks. “This have anything to do with the fact that my brother came in with a new set of clothes?” His nostrils are flared, no doubt reacting to Sofie’s scent.

I shake my head, pulse hammering, everything in me screaming to shut down, to keep moving, to get the fuck out of here. “It’s nothing,” I snap, the words coming out a little too sharp, tears threatening to surface. “Please—just enjoy the rest of the show.” I push my way through the crowd, throwing fake smiles and little head nods to keep the peace.

No one minds me because I’m just an employee as I swipe a few empty glasses and a plate. Someone asks me a question but I’m too lost in my head to answer. Whispers flit through the crowd, my attention snapping to the right as his scent hits my nose. Puma is watching me, studying me just like Hawk had been. It’s unnerving the way he’s trying to dissect me but I shove the lump down in my throat and focus on getting through the next hour.

Five minutes left of my shift is the moment when everything goes to shit. Low murmurs, hushed voices bleeding into the air just behind me, just quiet enough to make me strain to listen.

“…fake painting…”

My hands keep moving, pretending to focus on the table, but my ears sharpen, my body locking into place as I listen.

“…stolen, I heard.”

Everything inside me goes still.

“…Ashford Pack might be tangled up in it.”

My grip tightens on the rag, fingers curling so tight the fabric twists under my palm.

A slow, heavy pulse beats through my skull as the words sink in. I should ignore it, should let it roll off me like all the other bullshit that floats through this place. But my mind latches onto the words like a damn vice, tightening with every second. Stolen. Fake.

The accusation digs in deep. Have I been selling stolen work? Have they been buying it? The thought is a slow poison, an infection spreading too fast. It doesn’t make sense. Every sale I’ve handled for them has been real, legit. I’ve never moved a piece that felt off. But I have seen things that didn’t sit right.

That one art piece from a few weeks ago. And then the one painting from yesterday. The wet paint. Like something wasn’t adding up, like there was a piece missing that no one wanted to say out loud. Fuck .

I’m staying out of it though as I rush the last bit of trash to the bin in the corner and then grab my bag from behind the counter, my pulse still hammering in my ears. Xavier is across the room, deep in conversation with a group of collectors, but I don’t care. I push toward him anyway, my patience already burned to nothing but ash. “I’m off,” I state.

He barely glances at me. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s 9 pm. Shift is over.”

Xavier turns, scowling, his mouth twisting like I’m something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “And? You think that means you just get to—”

“I don’t care,” I cut him off, the last thread of restraint snapping clean in half. “I’m leaving.” I push through the front doors, stepping into the darkness, my only thought getting to Sofie and getting her home. I reserved one of those rooms for tomorrow but I’ll have to see if they have someone tonight. I’m not sure her heat will wait that long.

"Violet."

Puma is stalking toward me, dark eyes locked onto mine when I turn around, burning with something furious. He moves like a predator, his steps measured like he’s giving me a chance to explain myself before he rips me apart.

"You want to tell me why the fuck people are whispering about fake paintings in that gallery?"

I exhale hard through my nose, barely holding on to the last frayed edge of my patience. "I don’t know," I snap, my voice clipped, rough around the edges. "And right now? That is the least of my fucking priorities."

Puma’s gaze flickers, something shifting behind his eyes. He tilts his head just slightly, watching me like he knows I’m holding something back. "I’ve had my suspicions for a while," he mutters, more to himself than to me, jaw tightening. "But hearing it thrown around like gossip?" He shakes his head, dark eyes flashing. "That’s not a mistake. Someone planted that."

I dip my hand into my pocket and then shove a business card against his chest, and he catches it without looking away from me. "Call me tomorrow if you need to," I grind out, the weight of exhaustion dragging through my bones. "Right now, I need to take care of my Omega."

Something changes in his face. A small shift, barely noticeable, but I catch it. He frowns, his brows pulling together. "Your Omega?"

My jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache. "Yes," I bite out. "My Omega. Sofie, the girl from the front desk? I need to get her home." It feels wrong being so defiant to this Alpha as if some part of me wants to submit.

Puma goes still, the anger seeping from his expression until the softness feels like a complete 180. "Is she okay?"

The question hits me like a punch to the ribs which makes me laugh. A panicked response, sure but it’s all I have. A sharp, breathless thing that barely escapes my throat, bitter and humorless and soaked in exhaustion. "Why do you care?" I breathe, shaking my head, throwing my hands up because I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore. "Why the fuck do you care, Puma?"

"What?" My voice is raw, frayed at the edges. I’m too fucking tired for this.

Puma exhales, dragging a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I shouldn’t have come at you like that," he says, voice lower now, steadier. "I’m sorry."

I blink, the anger still burning under my skin, still hot in my veins, but the unexpected softness in his words takes me off guard. I’ve seen Puma controlled. I’ve seen him calculated. I’ve seen him dangerous. But I’ve never seen him like this.

His posture shifts slightly, his hands tucking into the pockets of his slacks, but there’s nothing casual about the way he looks at me. "I do care, Violet," he says, quieter this time, like the words are something meant only for me. And fuck if that doesn’t make something tighten in my chest, something I don’t have time to pick apart. "But those rumors in there? They aren’t ones to be taken lightly."

My jaw clenches, because I know he’s right. I know this isn’t something I can just ignore. But I don’t want to deal with this. Not when my entire world is narrowed down to one thing—getting Sofie home, making sure she doesn’t drown in this heat that’s clawing its way through her.

Still, when he gives me that expectant look, the kind that demands more than I want to give, I exhale sharply, rubbing my temple. "I didn’t think anything of it before today, but yeah, something was weird with one of the paintings."

His expression sharpens instantly. "Weird how?"

Frustration claws up my throat, presses against my ribs. "I don’t have a fucking degree in this," I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "I don’t have training beyond what Xavier drilled into me to make a sale. But I do know that wet paint isn’t supposed to smudge on something that’s supposed to be decades old." I shrug, defensive even though I shouldn’t be. "I didn’t ask questions because asking questions gets me in trouble."

Puma studies me for a long second, his dark eyes flicking over my face. "That’s why you didn’t really want to sell it to Lance and Hawk."

"Yeah."

A slow, deviant smile spreads across his lips. "I guess I’m going to have a talk with your boss."

A laugh rips out of me before I can stop it. "Good fucking luck with that."

The predatory look in his eyes is the kind of look that sends a warning through my veins, a silent promise that Xavier doesn’t even realize what is coming for him. Oh, Xavier is fucked. I leave Puma, dashing the rest of the way to the car, relief flooding through me when I catch Sofie still asleep in the back seat.

Her skin is still flushed but she’s resting as I slip into the front seat and take off down the street. There’s a billion things rushing through my head that my knuckles turn white around the wheel. One thing at a time, I tell myself. Get through Sofie’s heat and then we figure out this complicated connection to the Ashford pack.