Page 37

TRIPP

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Even I will admit Knox had my engines revved and ready to go. His softly spoken words and touches nearly did Remi in. I could see the spark of yearning in her eyes. See the way she gravitated toward him, even when she wanted to run away.

Run away, she did. Right away from us and out into the night. She’d rather be anywhere other than where we are, and that hurts more than I can say. She’s our omega, our reason for breathing. We hurt her beyond all compare, and I don’t know how we’re going to get ourselves out of this one.

“It’s all your fault,” I fume, pinning Knox to the spot with a glare.

He sighs. “I know it is. I’m trying to fix it.”

“By pushing yourself on her?” Boone asks, taking a hesitant step forward to come closer. “She needs apologies, not come-ons.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” He growls softly. “She looked for fucking good in that dress.”

“Imagine knowing what she feels like but being unable to touch her,” I say, frowning as the storm inside me brews to a fever pitch. “I know that feeling, and I’m fucking pissed that I can’t stay mad at you.”

Knox releases a weary sigh, frustration and regret mingling across his features. Then, with a resigned sweep of his hand, he motions for us to follow. His head is down, and each movement is a challenge for him.

“We better make sure she gets home okay,” he mutters, voice low but charged with a sense of duty as he turns toward the opening of the hallway, the weight of our shared worry hanging in the air.

All of us file out of the hallway, making our way through the crowded Luscious. We nod toward the bouncer, Ted, as we make our way outside. He knows exactly what we’re looking for, gesturing down the street toward the corner of Ferguson and Fifth.

“She went that way, fellas,” he says in his gravelly voice.

We nod our heads in unison and start that way. We’re slow in our approach, seeing just up ahead Remi as she comes to a stop at the intersection.

When we went to Luscious tonight, we had everyone who worked there on the lookout for a blonde bombshell.

The moment Remi entered the nightclub, we knew about it.

Ted is the one who called us to let us know our girl had been spotted at the club and that we should probably get down here because she looked dressed to kill.

Dressed to kill, she was. The dress she was wearing looked like it had been painted on, and the sight made me salivate. I know what that body feels like underneath. I know how it tastes. Remi is a sublime piece of perfection, and I yearn for another taste.

The night air is thick with city sounds—honking horns, snippets of laughter, tires splashing through shallow puddles left by an earlier rain.

Streetlights cast golden halos on the slick pavement, and the rush of passing cars—headlights blazing—paints shifting patterns against the storefronts.

We keep our pace measured, careful not to crowd Remi as she moves with determined steps ahead of us, silhouetted beneath the neon glow of a corner deli.

Each footfall echoes our shared anxiety and silent need to give her space but also to be close enough if she stumbles.

Shadows flicker in alleyways as taxis and rideshares cruise by, some drivers slowing to eye the evening’s parade, before turning back to their own stories.

The scent of fried food and distant music drifts on the breeze.

We remain a respectful distance behind, eyes fixed on Remi’s figure as she waits for the light to change. The city pulses around us—alive, indifferent, watching. We say nothing, communicating instead through the glances we trade, the subtle shifts in our stride.

Every detail—the scuff of our shoes, the rumble of engines, the glimmer of traffic—feels heightened, all of us tethered to the same silent hope: that she’ll get home safe, and that somehow, we can mend what’s been torn.

She doesn’t live close to Luscious, so walking at this time of night is dangerous for her. Anxiety wreaks havoc on my nerves as I watch her meander along as if nothing is wrong in the world when everything is.

She’s not with us. That’s the problem. She belongs to us, and she isn’t where she’s meant to be. It’s stressful. Disheartening. Everywhere I look, I see things that remind me of the short time we spent together, and it makes me think of her all the more.

Finally, we see her house up ahead. The soft glow of the porch light guiding our way.

I watch as she pulls the strap of her purse up higher on her shoulder, and her steps become more hurried.

Frowning, I glance over at Knox to see that he’s pegged the same thing.

Then, at Boone, watching as he cranes his head to the side, seeing the same thing Knox and I are seeing.

“What has her spooked?” I ask, hurrying my steps.

When she gets to her door, she turns around, pinning us to our spot. Her eyes narrow. “You wasted your time following me home. You’re not coming inside. Ever!”

Then she walks in and slams the door behind her.

“Well, fuck. I guess we aren’t as stealthy as we thought.” Knox releases a huff of air, coming to a stop in front of her house.

For a long moment, silence settles over the stoop, broken only by the hum of the city’s nocturnal rhythm. Then, as if roused by some unspoken pull, I glance up at her house. There, behind the gauzy curtain, a pale rectangle of light glows—and Remi’s silhouette appears, sharp and unmistakable.

She stands perfectly still, arms folded across her chest, her gaze locked on us through the glass.

Even from this distance, the intensity in her eyes is palpable, a mixture of exhaustion and defiance.

Boone shifts uncomfortably beside me, and Knox lets out a barely audible sigh, like her presence behind that window, has pinned us in place more thoroughly than any locked door.

The three of us linger on the sidewalk, unsure whether this is a final warning or a silent plea. For a heartbeat, time slows—the quiet accusation in her stare vivid beneath the porch’s yellow glow. She leaves us stranded outside, uncertain and aching in the wake of her silent vigil.

Then, she brings her hand up and flips us the bird before slamming her curtains closed.

Knox chuckles softly, shaking his head. Boone cracks up, too.

I, on the other hand, am sad that she feels like she has to do things like that toward us.

I, for one, wish I were inside that house with her right now, making her feel like the queen she is.

“She’s never going to forgive us.” I sigh, feeling lost with nowhere to go.

I want to sit outside her house all night, watching and waiting and protecting her from anyone who wants to do her harm. It’s then I remember that we were the ones to do her harm, and I hate myself all over again.

“We’ll wear her down,” Knox states. “Come on, fellas, let’s go home and think about what we’re going to do to get back into her good graces.”

“Do you have a plan?” Boone asks, following after him.

I, however, stay right where I am. I don’t move, don’t breathe. I fear that if I move, all will be lost, and I’ll never see her again. It’s stupid, I know. But I can’t help the way I feel this need clawing inside of me to stay where I can get to her.

Knox, halfway down the walk, pauses and glances over his shoulder. His silhouette is limned in the streetlamp’s glow, posture loose but eyes searching. He catches the way I haven’t moved, rooted to the spot like longing itself could anchor me to the concrete.

With a gentleness at odds with the earlier bravado, he calls out, “Are you coming?” The words hang in the quiet, carrying with them something like hope—an invitation, a tether, a chance to belong again if only I could make my feet obey.

“I don’t want to leave her.” My eyes drag away from her house long enough to look at Knox before they’re right back where they were. “What if she needs us?”

“She’s inside for the night. What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks, cocking a brow.

That’s the point; anything could happen to her. I don’t want that to happen. She deserves to be protected and watched over. She’s a precious, uncut diamond in a world full of coal.

“Tripp, come on,” Knox orders me. I feel the compulsion to obey him, but it’s hard to tear myself away.

I do, though. I turn around and level Knox with a glare as I make my way toward them.

I shoulder past him, making my way back to Luscious.

We need to pick up the car and go home. There, we can make a plan to get our omega back.

And a damn good plan it better be because she’s pissed the fuck off. Rightfully so.

“I wish you’d been on board from the beginning.”

“It’s too late to go back now,” Knox states. “The only thing we can do now is find ways to beg for forgiveness.”

“It shouldn’t be me or Boone asking for forgiveness. It should be only you,” I grind out, my tone lethal and vicious.

“Like I said,” Knox’s voice holds a hint of hostility. “It’s too late to go back now.”

I want to punch him in the face again. That would make me sublimely happy.

We walk in silence, the weight of what just happened clinging to us like a second skin. Knox’s footsteps grind behind me, but I refuse to look back. Luscious waits under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, the air thick with tension as we pile in, doors slamming in sharp punctuation.

The engine hums to life, but my mind is a storm.

Each mile we put between us and her house feels wrong—as if I’m abandoning something sacred.

My hands grip the wheel until my knuckles pale, jaw clenched against the urge to turn back.

Boone’s silence in the back seat is heavy, a muted echo of my own frustration and regret.

When we’re almost home, that’s when an idea comes to me. The ride was tranquil and helped me think of ways I could get Remi to hear me out, to really think about what I’m telling her.

“I think I have an idea, guys.”

“Shoot,” Boone says, shifting until he’s parked between the front seats.

A smile blooms across my face. “We are obsessive bastards, right?”

“Yeah?” Knox says, a little worried.

“Then let’s do what we do best. Obsess.”

“I’m confused.” Boone barks out an uncomfortable laugh.

“We need to be right there, all the time, no matter where she is. We make her see we’re sorry for what we did and that we’re willing to do whatever it takes to get her back.”

Knox mulls over my words, murmuring, “Whatever it takes?”

“Even if we have to beg, borrow, or steal.” My smile turns practically evil.