Page 12

12

COLT

T he weak morning light filters through the slats of the workshop’s blinds as I stare down at the half-disassembled projector. Tools are scattered across the workbench, wires trailing from the machine like guts spilling out of a carcass. I’ve been at this thing for hours, trying to piece it back together, and yet it still refuses to cooperate.

It’s not just stubborn. It’s missing something.

“Yeah…you’re not the only one, buddy,” I mutter to the projector.

I grab the projector’s manual from the bench—a worn, yellowed booklet Magnolia handed me when she first brought the thing in. Flipping through the pages, my frustration grows as I double-check the diagrams. Yeah, it’s definitely missing a part. Some kind of specialized filament or circuit that must’ve given out years ago.

Of course.

“Perfect,” I mutter, tossing the manual aside and running a hand down my face. The thought of having to tell Magnolia I can’t fix it sends a sour twist through my gut. I told her I’d get it working. She trusted me to fix it.

Trust. That’s not something I’ve earned much of around here. And it’s not something I deserve, not with what I’m hiding.

The beacon. The Gulf Pack’s message, waiting for my reply. I’d covered the signal device up last night like that would somehow erase the guilt clawing at my chest. I should’ve answered already, given them what they’re waiting for.

But every time I think about it, about sending that message, my mind circles back to Magnolia.

To Peaches.

I can’t even bring myself to think of her as Esther—the name the Gulf Pack used when they hired me. No, she’s Peaches now, the girl who told a story about freedom and courage that cut straight through my bullshit. I feel it every time I look at her. It’s a reminder of what I’m here to take from her, and every second I don’t send that message is another second I’m digging myself deeper into trouble.

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away as I grab my jacket. If I don’t want to face the Gulf Pack—or the truth of what I’m doing here—then I can at least distract myself by solving the damn projector problem. Someone around here has to know where I can get what I need.

The cool morning air greets me as I step outside, the scent of dew and wood smoke hanging in the air. The den’s common area is already alive with activity—kids running across the lawn, a few pack members gathered around an old picnic table, chatting over steaming mugs of coffee. Beyond them, a few women stand by a line of laundry strung up between two poles, the fabric flapping gently in the breeze. They chat as they work, one of them shaking out a sheet before clipping it to the line, the motion effortless and practiced. A toddler wobbles at her feet, his tiny hands clutching at her skirt as he babbles happily to himself.

It’s all so very normal.

So fucking charming it feels designed to make me feel like a dick.

I spot Peaches first, sitting in the grass with a ball of yarn in her lap, her fingers deftly working a crochet hook. Will and Grant are nearby, playing cards on a makeshift table. My chest tightens at the sight of her, that quiet focus, the way her lips move slightly as if she’s counting her stitches. She looks...safe. Happy. Like someone who’s finally found what she was running from.

And I’m the asshole who’s supposed to take it all away.

I force myself to move toward them, shoving the guilt down into the pit of my stomach. Peaches glances up as I approach, her hands pausing mid-stitch. She grins, eyes bright and smile brighter, wild red curls blowing in the breeze.

How did a person like this get out of a place like that? The Rig…it’s not kind.

It’s fucking awful, actually.

“Morning,” I say, nodding toward the group. Will, one of Reyes’ generals, looks up and nods; Grant smiles, waving with his free hand.

“Mornin’, Colt!” Peaches replies. “You need somethin’?”

“Yeah,” I say, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and trying to keep my tone casual. “I’m working on that projector Magnolia–uh…Maggie–brought in. Think I’m missing a part.”

“A projector?” Peaches frowns. “Like…for pictures?”

“Movies, I think,” I nod. “They had it out in the classroom.”

“Movies,” Peaches says, eyes widening. “Oh…that would be so great. I’ve never seen one before.”

“Seriously?” Grant asks.

“Nope,” Peaches shakes her head. “We didn’t have ‘em out on the Rig. Pretty primitive where I’m from.”

Damn–she doesn’t even hide it. I can’t imagine it will be long at all before bounty hunters are knocking down the doors.

Will quirks an eyebrow, setting his cards down. “That would be great for the classroom. What kind of part?”

“Some kind of filament or circuit,” I say. “Specialized, old. Not the kind of thing you’d find lying around.”

“Sounds like a real bitch,” Grant says. “You sure it’s worth fixing?”

“It’s worth fixing if Magnolia wants it fixed,” I reply. It slips out before I can reel it back, and the moment the words hit the air, I catch the way Peaches’ lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Oh, so it’s like that, huh?” Grant says, his grin widening as he looks at Peaches for backup. “Guess Maggie’s got herself a fan.”

“It’s not like that,” I reply, but my own smirk betrays me. “It’s about keeping my word. Some of us still care about things like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Grant drawls, dragging the word out like he’s savoring it. He flips another card onto the makeshift table with a dramatic flourish. “Sure, buddy. Definitely nothing else going on there. Just a man, fixing a projector for purely selfless reasons.”

“Purely,” I deadpan, crossing my arms and giving him a look. “You’re very perceptive, Grant. Maybe next you can tell me my star sign.”

“Alpha,” he shoots back without missing a beat, leaning forward like he’s cracked the code. “Which also means you’ve got no patience for subtlety. You don’t fix something like that for someone unless you’re hoping to, you know?—”

“Say it,” I challenge, tilting my head. “Go ahead. Let’s hear what you think I’m hoping for.”

Grant hesitates, his grin faltering just slightly under my stare, and Peaches snickers, her crochet hook pausing mid-stitch. “Careful, Grant,” she warns lightly. “You’re playin’ with fire.”

Grant raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin returning. “Hey, I’m just saying, it’s a lot of effort for a girl who didn’t even ask you to walk her home.”

Okay…so everyone knows about that. Damn–word travels fast in the Austin den.

“Didn’t need to ask,” I say easily, letting the implication hang between us. “Sometimes you see an opportunity, and you take it.”

That earns me a low whistle from Grant and a laugh from Peaches. “Alright, Morgan,” she says, shaking her head as she resumes her stitching. “We get it—you’re bold. But you’re not fixing that thing with charm alone.”

“Don’t need charm for that,” I reply, shrugging. “Just need the right part. Speaking of which—any idea where I can find one?”

Will, who’s been quiet up until now, leans forward and rests his arms on the table. “There’s an old observatory about two hours east,” he says, his tone more serious. “Abandoned since the Convergence. Some of the tech there was still intact the last time we checked. Might have what you’re looking for.”

“Two hours, huh?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “What, no closer options? Maybe a hardware store around the corner?”

Will smirks faintly. “Not unless you’re willing to try your luck with scrap in the junkyard. But if you want something specific, the observatory’s your best bet.”

“Anything dangerous on the route?” I ask.

Will shakes his head. “Nah…it’s due south of here, and it’s all rebel territory from here down to the coast. We have friends in the Corpus pack.

“Friends in the Corpus pack,” I repeat, mulling that over. “Guess that means I won’t have to watch my back too hard.”

“Not unless you count wild hogs,” Grant chimes in, grinning as he deals another hand. “Those things don’t care if you’re a friend of the pack or not.”

“Good to know,” I say dryly, though the idea of wild hogs isn’t exactly the most concerning thing I’ve heard. The Gulf Pack’s shadow hangs heavy enough over my thoughts that feral animals seem downright quaint by comparison.

Peaches looks up from her crocheting, her hands stilling for a moment as she studies me. “You going alone?” she asks.

“Unless Grant is volunteering to come along,” I reply, quirking a brow. “Could always use someone to fend off the hogs while I scavenge.”

Grant snorts, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I’ve got enough excitement around here.”

Peaches glances up again, her crocheting slowing as she tilts her head slightly. “I was just asking because, you know,” she starts, her voice casual but with a pointed edge that makes me glance back at her, “if you’re heading out to the observatory, you might want to bring Maggie with you.”

That stops me in my tracks. It’s an absolutely terrible idea; her mother already wants to kill me, and I don’t want to wind up dead. But I’m intrigued…

…and I can’t help but take the bait.

“You think she’d want to go?” I ask.

Peaches shrugs, her tone light–as if this isn’t part of some wingman bullshit. “She’s the one who brought the projector to you in the first place, isn’t she? Plus, it’d give you two some time to, you know, bond. Away from the pack, away from prying eyes…” She trails off, her tone turning singsong on the last words, and Grant snickers into his hand.

“Peaches,” I warn, though I can’t help the flicker of interest her suggestion sparks in my chest.

“What?” she says innocently, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m just saying. Maggie’s been cooped up here forever. Might do her some good to get out for a bit. And you…” She pauses, her gaze flicking over me like she’s reading every unspoken thought in my head. “You could probably use the company.”

Grant leans back in his chair, grinning like a wolf. “She’s got a point, Colt. Maggie’s a catch. And from the way you’re bending over backward to fix that projector, I’d say you wouldn’t mind spending some quality time with her where Mama Wolf isn’t watching.”

I glare at him, but Peaches steps in before I can respond. “Look, I’m serious. She…I really think she could stand to get away. And if you’re worried about the pack gossiping, don’t. She can handle herself.”

Her words linger, and for a moment, I just stand there, weighing the idea. Taking Maggie with me would complicate things—more time alone with her, more chances for me to screw up and let her see the parts of myself I’d rather keep hidden.

But the thought of spending a few hours with her, just the two of us, away from the watchful eyes of the den…it’s tempting. Too tempting.

“Maybe,” I say finally, keeping my tone neutral. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Peaches replies. “You should.”

I nod once, then turn and head back toward the workshop, the idea already taking root in my mind. Magnolia Jones, out on the open road with me. Just the two of us.

It’s a terrible idea.

And nothing is going to stop me from making it happen.