Page 22

22

COLT

A s I step into the workshop, the familiar scent of oil and metal hits me, calming me down. It’s quiet here, the hum of the den fading as I close the door behind me. For a moment, I let myself breathe, leaning back against the door. My wolf is restless, prowling just beneath the surface, but I push it down, trying to focus.

Magnolia’s scent still lingers on my skin, sweet and warm, and I know it’ll haunt me for days. Hell, maybe forever. My chest tightens at the thought, and I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair.

No use going down that road right now.

For now…I’m staying.

That’s what I’m telling myself so I don’t lose my fucking mind.

I turn toward the workbench, my boots heavy on the concrete floor—and that’s when I notice it.

The papers on the bench are scattered, tools knocked askew, some even on the floor. The meticulously organized drawers I’d set up my first day here are slightly ajar, the contents rummaged through.

Someone’s been here.

My wolf growls low in my chest, the sound reverberating through the empty workshop as I take in the scene. Tools scattered, papers shuffled, drawers left ajar—it’s deliberate, like a taunt. They weren’t careful. They wanted me to know.

I stalk across the room, my boots heavy on the concrete, my eyes scanning every detail. The workbench, usually neat and orderly, is a mess. A wrench lies forgotten on the stool, the small screws I’d sorted into containers now spilled across the surface. My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to pick up the pieces, but I force myself to stop.

My wolf pushes against the surface, demanding action, demanding retribution, but I hold it back. Think. Whoever did this might still be watching, waiting for me to slip, to give them what they’re looking for.

Frankie. It has to be. She’s the only one bold—or reckless—enough to pull something like this.

I glance toward the back office where the signal beacon is hidden, my stomach twisting. I don’t go to it. Not yet.

She’ll be waiting for me to slip up.

Instead, I turn my attention to the rest of the room, scanning for anything else that might be out of place. The drawers under the bench are open, the contents rummaged through, and the cabinet where I keep my personal tools is missing its lock.

My jaw tightens as I crouch next to the cabinet, Frankie’s scent unmistakable. She didn’t even try to mask it. She wanted me to know it was her. My wolf snarls again, my fists clenching at the thought of her digging through my things, violating my space.

I force myself to take a deep breath, the cool air doing little to calm the storm inside me. She didn’t find it. If she had, she wouldn’t be subtle about it. Frankie’s not the kind to hold her cards close—she’d confront me outright, demand answers in front of the whole damn den.

Still, the fact that she was even this close…it’s too much. Too dangerous.

As if she was summoned like a demon, she’s suddenly there in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she’s been waiting for this moment all night. Her arms are crossed, her sharp gaze locked onto me, and it’s like I can already feel the fight brewing in the air between us.

“Nice trip?” she says, her tone deceptively casual, though her eyes are anything but. “What’d you bring back? Trouble?”

I let out a breath, turning to face her fully. “No, but thanks for the warm welcome. It’s always so nice chatting with you, Frankie.”

Her lips twitch, but her eyes don’t lose that edge. “You’re really leaning into this ‘drifter who doesn’t care about the rules’ thing, huh? Taking Magnolia off like that without telling anyone. You don’t think the den deserves a little heads-up when someone like you takes someone like her?”

Someone like me. Someone like her. The implication grates, and my wolf stirs, bristling at the insult to both of us. I keep my tone light, though, letting my usual sarcasm slide into place. “Relax. She’s a grown woman, Frankie. Last I checked, she doesn’t need a permission slip to leave the den.”

“Yeah? And last I checked, people here care about her,” she fires back. “You think her parents weren’t tearing the place apart looking for her? You think the den wasn’t ready to mobilize if she didn’t come back? You didn’t just take her off on some joyride—you put the entire pack on edge.”

My jaw tightens, and I can feel my patience thinning. “She wanted to go, and she asked if we could stay the night so she could see the stars,” I say evenly. “I didn’t kidnap her.”

“That’s not the point,” Frankie snaps, stepping into the room now, her posture stiff and commanding. “She’s got responsibilities here. People who rely on her. And you? You’ve been here, what, a couple of weeks? You don’t get to come in and throw her life off balance.”

For a moment, I think about snapping back. About throwing every piece of her accusation right back in her face. But something in her tone stops me. Something underneath the frustration and the edge of her voice—genuine concern. She cares. And not in the abstract, "this-is-my-pack" way. She cares about Magnolia.

I take a breath, running a hand through my hair. “She’s not a kid, Frankie,” I say. “I get it. You’re protective of her. I respect that. But you need to trust her to make her own decisions.”

Frankie falters, just for a second, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wasn’t expecting that. I can tell by the way her stance shifts, just slightly, like she’s recalibrating. “It’s not about trust,” she says finally, her tone softer but still firm. “It’s about making sure she’s safe. That someone isn’t…taking advantage of how much she wants to see the world outside this place.”

That one stings. Not because it’s wrong, exactly, but because I know how easy it would be to do just that. To exploit Magnolia’s kindness, her wide-eyed curiosity. To take everything she’s offering and more.

But that’s not what this is. That’s not what she is.

I shake my head, meeting Frankie’s gaze directly. “I’m not hurting her,” I say, my wolf rumbling beneath the words. “If anything, I’m trying to give her something she doesn’t get enough of around here—a chance to breathe. To be herself. Maybe instead of tearing me down for it, you should be asking yourself why she felt the need to get away.”

Frankie’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think she might lunge. But then her shoulders sag, and her gaze flickers. “You better mean that,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “Because if you’re lying—if you’re using her—there’s nowhere you can run that I won’t find you.”

I nod, my wolf growling in satisfaction. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Her lips press into a flat line, but she nods, backing off just enough to let me breathe again. “Good,” she says. Then, glancing around the room, her gaze lingers on the disarray she caused. “And clean up your mess. You’re not above the rules here, no matter how much Magnolia likes you.”

She stalks out without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with my wolf still thrumming in my chest. I let out a long breath, the tension bleeding from my shoulders as the door clicks shut.

Frankie’s not wrong about one thing: Magnolia’s the kind of person this pack would fight for.

The kind of person worth protecting.

I stay still for a long moment after Frankie leaves, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps echoing down the hallway. My wolf is still restless, prowling under my skin, but I keep it in check, forcing myself to take deep, steadying breaths. The scattered tools and drawers gape open like a wound, a tangible reminder of how close she came to finding something she shouldn’t. My fists clench at my sides, and I have to resist the urge to slam them into the nearest surface.

Not yet. She might still be watching.

Instead, I focus on the room, slowly beginning to put things back in their place. One tool at a time, one drawer after the other. The rhythm of organizing calms me, giving me something to focus on other than the storm of thoughts in my head. But the tension doesn’t leave, the weight of what almost happened settling heavy in my chest.

When I’m sure enough time has passed, I head to the back office, each step feeling heavier than the last. My wolf stirs again, uneasy but quiet, as I push the door open and step inside. The small room is dim, the blinds drawn, and for a moment, I just stand there, listening to the silence.

The signal beacon is still hidden where I left it, concealed in the back wall of the coat closet under a mountain of junk. I crouch down, moving things aside until I find it. Relief washes over me when I see the beacon untouched, its small light blinking steadily.

But my relief is short-lived.

A faint vibration hums through the device, a subtle but unmistakable sign of an incoming message. My heart sinks as I pull the beacon free, my fingers tightening around it as I flip it over to reveal the small display screen.

A new message blinks up at me, stark against the dark background. My stomach churns as I press the button to open it. It’s a message from Ephraim, more threatening than I’d like.

We’re done waiting. If you don’t make contact soon, we’ll handle it ourselves. You know what that means.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, my stomach twisting into knots as I reread the message. The blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen feels like a countdown, a constant reminder that my time is running out.

Ephraim doesn’t bluff. He doesn’t make idle threats. When he says he’ll handle it, he means it—and the Gulf Pack’s idea of handling things doesn’t leave much room for negotiation.

They’ll send more hunters…real ones this time, not just looking for intel, but looking to steal women.

Magnolia. Peaches. Anyone they thought had value.

My hands tighten around the beacon, the edges biting into my palms. My wolf snarls, pacing in the back of my mind, its agitation feeding my own. They can’t touch her. I won’t let them. But the thought of what it might take to protect her—what I’d have to sacrifice—makes my chest tighten.

If I tell the pack what I know…then they’ll all know I came here under false pretenses.

They could kick me out, or worse. I might never see Magnolia again.

I stare at the screen, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking me, and for a moment, I’m tempted to smash the damn thing. To rip it apart and end the connection once and for all. But I know better. Ephraim would just send someone else. Someone worse. And they wouldn’t stop until they’d torn this place apart.

I shove the beacon back into its hiding spot, covering it with the junk I’d piled on top. My heart pounds as I stand, my mind racing through possibilities, none of them good.

I lean back against the wall, closing my eyes and letting out a long, slow breath. My wolf is still pacing, restless and agitated, growling for action. It’s always been this way when I’m backed into a corner—fight or flight. But this time, neither option feels right. Not yet.

I could go to Reyes. Tell him everything. Spill my guts about why I came here, what the Gulf Pack wants, what they’ll do if I don’t deliver. It’s the logical move. The one that would save me from having to handle this alone. But the thought of seeing Magnolia’s face when she finds out—the hurt, the betrayal—it’s enough to make me sick.

And if I don’t tell anyone? If I keep this to myself, play it cool, try to buy time? It’s a gamble. A dangerous one. But it’s the only way I can think of to keep Magnolia safe without risking the fragile connection we’ve built.

For now.

I push off the wall and start pacing the small room, my boots scuffing against the concrete floor. My wolf growls low in my chest, a deep, guttural sound that echoes my own frustration. I feel like a ticking bomb, every second bringing me closer to the moment I have to make a choice.

But not tonight. Not yet.

I glance at the beacon’s hiding spot one last time, making sure everything is in place, before stepping out of the office and back into the workshop. The mess Frankie left behind is still scattered across the room, and for a moment, I let myself focus on the small, mundane task of cleaning up. Tools in their places. Papers stacked neatly. Drawers closed.

It’s a delay tactic, and I know it. But it’s all I’ve got right now.

I pull open a drawer and grab a rag, wiping down the workbench as my mind races. The Gulf Pack isn’t going to wait forever. Ephraim’s patience has always been thin, and his threats aren’t empty. If I don’t make contact soon, they’ll send someone else. Someone who won’t hesitate to do what I’ve been avoiding.

My grip tightens on the rag, the fabric twisting in my hands. I can see Magnolia’s face in my mind, her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks about the stars, the way she looks at me like I’m someone worth believing in.

I don’t deserve that look. Not when I’ve lied to her. Not when I’ve kept things from her. But the thought of losing it—of losing her—it’s unbearable.

I toss the rag onto the workbench and lean forward, bracing my hands on the edge. My head hangs low, and for a moment, I just let myself breathe. In and out. Steady. Controlled.

I don’t have a plan. Not yet. But I’ll figure it out. I always do.

For now, I’ll wait. I’ll think. I’ll sleep on it and see if the morning brings any clarity.

It’s a thin thread to hold onto, but it’s all I’ve got. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s how to survive on less.

As I head for the cot in the corner, my wolf finally starts to settle, its growl fading into a low, simmering hum. The workshop is quiet again, the hum of the den outside barely audible through the thick walls.

I lie down, the weight of the day pressing heavy on my chest, and close my eyes.

Tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.