Page 28

TWENTY-SEVEN

THIN SLICED

brAMLEY

W hite knuckling the steering wheel, I force myself to nod at the guards as I drive the box truck through the gate, biting my tongue while I make nice with these bastards for the last time.

Sitting fucking ducks. All of you.

“You’re doing great, baby,” Clay says through clenched teeth as he smiles and nods, too. “Stay calm, and this is going to be a piece of cake.”

Ignoring his optimism, and widening my eyes so I don’t scowl the entire way up the driveway, I try to stay focused.

I can do that.

Think about the plan, the goal. I’m so fucking locked into that, there’s a pretty good chance I’m going to blow all the blood vessels in my eyes just from the tunnel vision.

But stay calm ?

I want to look at him and ask, I’m sorry, have we fucking met at any point over the last two decades?

I know why he said it, that it was more for him than me, but what a ridiculous fucking thing to say.

Clayton knows how stupid that comment is, too. He knows how unrealistic it is to try to keep me level headed in any way, how it’s asking a hell of a lot to even suggest I stay at some semblance of sane. My beta knows it’s pointless to encourage me to be on my best goddamn behavior, or any other bullshit thing, because I’ve been ready to fucking explode for almost two days.

The number of times Nash and Clay had to stop me from coming out here, how many times I sat in my truck with it running, ready to ride into battle, but instead, stared out the windshield while imagining all the ways I could murder Bryce Harden? Countless. I didn’t even change my clothes until I had to, and didn't wash Nan and Pap’s blood off of me, didn’t wash Indy’s scent from my body until I formed a plan then decided to put it into action.

Twisting the steering wheel in my hands until my knuckles turn white, I grit my teeth and try to push that image to the back of my mind.

It was a goddamn bloodbath.

One I’d bet my left nut on being the most brutal fucking distraction ever created, just to kidnap my goddamn scent match. Mine.

After three outsiders from the same pack started poking around Obsidian Falls, three who shared a purpose that coincidentally connected Harden Ranch to our little town once again? It would be way too goddamn bizzáre for my grandparents to be murdered in cold blood for no fucking reason, and for our omega to disappear, right after those outsiders showed up dead. You can’t convince me of that.

It was all my fucking fault because my cocky ass felt like I was untouchable for so fucking long, I got sloppy when keeping clean counted the most.

Those guards at the ranch were my first mistake. Killing on their turf, leaving them giftwrapped, barely avoiding having my face plastered on their CCTVs while I did it, then taking a fucking omega when I left after I killed the oldest Harden boy? Recipe for disaster.

One I egged on, then I asked for more.

His ID, theirs, that was stupid. Then the two fuckers who broke into Nan’s house, they definitely made it worse. That was all bait, whether I intended for it to be or not, and knowing what I do now, it all fucking tracks.

Hall went to find what he viewed as his property the second he knew Indy’s body had been dumped, and when she wasn’t there, he sent a search and destroy far too close to home, and right into my waiting arms. Since I sent his pack mates’ IDs to Harden, he sent Hall to me, to my omega , and when he didn’t return, they took drastic measures in order to achieve their idea of justice.

How could they fucking do that?

Nan and Pap were innocent bystanders in all of this.

Those two… I tighten my grip and shake my head as I pull up to the second gate.

They didn’t ask for any of this. Going all the way back to the beginning, they didn’t ask for a damn thing that’s happened over the last fifteen years. For their daughter to get murdered, for their grandkids to become killers, they didn’t ask for my dumbass to bring home one omega let alone two. Nan and Pap didn’t ask, or deserve, one fucking thing that happened to them, but I know for a fact, they protected our family right up until the goddamn end.

And they fought fucking hard to do it because all that blood in their backyard wasn’t just Nan and Pap’s.

They fought tooth and nail to keep those bastards from finding Indy, they were willing to die for her because of who she is to me, because of who she is to our family, and they did. Nan had half of a fucking ear between her teeth, and not that I need to say it because I know how fiercely that woman loved us, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that neither of them said a word because of that love. Then Nan drove the point home with that fucking ear.

I was the one who served Indy up on a silver fucking platter.

I brought all five of those assholes to Obsidian Falls, I gave Harden the starting point he needed, and I led all of them directly to my omega as if there was a goddamn neon sign blinking at our exit.

“Stop,” Nash whispers as he leans across Clay and hands me the paperwork the second set of guards need. “This isn’t on you.”

It is, but my alpha won’t ever see it that way.

Just like with what happened to Clayton’s leg, Nash is going to blame himself for them taking Indy right out from under our noses.

We argued about it this morning, actually, because if he’d have been with them, if he’d have been more dialed in when they needed him, Nash believes neither of those things would have happened. And since I can easily find a path leading back to me from each incident, it was an argument we didn’t need to have because I’m right, and I can blame myself for Nash’s guilt on top of it.

I’m slowly destroying my pack, and I can’t keep any of us together long enough to attempt to fix it.

Some fucking alpha I am.

I don’t think I’ve done one fucking thing right in my entire life.

Anything good that’s happened was a fluke, or it was because one of my mates made it so, and everything else has been fucked up in some way, all thanks to me. Which includes how I got my mates, and all the reasons I’ve given them to leave my ass.

I do not deserve them.

Not one of them.

But I really don’t deserve Indigo Rae.

She’s my polar opposite, everything I could never try to be. Indy is beautiful inside and out. She’s so goddamn different from me, and the traits we do share, the ones she uses to tame my ass? All it takes is one simple look and I'm ready to fall at her feet without a fight.

Well, mostly.

I like when we fight. I like that a woman who’s almost an entire foot shorter than I am tries to get in my face while she yells and calls me every curse word she can think of. I love Indy’s fire, and the way she wields it is just as beautiful as the way she has melded the embers of her perfect soul to our dark and depraved ones.

We are her strength. Her comfort. We are Indy’s home. And we were supposed to be her goddamn protectors in a world that’s proven to be even more dangerous than we ever thought it was. I was supposed to be her protector because I’m her fucking scent match, and I let her down.

I failed Indy when I pushed her away, when I tried to do what I thought was right without ever giving her any say, and I failed her again when I led those bastards right to her, just so they could bring her back to the hellhole she so desperately wanted to escape.

Indigo Rae is the love to my hate, and having her willingly give us the pieces of her heart that hadn’t been broken, the pieces she held onto and tried to hide away for so long… There aren’t even words to describe that feeling.

Or how goddamn stupid I was to ever deny her in the first place.

I swear to god, I’m fucking cursed or some shit.

Flinching on reflex, I can almost feel the phantom sting on the back of my head from Nan’s slap of disapproval.

She’d woop my ass for thinking that.

My grandmother believed in fate versus a fluke or coincidence, and she thought everything that happened was for a reason that was far greater than what we could wrap our minds around. Clay said it earlier while Nash and I were arguing. He told us that despite how hard or fucked things have been, they were all going to converge into one event that was going to take us right to the gates of hell regardless of what happened to before that. This was our time to face some demons, and it might have hurt like a son of a bitch getting here, but we did it, and as long as we exorcised the fuck out of the ranch, and got our girl out unscathed, my grandparents’ death wouldn’t be in vain.

I’m sure Clay is right, but I’m having a hell of a time getting on board. To me, it’s cut and dry. My fault, end of story, and getting Indy back is the only way to even start trying to make shit right. If, for some reason, I can’t do that, I better go down in a blaze of fucking infamy because I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.

Slowing down as we move through the final gate and head toward the back of the house, I can’t hide my scowl.

This giant fucking house, this three story mansion, it was built on the backs of dead omegas, brick by fucking brick. Their bones built the frame, their tears painted the walls. Generations of omegas were brought here to die, and the fact that this house has survived just as long without some sort of sinkhole opening up underneath it and erasing it from existence is beyond me.

But it hasn’t, and the Hardens have been ruling the human trafficking circuits ever since.

It makes me sick.

And that’s coming from a fucker who’ll feed his murder victims their own body parts when the opportunity arises.

The argument can be made that they’re kept alive, that not every omega who lives here, dies here. But they’re only kept long enough to serve a purpose, and knowing first hand what happens when they don’t, it only proves that this land is soaked in innocent blood, and paid for with a hell of a lot more than dirty money.

Trying, once again, to school my features the best I can, I get out of the truck and head to the back, meeting Nash and Clay at the cooler door that we need to be careful opening.

We brought more than meat on this delivery, and I’m not about to blow our shot at getting Indy back because the cargo door of the box truck is pulled too wide.

I disabled the light, and made sure to stack as much shit toward the back as I could, but from certain angles, I’m sure things look questionable at best, and I don’t want to have to answer a fucking thing.

Grabbing the invoice from the folder on the wall, I watch Nash and Clay climb inside and start moving things around before I act like I’m comparing the paperwork I had, to the paperwork that was back here.

I don’t need to compare shit.

What I need to do is find my omega and get her the hell out of here, but patience is a virtue and all that bullshit, so acting it is for now. Not to mention, if this was a real delivery, I still wouldn’t need these pieces of paper because it’s been the same fucking shit for nearly fourteen years. I could fill the order for Harden Ranch in my sleep at this point, which makes this almost too easy for my liking, but I’ll take it for now.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

I briefly look up at the familiar voice, internally groaning when I glance behind me to see the dumbass who’s been running this kitchen for years, and has desperately wanted in my jeans just as long.

Do I know why Shane the Sous Chef wants to suck my dick? No, if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is, but I also don’t care.

Even if I was single, I wouldn’t care, but I’m not, so I really don’t fucking care, and I wish he understood that.

I’m in a committed relationship, a crazy little pack of misfits with people I’m so fucking in love with it makes me stupid, and yeah, that all happened by accident but it’s still true. I wasn’t looking for my future when it found me. Nash, Clay, and Indy were put in my path for a reason, and while I can safely say they all seem to enjoy my dick, and they love me in a way I never thought I’d be loved, they sure as hell didn’t expect me to change who I was because of it. Most days they want to strangle me, and at times I question if they like me at all, so it takes a special kind of human to deal with my shit, and Shane has never been it.

Besides, someone who actively wants to pursue and fuck a big ass alpha who usually wears a mask, grunts most of his words, and is about as friendly as a Kodiak with a cleaver up its ass, needs more therapy than I do.

Every fucking time I deliver, he tries to flirt with me, and every time he does, I fantasize about killing him.

Today might be the day, asshole.

“Been busy.” I go back to pretending to do my job, carefully studying the stupid papers in my hand, reminding myself that we’re here for a reason and cannot blow it now by killing the sous chef.

“Must have been, it’s been months.” Shane steps closer and tries to look over my shoulder. “I thought you forgot about me.”

I think I’ll stab him in the eye with my Bowie knife. “Just busy,” I grunt. “Shit to do.”

A lot of shit to do, actually, so if this bastard could leave me alone long enough to start unloading, that would be great.

“Mhm,” he hums as he walks around me, purposely brushing against my arm as he does. Shane looks into the truck for a second and I can tell exactly when he sees my mates because his entire demeanor changes. “Oh. Right.” He clears his throat. “You can leave it back here.”

I lift my eyes and stare at the asshat in white, clenching my jaw while I pretend like this is any other day, business as usual between Ambrose Butcher Shop and the Harden household.

I just need to hold on long enough to get inside.

I’m doing this for Indy because I need to get her back.

“It’s a big order. Lots of frozen shit.”

The douche canoe in charge of the kitchen staff arches a brow as he turns to me, and I hand over the manifest. “Why?”

Why the fuck does it matter? “It’s been a few months since I’ve delivered. Been harder to get a hold of. Figured, with the long standing relationship, I’d throw in some shit on the house as an apology.”

Shane reads over the list, his eyes scanning line after line, occasionally looking up into the open door while Nash and Clay busy themselves. I swear this guy has the reading level of an infant or some shit because it should not be taking him this long, and that makes me fucking nervous.

I don’t get nervous.

But I keep watching him, the muscle in my jaw ticking with each second that passes, and once he finally hits the bottom, I see his brows raise just before he looks up at me. “You brought extra of that imported deli meat?”

Imported my ass.

Or should I say, someone else’s ass.

“Six pounds this time.” I nod, and play along. “I know it’s popular here, and since it’s pricier than some of the other stuff, I threw it in for free.”

“Nice,” he says as he gives me what’s supposed to be a flirtatious smile but looks more like he got a bad lip job and his mouth is still numb. “They’re good.” Shane motions to the guards behind me then produces the badges I was hoping he’d have to give us. “Let them through, they’ve got Harden’s meat for the next four months.”

Cuts of beef, racks of lamb, whole ass turkeys and chickens. Chops and roasts, sausages, steaks and burgers. I’m wasting so much fucking food on this trip, but I’m well beyond giving a shit. Would an order this size last that long out here? Eh, maybe, if he skimped on what was shared, but the point was to make it look that big to hide the other cargo I’m hauling, and entice the fuck out of the staff so we could get inside the house.

With the most relaxed expression I can muster, I clip the badges to Clayton and Nash’s shirts, searching their eyes briefly because this feels really fucking heavy, and I need them to know how I feel.

Do I plan on this being the last time I get to tell them I love them or something else almost romantic and definitely dumb? Hell no I don’t, but we are drastically outnumbered, and the ways this can go south are just as many as that, so it’s not a terrible decision on my part.

Especially when I take a couple beef ribs from Nash and head inside to see the kitchen is eerily quiet.

It’s not usually buzzing with activity, but it looks like it’s only Shane and maybe two other members of the kitchen staff right now, and that feels significant.

By the time I’m making my third trip into the house, that knot in my stomach has loosened some, and it’s easier to get into the rhythm. Back and forth. Lifting and hauling, dropping off or hanging up. We work at a pace that’s too slow for the overall goal, but just right to keep up the charade.

We’re coming, Indy. I promise, we are coming for you.

Hanging a rack of lamb in the freezer, I stop in the doorway for a moment when I realize Shane is making a sandwich. Lettuce and tomato, cheese, bacon, and mayo on a toasted bun. He adds another kind of sauce followed by some kind of seasoning he shakes over both sides, then Shane goes for that imported deli meat.

Which makes me grin. I couldn't stop it if I tried.

He piles it on, layer after layer of meat, the sandwich stacked high before he adds the top of the bun. Shane grabs the carving knife from the cutting board, cuts his masterpiece in two, then holds out half when he notices me watching him.

“I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He nods as he brings one half to his lips and takes a huge bite. Shane chews for a few seconds, his eyes all but rolling up into his head, then swallows and says, “This shit is so fucking good.”

I cross my arms against my chest and lean against the doorway as Nash passes me, barely hiding his smirk when he sees what I do.

“Where did you say you get this from again?”

“Hungary,” I grunt, thankful it came out that way instead of the full blown laughter that’s ringing through my skull. “It’s solid, right?”

Shane almost moans around the next bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors while he does. “I can’t get over how good this is. Every time I have it, it’s like trying it for the first time.”

I bite my tongue to keep my chuckle at bay because it is the first time, each time.

The last time I brought this deli meat out here, it was the guy Indy described as the counter . The one who kept track of all the omegas. I processed him, seasoned him, then shaved his ass and thighs down to the perfect thickness before I packaged him up for delivery.

This time?

It’s Alan fucking Harden.

Shane is enthusiastically eating a sandwich made of thin sliced boss’s son, and I am tickled fucking pink about it. It’s almost too bad Bryce won’t get to do the same, but there won’t be time.

There isn’t really time right now, either, which is why, when Shane is good and distracted, I decide to move on to the next part of my plan. “I gotta take a leak. Is it cool if I?—“

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He waves me off before he starts licking his fingers. “There’s one around the corner. Hang a left and it’s the fourth or fifth one down.”

“Thanks.”

I nod to Nash and Clay as they keep unloading, the two of them moving a little slower as the truck gets closer to empty, then head toward the bathroom I have no intention of using.

Stepping into the hallway, I look around, casually gawking at the art on the walls while I get a body count on the main floor. Not as many as I expected, but more than I want to deal with, and for some reason, that feels like another red flag.

I haven’t been inside more than a handful of times over the years, but this place is usually crawling with guards and assholes carrying around the family name, so to only see a total of six people between here and the kitchen makes me uneasy.

Especially when I duck down a hall I’m not supposed to be in, and find it totally empty.

Frowning, I search in front of me, then do the same behind before I slowly start to follow the grid of hallways that make up this level.

Something is definitely not right.

I follow one after another, winding my way through the entire first floor until I’m closing in on Bryce Harden’s office, the one every generation of these scumbags have conducted their business out of, and as I do, I stop dead in my tracks.

Red poppies .

Red poppies with a vanilla chaser.

I can smell it, clear as fucking day, and I would know that goddamn scent while in a coma because it’s mine. My scent match, our mate.

Indy is in that fucking office, I’d bet my life on it, and that is yet another huge red flag.

According to our girl, the only time omegas are allowed in the house is when there’s an event, some fucking bullshit party Harden wanted to display them for. The stables—the goddamn prisons—are a few acres away, so it’s not like they could get here unscathed if they managed to escape, and after Indy’s experience, I’m sure the omegas wouldn’t exactly try to get up here if they did.

So, why the fuck do I smell my omega in this hallway right outside that motherfucker’s office door?

I’m coming, honey. We are going to take you home.

All I can do is hope that Indy feels that through our bond, that she knows we’re here for her, and can count on us to get her the hell out of here. Straying from the plan would be a huge mistake, a fucking suicide mission, so, despite the way every single instinct I have is screaming for me to charge into that room and take our girl out of there, I can’t risk it. I can’t risk her, or blowing this entire thing wide open, not if it means putting her in harm's way. I’m not going to do that to her. I refuse to do that to any of us, and it’s exactly why I took something like this into account when I sat down and planned how we were going to get her back.

There was always the possibility of a curve ball, and Indy being inside that fucking office is exactly that.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, desperately trying to calm myself down enough to keep going. This is so fucking hard, having so much shit happen in less than twenty four hours, shit that could easily wreck me if I allowed it to. Everything that’s happened is more than enough to derail me completely, which means the part of me that enjoys cutting things apart wants to do that to Bryce Harden so badly I have to physically stop myself. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to do it, but I force myself to turn around and head back to the kitchen.

“She’s here,” I whisper-grunt as I join Nash in the cooler. “I didn’t think she’d be in the house, but I scented her. She’s in his office.”

Nash clenches his jaw as his eyes flick from the doorway of the walk-in freezer to the kitchen. “She’s in the house?”

I nod once, a little concerned about my alpha’s comprehension skills, but announce, “I think that’s it, but let’s go make sure we got everything.”

Walking out ahead of him, I hear Nash make a little small talk with the guards while I double check we’ve delivered the entire order. I hop up into the back, sliding the now empty shelves and racks out of the way, clearing a path for the rest of our small army before Clayton starts his performance.

“Last load, dude, and I am fucking bushed,” he says to Shane, lowering his voice a bit as he walks down the ramp with a few boxes of bacon. “You got a smoke? The old ball and chain made me promise not to buy anymore or else he’d withhold the peen.”

I roll my eyes as he disappears around the corner, annoyed by the way he lovingly referred to me, and the fact that he used the word peen while doing so. Clay’s doing a good job, though. He doesn’t smoke, but the sous chef bought it judging by the sound of a lighter, and he’s not the least bit tired. None of us are, and that’s because we aren’t going to fucking sleep until we’re crawling into When I’m confident my mates have at least three of the six immediate problems occupied, I yank the dummy boxes out of the way as quietly as possible, then signal for everyone to move silently.

Titus is the first on his feet, handing me my weapons of choice—a machete, several of my smaller knives, and a belt of grenades—and waiting for me to suit up before he does the same. Tus moves to the edge of the doorway, just out of sight but close enough to keep tabs on what’s going on, and while he does, the rest of our backup starts strapping in.

Zeke, who is wearing double the grenade belts, sticks a gun in each boot, one in the back of his cargo pants, then adds his double whammy holster, as he stupidly calls it. Basically, he has a SIG on either side of his chest, and a couple of sawed off shotguns crisscrossed on his back because he’s always enjoyed blowing things up, but the name is stupid, and so is he.

He’s here, though.

Zeke and Tus, my dad and Ezekiel. Hell, even Walker Harden and Arrow are locked and loaded, ready to fight our way in and out of this goddamn house, and while I know our numbers are small, we are angry, and every last one of us is out for blood.

I look up from my belt in time to see Nash wave to someone as he jumps up into the truck, and after a few seconds, he calls for Clay, both of them playing their parts so well as they go on about strapping down shelving because their dickhead alpha didn’t do it, and they can’t leave until they do.

I love how my mates are still able to insult me, even while conducting a search and rescue for our omega that has us ready to go right over the fucking edge.

Must be true love.

“Don’t pout,” Nash says with a tiny smirk as I help him with his holster. “You know we think you’re a dickhead, and that we love you in spite of it.” When I only shove his hatchets into place, he grabs my chin and looks me in the eye. “I love you.”

And because I’m one word away from exploding, I blow out a breath, kiss him, and nod. “I know. I love you, too.”

“My turn,” Clay whispers as he shimmies in between us, kisses Nash then faces me to do the same. “Don’t die, okay?”

I arch a brow as he pulls my mask up. “You, too?”

“I love you, and I will be super sad if you can’t fuck me anymore because you’re dead.”

Well, that sounded a lot like the psychopath Clay claims he isn’t. “True. I don’t plan on dying today.”

“ And…”

Rolling my eyes, I hand him his baseball bat, and grunt, “I love you, too, dumbass. You sure you don’t want anything else?”

Clayton shakes his head and gives me the grin that both concerns me, and has a tendency to make my dick hard in any other circumstance. “Not today, baby. I feel like making a statement.”

With that, we put my plan in play.

Quietly, under the veil of the setting sun, Tus—who is armed with nothing but his bare hands—looks around the back of the truck before he jumps down, slowly doing a scan of the area before he gives us the all clear. We file out of the truck in silence, falling into Titus’s own brand of ASL, and move along the back of the house to check the perimeter the best we can. We avoid cameras where we can, black them out where we can’t, and we stay quiet until we’re back to the delivery entrance, waiting on either side for Clay to work his magic one last time.

“Ah, fuck,” he shouts, throwing his voice the best he can while trying to get Shane’s attention. “Hey, if there’s anybody in there, I need some major help.”

The second the sous chef appears in the doorway, my beta lifts his bat and swings for the fences, nearly taking the idiot’s head off as the wood connects with his jaw. Shane drops with a thud, but he’s still moving, and just as Clay drags him out of the doorway, the two other kitchen staff come strolling through it.

As if we’d practiced it, Nash pulls his hatchet at the same time as I lift my machete, and we both send our metal through the air, the sharp edge of his landing right between the eyes of one, while I hack my way through the gaping mouth of the other.

Clayton was right. There is just something special about working together as a family, and I will absolutely be including them as well as our omega on the next hunt because, fuck me, this is almost euphoric. It always has been, and we need our fucking girl to take it right into existential.

Grabbing the ankles of one of the dead kitchen staff, I nod for Nash to do the same to the other, then we both look over in time to see Clayton bring his bat down to the back of Shane’s head, twice, as he whisper-shouts, “And that’s for always trying to suck Bramley’s dick, you bastard.”

”Clayton,” I grunt as he goes to do it again. “Quit playing. We got shit to do.”

With a shrug and slightly embarrassed smile, he does what I ask, and after a few minutes, we have all three of them hanging in the freezer alongside all the shit I just delivered.

”This is exactly why I don’t like hunting with you,” Zeke whispers as we sweep the kitchen and move toward the hall. “You’re too flashy for me.”

I blink at my brother a few times, watching him check the windows and front of the room, then turn to Titus, who rolls his eyes and signs, Because his blowing shit up is way less noticeable.

“Exactly,” I whisper, pointing to our baby brother with a nod just as I get the all clear from Zeke and Nash. “Let’s move.”

We enter the foyer the same way, staying close to the walls, checking windows, looking around corners, all while slinking through the shadows.

Splitting up into three groups, Tus leads our dads toward the east wing after he spots one of the guards from earlier, flexing his fingers at his side because he is itching to tear someone apart. Zeke goes west with Arrow and Walker, following the Harden toward what he called the brain of the house , whatever the hell that means, because that was enough imagery for my brother to decide it’s where he needs to start fucking shit up. And my mates and I head directly for Harden’s office, where that slimy motherfucker is hanging onto our girl in what is clearly meant to be a trap.

He doesn’t know Indy is ours, but he knows Obsidian Falls, and he knows it was founded on Ambrose blood. Bryce Harden will be expecting me in one way or another, and I’m not sure if he really understands what’s going to happen when I get there.

After weaving through the same hallways I wandered a little while ago, we slow to a snail's pace as my alpha and beta obviously scent our omega. Nash’s eyes flash behind his glasses, the emerald green dropping a few shades until they look nearly black, and when Clay gets that thousand yard stare, I know shit is about to get out of hand.

Something confirmed when I take one step toward the door and hear what sounds like skin on skin contact, the kind it makes when someone is getting slapped right in the face, and when it happens a second time, I see fucking red and snap.

Kicking in the ornate wood, I charge into that room, swinging my blade at the first face I see as my mates do the same. A skull explodes to my right as Clayton cackles like he’s possessed. Nash growls at my left seconds before I feel bloody chunks of hair and brain matter splatter against my arm. And I let them do their thing while I use my machete and Bowie knife in tandem, hacking my way further into the room through a sea of tactical gear and flashes of skin until a loud bang stops me in my tracks.

“Enough!” Bryce Harden barks from behind his desk, his gun raised in my direction, our goddamn omega sitting in his lap. He presses the barrel to Indy’s temple once he has my attention, and when he does, it’s everything I can do not to rush him right out the fucking window behind them.

There’s a hand print on her cheek.

A fresh fucking hand print, bright red and almost glowing against her beautiful fair skin.

Her lip is split, her sweatshirt is ripped, and the way Indy’s hair is disheveled means someone was yanking on that natural streak of red in order to get her to submit.

And I’m going to kill him for every single mark on her body, new and old.

“I should have known.” Harden laughs, the sick bastard shaking his head and leaning back in his chair as if this is all goddamn hilarious. “I hate to admit that I didn’t, but I should have. It makes a hell of a lot of sense now that you’re here.”

I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about but I do know he’s using my scent match as a human shield—just like his coward of a son did with Arrow—and if he pulls her any closer to his body, I’m going to pull his spleen out through his nostrils before I make him eat the damn thing raw.

“Foster,” he snaps, his head turning to his right, my eyes following instinctively. “I said, enough.”

Ah, so this is Hall’s partner.

Light hair, light eyes, light everything including the angry expression on his face. He almost looks angelic, especially compared to Hall, but considering the fact that he’s damn near vibrating with rage, and the two alphas behind him look as though they missed their meds this morning, he’s anything but.

And Harden seems to be having a hard time keeping him on a leash, which will definitely come in handy.

“Bramley Ambrose,” Harden says coolly, pulling my attention away from the bastard I’m going to be dismembering later. “The Butcher of Obsidian Falls.”

I feel my brow arch as this man starts to laugh again, and I take the opportunity to get another good look at my omega, only to find her scowling her pretty face off at me.

Good fucking grief.

I can’t even try to play the hero without pissing her off somehow.

Aside from that expression, and her relatively minor injuries, Indy is just angry as fuck. She’s not afraid, or even relieved. No, our omega is pissed the hell off. At me, at Harden, at Foster and his crazy friends, she’s probably even mad at the dead guys on the floor. Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t really care, because I’m so fucking happy she’s okay enough to get mad that I won’t mind if she stays that way forever. Indy can be eternally pissed off, as long as eternity is with me, and Nash, and Clay.

“That feels pretty formal, considering I’ve been killing your friends and family for years.”

Harden’s laughter immediately dies, his eyes narrowing on my face as his grip on Indy tightens. “About that.” His thin lips curve up into a grin as he slowly gets to his feet. “Tit for tat, an eye for an eye, I suppose? Your mother, your grandparents. Every omega in that sad little town. I’m responsible for their deaths, and you decide to make me pay by killing off anyone with the name Harden, or affiliated with this property, correct?”

“That’s the long and short of it,” I say as I shrug my left shoulder, only now realizing I was for sure the one who was shot when I heard that bang earlier.

I do a quick scan of the room, noting that we killed maybe six guards, give or take, the only ones untouched are Foster and his men, and they are also armed. There’s a big ass fucking couch and coffee table, two wingbacks, a set of end tables, and a desk separating us from Indy. Obstacles that could give them time to shoot at us again, enough to make sure they hit at least one of us when they do.

The odds are, there are more of Harden’s men lurking around, too, since this is only a fraction of what I’ve seen on previous visits. Odds I don’t like when the three people I love more than anything in the fucking world are all at risk of falling victim to them, especially with so many other things to factor in as well.

“I applaud you for your creativity,” Harden says. “I had no idea you were so?—”

“While this is all fucking fantastic,” Foster blurts, waving his gun between us before pointing it at Harden. “It’s time to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Harden’s eyes, shrewd and calculating, shift to the bastard who’s one more word away from exploding. “My end of the bargain?” The rest of us forgotten as the fucker starts to laugh at the alpha. “There is no bargain. I told you about Hall because I knew he was looking for her—” he grips Indy’s arm tighter, pressing the gun harder against her temple— “when he ran into The Butcher. Since that was the case, I assumed the two were connected, if by nothing but geography, and I knew if I gave you proof and location of his demise, you’d be all over finding the bitch omega Hall was obsessed with in his absence. The green light to send your dogs after her into Obsidian Falls meant the murder of innocents would follow, and that would bring The Butcher right to my front door once connections were made. There is no bargain, simply my plan put successfully into play.”

“You can’t go back on it,” Foster whispers before he starts waving the SIG around far too freely. “You said he was mine, that I’d be able to get justice for Matthew. You told me if I brought you The Butcher, I’d be able to kill him, and you said I could have her!”

He swings his gun on them, pointing it at Harden to emphasize his words, all while putting my mate in the line of fire. Each jerky movement in their direction has my heart skipping a beat, my eyes bouncing between Indy and Foster, quickly trying to figure out how to get one of the two guns off of her without them going off.

Bryce Harden shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head again, pulling our girl flush against him as he slowly aims his gun at the alpha. “I lied.”

“No!” Foster takes a step toward them as Nash and Clay take a step toward the couch, immediately gaining the attention of the other two alphas and their guns.

Two out of four aimed at us is a good thing.

“No, no, no!” Foster yells, cocking the hammer on his weapon while raising it eye level with Harden. “That’s not what you said!”

“I told you, I lied. What I said is of no consequence now.”

If I hadn’t been watching this entire shitshow as closely as I have been, I wouldn’t have seen Bryce Harden move his arm around Indy’s waist in order to discreetly free his hand before barely touching the cufflink as if he’s pressing a button.

A panic button.

That motherfucker just called for backup and god knows what else, and while I know we have people out there who could help slow them down, I need to get things moving fast so we can get the hell out of here before it gets too fucking heavy.

My eyes flick to Indy again while the two hash it out, her purplish-blue orbs completely fixed on me, and I swear it’s like I can hear her pretty voice inside my head.

Foster is a loose cannon because he’s grieving Hall.

Pushing him will cause a distraction big enough to get us out if it’s done right.

Whether she’s sending those words through our bond or not, it’s a solid plan, and as soon as I feel Clayton and Nash close ranks, moving close enough to keep tabs on while also making sure the three of us are covered in case shit hits the fan first, I decide to give it a try.

“He didn’t scream,” I say loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Hall. No matter what we did to him, he didn’t scream.”

Foster swings his gun in my direction immediately as I slowly start to work the hunting knife down my sleeve. “Hall took everything we did without making a sound.”

The alpha’s hand starts to shake, and I’m pretty sure it means I’m going to get myself shot again.

Oh well.

As long as it’s me and not one of my mates. I’m already bleeding, so it’s fine.

“Then again, the first thing we did was cut out his tongue. Makes it pretty hard to scream if you don’t have one.”

“What did you say?” Foster takes a step toward me, pointing his gun at my face. “You did what to him?”

“Did I stutter? I said we cut out his fucking tongue.” The blade slides down my wrist and into my palm, hidden while I continue working it into position. “You know what he did do?”

Foster takes another step in my direction, the desperation on his face almost relatable, or it would be if he wasn’t desperate to annihilate everyone in the room over a sadistic fuck who deserved what he got. That I can’t relate to, not really. I’d be ready to annihilate everyone on the planet if anyone tried to go after one of my sick fucks, and I wouldn’t stop at just the room for Nash, or Clay, or Indy, who absolutely earned the title after what she did to Hall.

I glance at her again, giving her the most subtle nod in the history of fucking nodding, then look the alpha on the verge of a breakdown in the eye as I say, “Hall begged for his mama before we cut his tongue out, then he cried like a little bitch.”

Letting out some kind of pained howl, Foster opens fire as my alpha and beta drop to a crouch, protecting themselves behind the gaudy as fuck furniture, and gaining the upper hand. At the same time, I shout Indy’s name and send my knife sailing in her direction just as I feel the sting of two more bullets enter my left shoulder, quickly followed by two in my thigh before I’m laid out on the back of the couch.

I hear Clayton yell, shouting as he leaps over me in the direction of Nash’s unmistakable war cry, and while I know they’re royally pissed and taking care of the wild cards to my left, and I should probably try to help, I can’t stop staring as the most beautiful thing happens right in front of me.

Indigo Rae catches my Bowie knife by the blade as Harden shoots Foster in the head, his brain blowing out the back of his skull while our girl moves so fast she’s almost a blur. Indy flips the knife in her hand, the hilt of the weapon firmly in her grasp, and as Harden unloads the rest of his clip into the alpha’s motionless body, she whirls on the bastard who’s made life hell for all of us, and gets the vengeance my omega desperately deserves.

When Harden goes to face her, Indy buries that blade in his chest until it disappears, nothing but the PVC of the hilt sticking out in the middle of the blood that quickly starts to bloom under his white button down shirt. He staggers, looking down at his body with a surprised expression but before it actually registers, before Harden realizes he’s about to die, our omega proves how much she learned from us in such a short period of time by putting that knowledge to good use.

Indy kicks him in the gut with her booted foot, hard enough to drop him in his chair, and as soon as she does, she yanks my knife from his chest and quickly rams it through his left eye, giving it a hard shake before she yanks it free and does it again for good measure. And she does it to the sound of Foster’s men begging for their lives as our men take them out without a second thought.

My eyes slide shut briefly, long enough for me to take the first full breath I’ve taken since they kidnapped our girl, only for them to pop open when I feel hands yanking my mask down my face.

“I don’t ever want to see that happen again,” Indy almost growls as she all but climbs on top of me. She narrows those bright indigo eyes into the most beautiful scowl, one that intensifies when I smile up at her like an idiot. “Ever. If you’re going to keep getting yourself shot, you can’t do it in front of me anymore.” Then she’s gripping the sides of my neck and kissing me hard as fuck despite how mad she clearly still is.

“Noted, but how about we get the hell out of here, then you can scold me at home while you ride my cock.”

She rolls her eyes as a pretty red blush creeps into her cheeks, but she ignores me and goes for Nash as soon as he’s within range, kissing him fast and hard, and stealing his axe in the process. I tip my head back and watch as Indy climbs over me so she can kiss Clayton, too, her sweatpants covered thighs placed awkwardly on either side of my head, and if I didn’t think it would start a fight in the middle of what is going to become a shoot out, I’d offer to eat her pussy then give Indy shit for prioritizing us right now. Probably because I’m happy, and losing blood quicker than I should be, and I like when she’s mad at me.

I’m not that stupid, though, so I just shake my head, smack her ass, and roll out from under her before we’re greeted by many gunshots I can hear outside of this room.

“Holy shit,” Clays laughs as we run into the hall to see that all hell has, in fact, officially broken loose. “When we come to party, we really fucking party.”

As ridiculous as that is, he isn’t wrong, because as we take off through the halls that eventually spit us out into the middle of the main floor, it is abundantly clear that my brothers have been here, and they have been busy.

I can hardly hear anything because of the multiple alarms going off in all directions. There are huge holes in almost every wall. Various paintings are swinging back and forth, barely hanging on by a thread to their busted frames. Anything that was glass or breakable is shattered; windows, vases, statues, and clocks. Not one antique is left intact. Every piece of furniture is upended and broken, and there is smoke billowing out of the dining room. Which means Zeke set it on fire.

And if Zeke set it on fire, that also means?—

“Run!” My brother yells as he comes racing through the doorway, and because I know exactly what that means, I scoop Indy up, toss her over my good shoulder, and book it out of that house with our mates a mere few seconds before the first explosion hits.

It sends us flying forward, the impact enough to actually push us several feet through the air, so I twist myself around and flip our omega just in time, taking the brunt of the force as we crash into “Fuck,” I gasp as I land flat on my back, all the wind knocked out of me as I skid through the grass, holding Indy tight to my chest until we stop. “Jesus.”

My vision momentarily blacks out before it goes bright white, and when I blink enough to see what I think is the sky, it blurs for a moment before anything starts to clear up.

“Bramley,” Indy whispers as she quickly rolls off of me, grabbing my face again then yelling, “Bramley, you asshole!”

I frown because I wasn’t the one who blew us out of the house, then smile when my match starts kissing me, and rubbing her face all over mine, trying to scent me the way Nash and I can scent her. For about two seconds, anyway, then I feel a profound sense of dread shoot through our bond before she starts frantically searching the yard for Nash and Clayton. I watch her wide eyes ping around, her pulse skyrocketing before a wave of relief washes over me, and through our bond, when I turn my head and see what she does, the two of them sprawled out and breathing about three feet away from us.

Indy helps me into a seated position, one that hurts more than it should, then proceeds to send that pain ricocheting through my entire body when her five-foot-seven self attempts to drag my six-foot-five ass toward our mates.

I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad, but it does, and instead of helping her, our alpha and beta cheer her on like assholes. Granted, I’m not sure how much they’d be able to do for me, either, since they’re moving like they’re in their nineties and relatively banged up themselves.

“If you could help a little,” Indy grunts as she loops her arms around my chest, under my armpits to gain leverage. “Maybe put a little effort in, it’d be fucking great.”

Grinning, I use my good arm to bear my weight, then force the bad one to move enough for my hand to cover hers. “Indy, honey, we’re far enough away that?—”

Another series of explosions boom through the house, half of it crumbling under the force, and proving me wrong before I get the words out as pieces of brick and plaster start flying toward us.

I flip over to my stomach and take Indy down at the knees, pulling her underneath me, shielding her from the gigantic shrapnel that’s now pelting my back. Once it lets up some, I start to move, quickly getting both of us further into the yard, and closer to Nash and Clayton who are doing the same.

Zeke doesn’t fuck around, and he really likes blowing things up, so I have no idea if that was the last of his shit or not, and I’m not willing to stay close enough to feel the heat while I figure it out.

Once I feel like we’re all safe, I flop onto my back with a sigh then grunt and wince when my scent match swats my chest.

“Stop doing stuff like that!”

I tip my head back so I’m looking up at her. “Doing what? Protecting you?”

She nods as she gets to her feet but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.

I know Indy can take care of herself, and now, so does she, but I can feel how much it means to her that we came after her. Indy is crazy if she thinks we weren’t going to, but she’s not used to that, to anyone prioritizing her or having her back, and her gratitude makes sense because of it. So, she's not telling me to stop that. Indigo Rae doesn’t mean that she wants me, or our mates, to stop protecting her. She wants us to stop getting hurt in the process because loving us also means she can lose us.

Just like it means losing her.

We can’t let that fear stop us, though.

“Wow,” Indy whispers as she wraps her arms around her waist, watching in awe as that house of horrors crumbles in front of her.

Forcing myself up into a sitting position, I take a deep breath and decide to check out the new holes my dad is going to have to dig the lead out of, then pause.

My dad .

I have no idea where he, or anyone else is.

The only people I can account for are my mates, and my dynamite happy little brother, and considering the numbers we showed up with, that math ain’t mathing.

I lift my eyes from my bloody shoulder and biceps, turning toward the far left of the house where the garages are, and squint against the smoke in search of any sign of life. Those buildings are miles away from here, so I’m not sure I’d be able to see anything, anyway. I still look, though.

I look, and I hope that what little of our family that was left, isn’t gone.

“Oh no!”

My head snaps toward Indy as she takes off in a sprint, running as fast as her legs will carry her toward the right of the burning house. I’m on my feet, racing after her the best I can while Nash and Clay do the same.

“Indy!” I bark, my thigh screaming before it starts to go numb. “Goddamnit, Indigo, stop!”

She doesn’t.

Not for what feels like an eternity of running through the expanse of land that goes on forever.

Indy pushes herself as well as the three of us toward a hill, my ass huffing and puffing my way up it until I reach the top.

The top where I find our omega standing stock still and crying while the skeletons of several large barn-like structures are blazing a few hundred yards away.

“Indy,” I pant as I stop next to her. “Honey, what?—”

“They’re gone.”

My brow furrows as I look at her, then at Clay and Nash, and it isn’t until my gaze shifts back to the flames that I realize who she’s talking about.

Fuck .

She’s talking about the other omegas.

They’re all gone, and those are the stables they were kept in.

“They were empty.” Zeke finally catches us up, even though I didn’t know he was following.

I’m glad he was, though, because the way Indy’s entire body sagged over his words has the three of us relaxing. Even as our girl all but collapses against Nash when she hears my brother.

“There wasn’t anyone left?” She asks hopefully. “No one in the stalls or offices?”

Zeke shakes his head as he pants. “All empty. They weren’t on fire until I got there.” Figures. “But they were emptied out. Offices were trashed, they left in a hurry.”

“Must have happened when Harden hit the panic button,” Clayton says as he starts rubbing Indy’s back.

Nash nods as he helps our girl get her footing. “Probably started a purge.”

“The other three sons.” Zeke parks his hands on his hips and bends at the waist, still trying to catch his breath. “Fuck, I need to quit smoking. I’d put money on the Harden boys getting orders to empty everything out.”

Which makes sense.

That panic button didn’t just get the guards moving, it triggered a purge, and, most likely, a lot of destroying of evidence.

“We searched every single stall before I torched it.” My brother rubs the back of his neck and straightens up as Indy turns to him. “All six buildings, every goddamn nook and cranny. There wasn’t anyone inside anywhere.”

She nods and swipes at her tears. “Thank you. For making sure.”

The four of us stand there for a few minutes, comforting our omega, watching the hell she lived finally burn to the ground.

It’s symbolic, sure, but it’s fitting.

Harden, murdered by one of the omegas he brutalized, his entire business and property upended by men who carry Ambrose blood in their veins. Obsidian Falls finally got justice, but this is far from over.

“Shit,” Nash grunts as we hear the unmistakable sound of heavy vehicles speeding in our direction. “Company on the horizon.”

The four of us instinctively create a wall in front of Indy, ready to fight off the goddamn Hummers tearing up the yard in order to get to us, and I swear to god I am so over this shit it isn’t even funny.

If it’s one of those Harden bastards trying to take us out, I will use my bare fucking hands to stop that SUV then launch it like a shot put toward the inferno down wind.

But I don’t have to.

Both vehicles come to a screeching halt in front of us and before I can register what’s going on, the passenger door on the first one cranks open and a tiny blur of bright red comes flying at us.

“Indy?!” The blur shouts as it darts around Clayton, who’s ready to catch it but stops cold when we hear, “Scarlett?”

Moving out of the way just in time, Indy pushes through us as a mix of emotions shoot through our bond. “Scarlett!”

She crashes into what I can now see clearly as another female, the two embracing tightly while sobbing and screeching in a way that has me fucking confused.

I don’t know what’s happening, solely because of the shit going on inside our omega, and how it’s filtering through to us.

Found her in the infirmary, Titus signs as he walks up behind her. Hiding in the med closet with loaded syringes.

I crack a smile and nod, then go back to my omega.

“Are you okay?” She looks at her friend as she smoothes Scarlett’s hair out of her watery eyes, then her hands drop, pushing Scarlett back a little before doing the same to her midsection. “Oh, thank god, the baby is okay?”

Scarlett nods. “We’re fine. They left me because I’m pregnant, and figured whatever happened, happened.”

“This happened,” Indy says as she smiles at her friend. “We’ve got you now.”

“I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”

“Me either.” My omega hugs Scarlett again tightly. “But now you’re stuck with me.”

Both females giggle a little, chatting between them as my dads, Walker Harden, and Arrow hop out of the Hummers. We all take stock, everyone accounted for—thankfully—and my dumbass being the most injured of the lot.

It’s fine, though.

I’ve lost too much blood to drive but I’d cut myself wide open if it meant making sure our omega, my scent match, was safe, and was able to get the vengeance she deserves.

“I want to go home.”

I smile through the pulsing in my shoulder and look down at our girl. “Okay, honey. Let’s go home.”

She loops her arm through mine as Clayton wraps his arms around her from behind, our girl not letting go of Scarlett while he does. I feel Nash slip his hand into mine, my alpha lacing our fingers, and while we stand here a few seconds longer, surrounded by the fall of the Hardens, I feel at ease. Complete. Content.\

It may not have gone exactly as planned, it might have given us more questions than answers, and created a mess even I won’t be able to clean up, but we got vengeance today.

For everyone we lost, for everyone we couldn’t help. We avenged so much more than I knew we needed to, and we did it all as a goddamn family.