Page 68 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Charlie

I wake up to the early morning sun streaming through the window, and the sound of someone humming in the kitchen.

For a second, I don’t even open my eyes. I just lie there, soaking it in—the warmth of the nest wrapped around me, the way sunlight filters through the sheer curtain we hung over the bedroom window, and that soft, happy hum drifting down the hall.

Autry .

She only hums when she’s completely at peace.

It’s been a month since we moved here—thirty days of quiet, love, and nature. It’s the kind of peace I never knew existed.

The cabin’s not much to look at from the outside—just an old A-frame hidden behind a mess of trees and brush—but inside, it’s become ours.

We scrubbed every wall, every baseboard, every cabinet.

We burned the old couch that smelled like mildew and raccoons, and bought a new one from a furniture store in a nearby town.

It’s firm and gray and big enough to fit all five of us, plus Dolly, even when we end up tangled together after movie nights.

Rhett grew a beard. It’s thick and soft and somehow makes him look even more handsome. He looks like someone you’d follow into the woods and never question why. His hair’s gotten longer, too—floppy and unruly, falling into his eyes when he’s working outside. Which he does a lot.

He and Oli are obsessed with “fixing” things around the property.

It started with the generator. Rhett didn’t sleep until he figured it out.

But now? I think the alphas just enjoy tinkering.

The problem-solving. The freedom. The way they laugh when they mess something up and have to start all over again.

They got the electricity working a few weeks ago. Then the AC. I almost cried when that cold air finally kicked in.

And Autry—God, Autry. She looks like she belongs here. Not in a feral, forest-witch way. In a real, grounded, fully herself kind of way. Her hair’s longer, and she always wears it twisted up, pieces falling into her face while she cooks. She’s always barefoot, always moving, always humming.

She kisses us all, constantly. Rhett, when he walks in from outside. Myrick, when he brings her coffee. Me, when I pass too close to the stove. It’s like she needs to remind herself we’re real. Or maybe she’s reminding us.

“Stop hogging the hose!” Myrick’s voice floats in from outside. He’s probably yelling at Oli. I can feel my mate’s energy rise. He’s teasing someone, and Myrick is his favorite target. He loves the way the beta’s cheeks puff up all red. Oli likes to kiss them while they’re hot.

Brock’s supposed to show up any day now. We’re not sure if he made it into the apartment or not, but Rhett sent him a list of things we left behind—books, clothes, sentimental stuff. I know Myrick is hoping he’ll bring the espresso machine, even though he pretends not to care.

I finally swing my legs out of bed, rubbing at my eyes as I pad down the hall. Autry’s at the stove, her hum louder now, and she turns just in time to press a kiss to my cheek and slide a warm biscuit into my hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” she says.

I grin around a mouthful of biscuit. “Morning. You’re humming again.”

“Yeah?” she says, a little bashful, even though she doesn’t stop. “Guess I’m just happy.”

And I think—we all are.

It’s not perfect. We’re still lying low. The alphas still check the perimeter at least twice a day. And we may never be able to leave this place, but in this cabin, tucked away in the woods, we’ve carved out something that feels sacred.

Home .