I should’ve been dead last night.
If Jameson hadn’t come when he did, that intruder—whoever the hell he was—would’ve had me at his mercy. And the worst part? He claimed Alpha Conrad had sent him.
But the bastard escaped before we could get any real answers.
Now, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the flickering light above me, my stomach twisted in knots. I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the shadow in my apartment, heard the voice whispering in the dark, felt the cold grip of fear tightening around my throat.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
"I want out," I blurted, looking up at Jameson.
My brother stood near the window, arms crossed, his face unreadable. "Out?"
"I don’t want to stay here," I clarified, my voice unsteady. "I can’t. I need to leave, Jameson."
His brows furrowed, his golden eyes darkening. "You’re scared."
Of course, I was scared. I had been playing a dangerous game, pretending to be someone else, trying to get near to the pack that had destroyed our family. And for what? Five years of gathering nothing. No revenge. No justice. Just me, hopelessly entangled with the one person I shouldn’t have fallen for.
"You’re getting emotional," Jameson accused, his voice sharp. "Because of Conrad."
I flinched. "This isn’t about him."
"Isn’t it?" He scoffed. "You let yourself get too close, Tatty. You let yourself believe he loved you. And now, because of that, you’re breaking apart."
I clenched my fists. "I’m breaking apart because someone tried to kill me!"
Jameson exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re not leaving."
I shot up to my feet. "You don’t control me!"
"No, but I know you." He stepped closer, his voice low and firm. "You’re not running because of the mission. You’re running because you still have feelings for him. And that makes you weak."
The words hit deep. I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking away.
Jameson exhaled heavily. "Fine. Take a break. Go back to our old hometown for a while. Clear your damn head. But when you come back, I expect you to remember why we’re doing this."
He turned and left, the door slamming behind him.
I stood there, shaking.
Then, without a word, I started packing.
The knock on my door came just as I zipped up my suitcase.
Alpha Conrad stood in my doorway, his eyes stormy, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was fighting the urge to break something. Or someone.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was low, rough, controlled rage beneath every syllable.
I stared at him, my fingers curling around the handle of my suitcase. "What do you want, Conrad?"
His nostrils flared. "I want to know why you humiliated Celeste in the diner."
I let out a dry laugh. "Oh, you mean the part where she slapped me? Or the part where she shoved me to the floor?"
Conrad took a step closer, his hands flexing at his sides. "You drenched her in ketchup."
"She deserved worse," I snapped. "Are you here to demand an apology for your precious fiancée? Because that’s not happening."
His eyes darkened. "Damn it, Mavy."
He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping away.
But I had already slipped away.
I yanked free. "I’m not your secret girlfriend anymore, Conrad. You don’t get to hold onto me when it’s convenient for you."
Something flickered in his expression—regret? Pain? I didn’t care.
The airport was crowded, but the second I settled into my seat on the plane, a strange sense of peace washed over me.
No Jameson breathing down my neck. No Conrad. No Celeste.
For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.
Then my phone buzzed. Alpha Conrad.
His name flashed across the screen again and again, call after call.
I ignored it.
Then Jameson’s name popped up.
I hesitated, my gut twisting. But before I could answer—
I lost signal. The plane was taking off.
I leaned back, closing my eyes.
Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.
A flight attendant’s voice cut through the calm.
"Attention, everyone," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "We have a security threat on board."
I snapped my eyes open, my pulse spiking.
Murmurs rippled through the cabin. People were looking around, confused. Then, the attendant’s next words sent ice through my veins.
"There is a bomb on this plane."
Chaos erupted.
Passengers screamed, flight attendants scrambled. A baby started wailing somewhere in the back.
My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and turned it back on, desperate for a signal.
And then I saw it.
Jameson’s last message.
[Don’t get on the plane. You’re being targeted. We don’t know by who. Trust no one.]
