I latch the door, feeling guilty for locking him in, but the thought of him running loose while the world burns makes my stomach lurch. I shoulder my bag, check my phone—no new updates—and push the door open.
The sky outside bleeds with smoke, heavy and thick, and ash drifts down like morbid snow. My lungs tighten as I inhale, my throat stinging. This isn’t contained. It’s spreading fast.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, jogging to the car. My glasses fog at the corners with the heat, and I wipe them against my sleeve. This is bad. Really bad.
Before I slide in, I thumb my phone to call Marjorie. My heart knocks against my ribs as it rings once, twice?—
“Shepard?” Her voice cuts through, a little breathless but steady. Relief floods me.
“Marjorie. You okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Millie’s here too. We’ve shut all the windows. Don’t worry about us, dear.”
I close my eyes, exhaling shakily. “Good. Stay that way. Don’t open for anyone.”
She hesitates. “And you?”
“I’m… fine,” I lie. “I’ll check in later.”
I hang up before she can press further, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. My foot slams the gas.
Sadie insisted she could handle waiting alone, making tea, pretending the world outside wasn’t falling apart. But I know her.
I know the way her hands twist when she’s anxious, how her smile trembles at the edges when she’s trying to be brave. My chest tightens.
She shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.
I pull into her street, headlights washing over shapes that make me slow. A line of cars is parked outside her house. Too many. None of them familiar.
My stomach knots.
I park half a block down, kill the engine. Every instinct in me screams.
The front door isn’t just closed—it rattles with sound. Shouting. Male voices, rough, cutting through the walls.
My pulse spikes.
I adjust my glasses with shaking fingers, creeping closer until I’m just below the window. My palms are damp, the bag on my shoulder suddenly too heavy. Slowly, carefully, I rise enough to peek inside.
And the sight knocks the air from my lungs.
They’re in there. Four massive men, their frames crowding her living room. Sadie is on the floor, pinned, two men holding her down like she’s prey.
One crouches close, his hand on her thigh, his mouth twisted into a sick grin that even from this distance makes bile rise in my throat. That must be Scott.
My chest goes ice-cold.
She’s struggling, her hair sticking to her face, her voice hoarse as she spits, “Don’t touch me!”
And they laugh. They fucking laugh.
Every muscle in my body wants to move. Wants to break down that door, throw myself between them and her, do something reckless and stupid because she’s there and I can’t stand this.
But then the other thought claws through me, sharp and brutal.
I can’t die here.
Not like this. Not pinned against four Alphas who could tear me apart without breaking a sweat. Not when Gus is in the car waiting.
