"That name is going to stick to me soon," Kade sighed dramatically, though his smirk betrayed him. "How about you leave Nolan with me while you go about your business for the day?"
"Sure…" Ava finally said after a moment. "I'll stop by to check in on Lucas first."
"Say bye to mummy, Nolan," Kade said warmly, lifting the toddler's chubby hand in his own large one. He made the boy wave, exaggerating the motion until Nolan let out a delighted laugh, thumb popping free from his mouth.
"Don't teach him bad habits while I'm gone."
Kade chuckled, bouncing Nolan slightly against his shoulder. "What, like rolling his eyes and calling people idiots? Pretty sure he's already got that part down. Wonder where he learned it from." He shot her a teasing glance, and though Ava rolled her eyes, her lips curved just a little as she walked away.
Kade watched her leave as he kissed the top of Nolan's head, inhaling the powdery, innocent scent. "You've got a good mum, little man," he murmured under his breath.
*****
"This is easy, Mr. Schott." Kingsley's voice was deceptively calm. He tilted his head, studying the bloodied lawyer slumped against the chair as though he were nothing more than a puzzle refusing to fall into place. "All you have to do is tell me where my wife is." His eyes gleamed with impatience.
Mr. Schott coughed, a wet, rattling sound, spattering blood across his already torn shirt. Every inch of him ached, his ribs screaming with every shallow breath, but he clung stubbornly to silence. Because he knew the truth: once he gave Kingsley the address, once he surrendered that one last bargaining chip, his fate was sealed. Death waited just past his lips.
"I told you already," the lawyer rasped, his words shaky. "I don't have it. She wrote the address down on a piece of paper before she left my office. I barely looked at it." He tried to sound dismissive, but the tremor in his voice betrayed the terror coiling through him. He could feel Kingsley's presence like a noose tightening around his throat.
"You really have a death wish," Kingsley murmured, crouching so his face was level with the broken man's. "Or do you assume I'm the kind of man who would think twice before killing you?" His lips curved in a cruel smile, and he let the silence stretch, his gaze drilling into Schott.
Schott's eyes filled with tears he hadn't wanted to shed. "Please…" he whispered, his dignity stripped away, replaced by raw desperation. "I have a wife. I'm begging you. If you let me go, I'll look for the address and give it to you. I'll find it, I swear." His chest heaved, blood and saliva clinging to his chin. "Just… let me live."
Kingsley straightened, exhaling slowly as if the lawyer's pleas bored him more than they moved him. He turned his head slightly. "Funny thing about begging, Mr. Schott…" he said softly, brushing a speck of blood from his sleeve. "It never really works on me."
Kingsley dragged a chair across the floor with a slow, scraping sound that made Mr. Schott flinch. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other as though he were in a boardroom rather than a room that reeked of blood and fear. His eyes locked on the broken man in front of him. "Mr. Schott," he began, "you must think me evil for doing this to you." He tilted his head, studying the bloodied face. "You are right. I am evil. But right now, all I want is my wife." His words cracked with rage.
The lawyer's lips trembled as he spoke, his breath wheezing from cracked ribs. "Please… I do not have her address off the top of my head." His mind raced, calculating, searching for a way out that didn't end with his corpse dumped somewhere unmarked. He knew this was a game of inches—say too little, and Kingsley's patience would snap; say too much, and he'd be disposable.
Kingsley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know what you are trying to do. You think I will let you go in the hopes that you will give me the address. But instead, you'll run to the police, thinking the law can shield you from me." He gave a small laugh. "I mean, you are a lawyer. It is what is expected, isn't it?" His eyes glittered with a cruel kind of amusement.
"I promise, no police," Schott said quickly, the words tumbling over each other in panic. His hands shook, his swollen fingers curling into his bloodstained shirt. "You can follow me to my office. I will hand it over to you. Just let me go, please." The thought of Kingsley trailing behind him to his office made bile rise in his throat, but the thought of dying here, now, without even the chance of seeing his wife again, was worse.
Kingsley sighed. He steepled his fingers. "I will make a deal with you, then," he said smoothly, though every syllable was laced with menace. "You give me the address without any trouble, and I will let you live. But if you pull any stunts—if you so much as breathe the word 'police'—I will kill you. Then I will find your wife and kill her too. Slowly. Painfully. So you'll have the privilege of knowing her blood is on your hands."
The lawyer's heart hammered in his chest, a frantic rhythm that drowned out reason. His mind screamed at him to lie, to stall, to invent an address—anything to survive. But Kingsley's gaze cut through him, sharp as a blade, promising that lies would be carved out of him inch by inch. Schott swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes, the image of his wife's gentle smile flashing across his vision.
*****
Commander John was just done with pleasing his mate when Elliot arrived.
"What does that son of a traitor want now?" John spat after Elliot had delivered Kade's message. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still flushed from passion. "Does he have a life? Or is he so desperate to prove to Alpha Lucas that he isn't going to betray us like his father?"
The bitterness in his voice was raw, years of resentment still clinging like an open wound.
Elliot shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like being caught between his commander's temper and the Beta's authority. "You… you missed the morning meeting with the gammas," he said finally, as though each word might set John off further.
"Oh, crap!" John groaned, slapping a palm to his forehead. His eyes cut behind him to the figure now standing in the doorway. His mate, Ceecee, had wrapped herself in a robe, her hair messy from their intimacy. She leaned against the frame with an arched brow, watching his frustration with barely suppressed amusement.
"That one's your fault," John muttered, pointing a finger at her as if her beauty and allure had deliberately sabotaged his discipline.
Ceecee's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Well, just tell him you were with your mate," she said lightly. "I'm sure he will understand."
John barked out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing harshly in the small room. "Yeah, right. The over-pompous, arrogant bastard? Understand?" He shook his head. "That boy walks around like he owns the title Beta by divine right, as if everyone has forgotten his father's sins."
Elliot swallowed, trying not to wince at the venom in John's voice. He gave a stiff nod instead. "Shall I tell him you'll be there shortly?"
John waved a dismissive hand, muttering curses under his breath. "Yes, yes. Tell him I'll grace him with my presence in a few minutes."
"Yes, Commander," Elliot replied quickly, relief evident as he backed out, eager to escape the heavy tension.
The door clicked shut, leaving John with Ceecee again. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as if the weight of his frustration pressed against his skull. "I still don't understand why Alpha Lucas made that bastard his Beta. Of all people. Was there no one else in the entire pack worthy of the position?"
Ceecee approached him slowly, her robe slipping slightly to reveal her shoulder. She touched his arm gently, trying to temper the storm inside him. But he wasn't finished.
"His father betrayed us all," John hissed. His jaw clenched, veins standing out in his neck. "Because of him, good men died. Because of him, we buried brothers. And let's not forget—" He sneered, bitterness darkening his eyes. "The bastard laid with the Alpha's concubine, sowed his seed where he had no right, and left a legacy of shame. And now what? Now his son walks in halls of power as though none of it matters."
John's hands curled into fists, his chest heaving with the suppressed fury of old scars. "Tell me, Ceecee, what is so special about him? What makes him worthy while the rest of us—those who bled, those who stayed loyal—are left to follow?"