Page 60 of Pack Obsession

He glances my way. “Then we handle it.” Logan’s voice has a deadly calm. “Permanently.”

Logan slides off the counter, stretching. His dog tags glint in the kitchen light.

We share a look, the kind that comes from years of having each other’s backs. From knowing exactly what each of us is capable of. Nash might prefer his cyber warfare, Logan his precise military strikes, and me my more direct approach, but in the end, we’re all ready to do what is needed to protect one of our own—our Omega.

I stare back at the stairs, thinking of Casey sleeping upstairs, of how we are going to keep her safe… at any cost.

“She’s ours now,” Nash says quietly, reading my thoughts like always. “We protect our own. Do you both agree?”

“Agreed,” Logan states. He straightens, military bearing sliding into place.

“Fuck, yeah!” I answer.

“Tomorrow,” Logan confirms. “If he insists on pushing, he’ll be sorry.”

Nash’s grin turns sharp. We’re dangerous men who’ve done deadly things. But watching Nash rinse his plate and seeing Logan absently fiddle with his tags, I know we’re also family. And family protects its own.

Tomorrow, we deal with Julian. And if the bastard doesn’t like that...

Well, accidents happen every day.

“I’m staying with her tomorrow,” I add, breaking the tension.

Nash throws a dish towel at my head, then nods.

“Agreed,” Logan adds.

Just like that, we’re back to normal. Three of us in the pack bickering in a kitchen at midnight, planning a man’s potential demise between jokes. But what’s different is that upstairs, our Omega sleeps, safe, and finally where she belongs.

Chapter

Seventeen

LOGAN

The lobby of Hayes International reaches up forever, all gleaming marble and old money arrogance. Security is tight, much tighter than the public areas would suggest. I count six guards with concealed weapons in the lobby alone, another four watching the elevators. Julian’s paranoid.

The guard at the desk eyes my military ID with the sort of attention that tells me he actually knows what he’s looking for. Not just hired muscle—ex-military, probably special ops. Behind me, Nash adjusts his glasses, playing up the tech consultant role we’d decided on. His laptop bag holds enough processing power to crash half the Eastern seaboard, but right now, it’s just window dressing.

“Your credentials check out,” the guard says finally, handing back our IDs. His attention linger on mine a beat too long. Recognition, maybe. “Mr. Hayes is on floor forty-eight. He’s been advised of your arrival and is expecting you.”

The elevator rises smoothly, all chrome and mirrors, soft music. Nash catches my eye in the reflection, and I can see him cataloguing exits, security cameras, and potential threats. Old habits.

“Remember,” he says quietly. “We’re here to talk.”

“I remember.” My dog tags feel heavy against my chest. A reminder of other conversations that started civil and ended bloody. “But if he pushes...”

“He’ll push,” Nash adjusts his laptop bag. “Men like him always do.”

The elevator opens to a reception area bigger than most apartments. Everything screams money—the art, the leather couches, the vases with an explosion of roses. The young man behind the desk jumps to attention when we approach. Omega, I note. Interesting hiring choice for someone like Julian.

“Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Parker,” he stammers slightly. “Mr. Hayes is just finishing a call. Please, follow me.”

He leads us through glass doors into a corner office that dominates half the area. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a spectacular view of the city. Julian stands with his back to us, phone to his ear, designer black suit cut to perfection. He’s staring out the window. Everything about the scene feels staged.

“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone, still not turning. “Something’s come up.” The pause is deliberate. Power play 101.

When he finally faces us, his smile is razor sharp. “Gentlemen. Finally. I trust you have an explanation for why my considerable investment was returned without consultation?”

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