Page 6 of Pack Obsession

Chapter

Two

AXEL

Ihead up along the windy path to our home, every muscle coiled tight as I scan the perimeter, the woods pressing close around the house. No one’s around; no one followed us. Which is great, not to mention the storm’s stopped. Still, the scar above my eye twinges—an old souvenir from my cage-fighting days that still acts up when adrenaline hits my system. In front of me, Logan moves silently, much to his ex-military training, the Omega girl limp over his broad shoulder, her white-blonde braid swaying with each step.

The sedative should keep her under for at least another hour or two, but I know to never underestimate an Omega’s biology. My knuckles crack reflexively as I remember how she fought us in the woods, all fire and defiance, despite being cornered by two Alphas twice her size.

The scent of her still clings to me—sun-ripened peaches and spring rain on white flowers. It lingers, as if I can’t shake it off. I roll my shoulders, trying to push away thoughts of another Omega who needssaving. Focus on the job, not the merchandise.

"Clear?" Logan’s voice is barely above a whisper, his steel-gray eyes alert as they sweep the tree line. The silver chain at hisneck catches the sunlight—his partner’s dog tags from his special ops days. He never talks about how he got them or why he wears them, but some ghosts don’t need explaining.

I scan the motion sensors I installed along the property line—all green. Being paranoid keeps you alive.

"Clear."

Sure enough, Nash is at the door in seconds, opening it for us. He does another sweep of the perimeter behind us before letting us in. He’s still wearing his expensive hoodie, dark jeans, and that perpetually messy dirty blonde hair that makes him look younger than he is. The calculating intelligence behind his easy smile reminds me why we never underestimate him.

"Okay, the package is secure." He pulls the door wider for us to step through, fingers drumming against the wood in that restless way of his.

"Sleeping Beauty’s out cold," Logan confirms, adjusting his grip. In the warm light of the great room, I can’t help but notice how small she looks against his frame and how delicate her features are despite all that fire we saw in the woods. A bruise is forming on her cheek where that Nexus guard hit her, and something dark and protective stirs in my chest.

The door shuts.

I yank off my balaclava, running a hand through my sweat-dampened black hair. "Fuck, I hate these things. Feel like I’m suffocating." The cabin’s familiar scents wash over me—leather from the massive sectional, cedar from the exposed beams, and coffee from Nash’s ever-running machine. Home.

Logan heads upstairs to let our target sleep it off.

The main room stretches out before us—simple furnishings, thick rugs, plush throws, and a stone fireplace that dominates one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the mountain view, though the smart glass is currently tinted for privacy so no one can see inside–day or night. The open floor plan flows into thekitchen. My father would probably roll in his grave if he could see what we’ve done with hismountain retreat.

I head straight for the industrial fridge, grabbing a bottle of water while Nash leans against the granite island, arms crossed over his chest. The geometric tattoo on his forearm peeks out from beneath his sleeve.

"So, it went well then?"

I drain half the bottle before answering.

"We got her. That’s what matters. Even if we had to crash the Nexus bus." The water doesn’t wash away the lingering taste of adrenaline or the memory of her scent mixing with mine when I held her.

"I don’t remember that being part of the plan." One blonde eyebrow arches over his glasses. Nash has the look he gets when he thinks we’re being reckless, the same look he had when Logan suggested we take that job in Singapore last year. We should have listened to him then, then I wouldn’t have a pain in my knee that likes to flare up every time it gets freezing cold.

"We needed to stop them somehow." I shrug, putting the bottle back next to the steaks marinating for dinner. The kitchen is all stainless steel, but the six-burner range reminds me of Sunday mornings and pancakes before everything went to hell. "No one died… that I’m aware of."

Logan’s boots sound on the hardwood as he returns. He’s removed his tactical gear, now in his dark Henley and jeans. The scar near his collarbone catches my attention, a souvenir from our first retrieval that went sideways in Bangkok. "She’s secured in the east bedroom. Still out cold."

"And you’re sure she’s our girl? We were told there would be four Omegas on that bus." Nash’s fingers drum against the granite. That restless energy of his always gets worse when he’s worried. "Did she confirm she’s Casey Anderson?"

I crash onto the leather sectional, and they follow me into the main room as I throw one arm over my eyes.

"Fuck, these kidnappings are exhausting." A flash of memory hits me—my sister’s face the last time I saw her before corrupt officials made her disappear. I shove the thought away as quickly as it came.

"Axel." There’s an edge to Nash’s voice now. I lower my arm, catching him running his fingers through his messy hair. "What if you grabbed the wrong Omega?"

"It’s definitely her," Logan interjects, dropping into the armchair across from me. His gray eyes are troubled as he absently touches the chain at his neck. "Same face, same height, same build, same distinctive coloring as the photo we saw of her. Plus, she was exactly where Julian said she’d be, with those three other Omegas on the bus heading to the Nexus facility."

"Trust me," I add, remembering the way she sassed us earlier. "An Omega that fierce? That’s definitely Julian Hayes’ runaway." The words taste bitter. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have questioned it—just another job, just another paycheck—but something about this one feels wrong.

"Fine." Nash moves to the dining table where three monitors are set up, his own version of mission control. "You better be right. Julian’s not exactly known for his forgiving nature."

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