Page 2 of Fired at the Heart

The shot rings out, deafening in the confined space. The recruit’s friend crumples to the ground, a dark stain blooming across his chest. The acrid scent of gunpowder mingles with the coppery tang of blood as I level my weapon on the third of our recruits.

He had come in at the same time as the first two but hadn’t seemed too friendly toward them during initial training. “What about you? Do you also have a problem taking orders from an Omega?”

Face pale, he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shakes his head, his words tumbling out in a rush. “N-no, boss. No problem at all. I’ve got no issue with your secondary gender, I swear.”

I study him for a moment, searching for any hint of deceit. All I see is fear, desperation, and a silent plea for mercy.

My lips purse, disliking how quickly he panics, but that can be trained out of him. “Good. Then you won’t mind cleaning up this mess.”

Relief washes over the recruit’s features. “Of course, boss.”

I turn toward Rico. “Make sure he does a good job.”

The Beta’s head dips in silent understanding of the underlying message. If he doesn’t shape up fast, he can join the other two in the barrels.

Rico beckons for the recruit to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you where the supplies are. This is the only time you’ll be given this lesson, so pay attention.”

“Yes, sir.” He scrambles after Rico as the man strides across the warehouse to the storage room holding the chemicals that soak blood out of concrete and melt bodies.

I turn back to the rest of the crew. “Well? Do I need to tell each of you what you should be doing right now? Are you babies who need your hands held through a basic operation?”

“No, boss!” The shout echoes in the warehouse, and the group disperses.

Retrieving my knife from the dead recruit’s neck, I wipe it clean on his shirt. We needed those guys to fill in the blank spots left in my crew after wiping out some punks who thought they could sell guns in my city.

Waste of fucking time training them, and now we have to start over.

Adrenaline still thrums through my veins. The rush of power and control that comes from killing is a familiar companion, but it feels colorless. Like I’m only going through the motions these days.

In a few hours, we’ll walk into a trap if our buyer betrays us, and the potential blood bath doesn’t spark any excitement or fear. There’s only a hollow ache of loneliness that even the threat of death can’t dispel.

As I head for the stairs back up to my office, I glance at Cassian, still standing sentinel. For a moment, I imagine him not as a subordinate, but as an equal to share the weight of leadership. A partner in strategy who I could trust to help run the business.

The image flickers, there and gone before it forms. Trust is a luxury I can’t afford, not in this world. I learned that lesson the hard way, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Cassian takes my look as an invitation to follow, and he joins me in the office, closing the door for privacy.

“Are you all right, boss?” he asks, his deep voice softened with a tenderness I have never encouraged.

“I wasn’t in any danger from those fuckwits.” My crisp response discourages whatever’s going through his head.

Cassian’s been with me for years, though, and refuses to accept my dismissal. “Something’s bothering you.” He steps closer to touch my arm. “Is it the suppressants? Are they taking a toll?”

Jaw clenching, I brush off his touch. “Did I ask you to be my nursemaid, Cassian?”

He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Someone needs to be.”

I turn toward him with a warning in my expression. “Are you questioning my capabilities?”

“If anyone can handle the business side, it’s you.” He sighs again. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. But you’re wrecking your body by taking those things constantly. It’s not natural.”

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. He’s right, of course. The suppressants are a necessary evil, the price I pay for the power and control I’ve fought so hard to achieve. Lately, though, the side effects have been worsening. The migraines, the nausea, the bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep can cure.

The alternative, though, is going into Heat, which means taking extended time off to lock myself up and endure the torture of needing an Alpha who isn’t here.

A hand settles on my shoulder, the warmth of Cassian’s touch seeping through my shirt and into my skin. It’s a simple gesture, a silent offer of support, but it triggers a deep, instinctive rejection.

“Avery…” The way he speaks my name holds an emotion that forms a sour ball in my gut. “I may not be the Alpha who Marked you, but at least let me try to help. Please. Before this kills you.”

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