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The next thing I see is my father.

And he makes me just as scared as he did the night I left.

His left eye is cloudy with blindness, a thick scar slashing through his brow and cheek—the last gift my mother ever gave him. His other eye is pale blue, so different from mine that ifit weren’t for our shared lycan blood, you wouldn’t even know we were related. He always said I was the spittin’ image of my mother, which just made him hate me more. His hair is grayer, just a little, but otherwise, he looks exactly the same.

Huge. Terrifying. Scarred and mean, wearing a big metal cross that I once saw him use to brand an omega.

He crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at me, his stare sharp as a blade. Testing. Weighing. Deciding.

I can’t look at him.

I try—but I can’t.

I cower, eyes on the ground, heat crawling up my spine like a shame I never wanted to carry again.

“Look at me, girl,” he barks.

I can’t obey.

I won’t.

His voice goes tight. “Abel,” he grits out. “Make her look at me.”

Abel is in front of me in an instant, reaching for my chin?—

But before he can touch me, a big arm blocks him.

The shock makes me look up without thinking?—

And there’s Javi.

It’s the first time I’ve gotten a good look at him…and he’s big—thicker than Reyes, broader than any alpha I’ve ever stood this close to, taller even than Will—and his grip on my arm tightens like he’s reminding me he’s the one holding me still.

His skin is light brown, sun-warmed and rough, and his jet-black hair curls at his temples, messy from the wind. There’s a scraping of stubble along his hard jaw, and his mouth is set in a firm, unimpressed line.

I barely get to take him in before he snarls at Abel, his lip peeling back to show teeth.

Warning. Possessive. A claim that shouldn’t exist—but does.

“Payment first,” Javi growls.

Of course…it’s not about protecting me.

This is about money.

“Right,” Boyd says from my other side. He’s shorter than Javi, with dirty blond hair and sunken eyes. “We need our fee, and our gas. And shelter while we resupply and rest for our next gig.”

“If you think you’re getting all of that before we have access to her, you’re out of your mind,” Ephraim fumes from beside my father.

“Easy, Ephraim,” my father says, voice mild, but I know that tone—the one that means stand down now, or I’ll make you. He turns his glare to Javi, his mouth curling like he’s barely tolerating his presence.

“You get your pay, then I get custody of my daughter.”

I hate the way he says it…like I’m just a thing being handed from one man to another.

“Given what you’ve done for us,” he goes on, “you’re more than welcome to as much gas as you need, food, and shelter fit for a king.” His voice oils over the words, mocking hospitality, a sick parody of generosity. “We have rooms, showers with fresh water, home-cooked seafood…”

He pauses—I feel the pause before I hear the words that follow.