Page 31 of Storm
A muscle ticks in Jonathan's jaw—the only sign that her words affect him at all. Then he opens the door and pulls her out after him, keeping a firm grip on her arm.
I follow them to the private elevator, standing on Storm's other side as Jonathan inputs the security code. She's assessing everything—the exits, the garage layout, the camera positions. Smart girl. Not that it will help her. This building has security that rivals government facilities. No one gets in or out without us knowing.
And I would know. I’m the one that built the security.
Jonathan's phone rings. He glances at the screen, then silences it without answering.Alex. Of course he'd be calling. The news about Storm must have reached him by now. Jonathan's twin has always been the softer one, the one who questions, and who worries about consequences. Jonathan has never had such limitations, and that is why he’s my closest friend.
The elevator ascends smoothly to the top floor, opening directly into the penthouse foyer. Jonathan moves forward, still gripping Storm's arm as he guides her into the main living area. The space is impressive—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Crescent City, minimalist furniture in blacks and grays, everything sleek and expensive and cold. Just like Jonathan.
"Reed, make sure everything's secure," he says over his shoulder. "I don't want any surprises tonight."
Translation.“Make sure she doesn't get out.”
I nod, watching as he practically drags her toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. She's still fighting, still cursing, but her movements have a desperate edge now. Reality is setting in. This is happening. She belongs to Pack Kingsley.
Once they disappear down the hallway, I let out a long breath, running a hand through my hair. This is a disaster in the making. Jonathan knows it. I know it. Everyone will know it soon enough.
I move through the penthouse methodically, checking security systems, setting additional protocols. Everything is in order, just as it should be. No one will get in. No one will get out. Not tonight, at least.
Jonathan's phone, left on the kitchen counter, buzzes with another incoming call. Alex again. I consider answering it, then think better of it. If Alex wanted to speak with me, he'd call my phone. This is between the twins. This is Jonathan’s choice. He can explain to his brother why he brought the omega home. I’m not in the mood for Alex’s dramatics. He may be pack, but we’re not close.
Instead, I pour myself a generous measure of whiskey from the bar cart. I need it after tonight. The amber liquid burns pleasantly as I swallow, the familiar warmth offering little comfort against the cold realization of what's happened.
Storm is pack now. The words sit uncomfortably in my mind, jarring against everything I know about her from the surveillance footage. Four years I've watched her from a distance, the security feeds giving me glimpses of her defiance, her spirit, her refusal to submit. Four years of Jonathan’s quiet obsession, thinly disguised as professional duty.
And now she's here. In our space. Under our protection. Part of our pack.
I down the rest of my whiskey, pouring another as my thoughts drift back to Rook Holloway. To the rage in his eyes when I told him to stay away from Choosing Day. He won't give up now that he knows we have her. He'll come for her, sooner or later.
And when he does, I'll be waiting.
The sound of breaking glass echoes from down the hallway, followed by Jonathan's low growl. I smile despite myself, shaking my head. Storm isn't going to make this easy for him.Good. Maybe she'll knock some sense into his thick skull before he destroys everything we've built.
I take my whiskey to the living room, settling into one of the black leather armchairs that faces the city. From this height, Crescent City looks almost beautiful, a sprawling maze of lights and shadows, secrets and power. The elite districts shine brightest, like stars against the darker neighborhoods where beta-born alphas like Holloway survive.
There was a time when the Howard name would have lit up the city like a beacon. When my family's power rivaled even the Kingsleys'. Before my father's crimes, before the disgrace, before I became a ghost in my own city.
Jonathan's phone buzzes again on the counter. He needs to deal with Alex sooner or later. Those two might be opposites in temperament, but their bond runs deep. Besides, Alex has a right to know what's happening. This affects him too—affectsall of us.
Another crash sounds from down the hall, followed by Storm's colorful string of curses. I can't help but chuckle. She certainly knows how to make an entrance.
Movement in the hallway catches my attention, and I look up to see Jonathan striding into the living room, his expression thunderous, a red mark blooming on his cheekbone. She hit him. And by the look of it, she hit him hard.
"Problems with your new omega?" I can't resist asking, raising my glass in mock salute.
Jonathan glares at me, moving to the bar cart to pour his own drink. "She's locked in the blue room. For now."
I arch an eyebrow. "For now?"
"She'lladjust." He sounds less certain than his words suggest.
"And if she doesn't?"
Jonathan downs his drink in one swallow, setting the glass down with careful control. "She will."
Something in his tone makes me study him more carefully. There's something else here, something beyond his usual stubborn determination. Something almost like... fear?
"Why her, Jonathan?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral. "Out of all the omegas in the house, why would someone put our name in for Storm specifically?"
