Page 179 of Piece You Saved

“You won’t. Us or Saige,” I say, and I mean it. Which is why I’d broken my lease and moved all my shit back to the house. I didn’t have much to pack, but everyone had come along for the ride.

“We’re pack now,” Aden says. “Family.”

Breaking his lease was harder. The management company were being pricks about it until Dariel paid them a visit. I’d have broken a few things to get the situation moving faster. Dariel told them what was what, and they were waiving the penalty just this once for Mr. Desidario.

The power of a crisply delivered order from an alpha is a fucking sight to behold.

We moved Harley in next.

The guy has more books than clothes, and he seemed determined the one who should be carrying said books was me. If Dariel hadn’t stepped between us, Harley would have learned just how deadly paper could be.

But we’re a package deal now. And if there are times I don’t want to wring Harley’s neck, it’s only because he’s doing so much to help Saige with her panic attacks. It isn’t because I’m starting to like him.

Harley, the object of my attention, raises his brow as if to ask,Well, what do you say?

“Pack,” I reply. And narrow my eyes. “Ram me into another tree and I’ll wring your fucking neck.”

“Don’t jump on my back and I won’t.” He nods. “Pack.”

After Dariel parks up outside the bar, we wait. Our prey tonight doesn’t leave us to wait for long. But I knew that back at the house. Tonight is not the first night I’ve been here. And there’s a reason we chose this time and not any other.

Under the cover of darkness, we watch through the bar’s windows as two men in smart shirts rise from the counter. One is small and dark-haired, the other big with a head full of blond curls. They throw down notes before they head for the exit, lifting their hands to wave at those they pass.

Without a word, we climb out of the car and make our way to the alley I’ve been scoping out these last few days. There, we quickly strip and shift, tucking ourselves in the blackest shadows of a foul alley that reeks of piss and rotting food.

A door swings open, releasing a burst of music, laughter, and conversation into the quiet city side street. Two gold badges glint under the moonlight. The men laugh and joke as they cross a neglected parking lot to reach their car.

Dariel moves first. The rest of us follow, four wolves prowling toward their prey.

The two men don’t know what fucking hits them. And Aden? Turns out he likes to hunt after all.

Who knew?

EPILOGUE

SAIGE

TWO MONTHS LATER

“There are some people who want to meet you,” Harley says, helping me out of his car on a bright Tuesday afternoon. “I didn’t think you were ready before. Now I think you are.”

I’m not sure about that.

There are some things I’m better at handling. Things like nightmares. Those are manageable. Panic attacks still have a frequent habit of surprising me, but I’m learning to overcome those as well. Not through therapy—though Harley never stops trying to find new ways to convince me I should go—but by spending time in the garden.

I can lose hours in our tangled, overgrown, and beautifully imperfect garden, and I have, many times over. It’s a place I’ve loved from the first moment I saw it. I still do. More than ever. It’s there where I call my grandparents in Ireland and speak with an overwhelming number of cousins, aunts, and uncles. Mostly, I go out there to breathe and learn more about the 3-3-3 Rule from the book Harley bought me to help me manage my anxiety.

He also explained why the time I stepped under a cold shower helped dial down my panic attack to one that wasn’t so devastating. Apparently, extreme heat or cold shocks the body, taking the edge off a panic attack.

Not that I’m about to start taking cold showers when I feel one coming along. But it’s another tool I didn’t have before, and if it can help, I’m sure there are others that will help as well. Because therapy? I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to open up to a stranger about my past.

I think it’s because I’m like Kade. We don’t like to talk about the things that hurt us.

We kill the thing, and if we can’t, we try to forget.

After taking in the unfamiliar but ordinary small two-story house in a quiet part of the city I’ve never been to before, I glance at Harley in confusion. “Me? Why?”

He takes my hand, kisses me lightly on the lips, and slams the door closed before leading the way down the path of a well-manicured lawn to the cream-painted house at the end.

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