Page 157 of Claim & Don't Tell

And then the warmth spreads over my whole body, almost like a reminder that it’s okay to be happy about this win. I’m okay. She’s watching over us, and she always has been. I smile,glancing at my brothers as they climb into the ring and help Quinn.

The sound rushes back all at once, knocking into me so hard, I stumble slightly under the weight of the cheering. People are chanting my name. Others are screaming and high-fiving their friends. Gwen and my dads are shouting from their seats, beaming up at me. And my pack? My pack runs for me. I spread my arms wide.

Quinn crashes into me first, and I envelop her. Austin gets to me next, joining the hug. And then Brady is there too, arm wrapping around my side.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

My chest tightens. I’ve waited for that for so long. I’ve dreamed about him just letting me be and loving me for it. We’ve fought so much about fighting, I never expected this type of support from him. Austin, of course, but Brady always insisted I should give it up and focus on law school.

“Thanks, bro.” My voice might break, but the crowd is so loud, I think he misses it. That, or he simply doesn’t want me to feel bad, because he raises my hand into the air and faces the crowd, joining them in another round of screaming and hollering.

“Hey, little omega,” I murmur to Quinn as she leans back to grin up at me.

“Hey, killer.”

I bring my mouth to hers, claiming her in front of everyone. Kissing her on live TV, so the world can see that she’s our omega.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I know,” she snarks back, biting my bottom lip before saying, “I love you too.”

AUSTIN

I slip away from our group before most of the crowd disperses. The VIPs, fighters, managers, media, and other select people will head out to the after-party being held on some rich pack’s private beach. Their mansion is a few miles from my dads’ and Gwen’s. I already parked the food truck over there, and Mia should be finishing the setup. The limited menu we’re offering is upscale casual. Bulgogi wonton tacos. Carne asada fried rice. Smoked brisket sliders with coleslaw on a pretzel bun. A balsamic reduction and blue cheese burger. Hand-painted mango habanero wings baked to order until they’re nice and crispy. Parmesan truffle fries—not overly greasy. And, of course, a simple salad.

A trickle of doubt settles inside of me as I get closer to the beach. What if the food truck fails? What if people don’t want upscale casual, and I’m laughed out of town? My grip on the wheel tightens.

The car dash dings with an alert from my phone, and I hit the button for the robot to read the message for me.

“Hey, Chef. I just wanted to tell you that you’re amazing—those bulgogi tacos are the best thing I’ve ever tasted—and that you’re going to do great. Breathe. Focus on one thing at a time. Get the job done.”

A smile tugs at my lips. I remember when I told her that the first time she was trying to manage three things at once. She’s right. The menu is fucking perfect. Maybe not Michelin star worthy, but I’m cooking for a broader audience now, and the items I picked are on point.

Mia agreed too.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I park next to the food truck and climb out of my car. The faint sound of containers clacking together greets me as I climb inside the truck. Compared to the kitchen at the Crystal Chandelier, that was always crowded with workers, this one is spacious. Mia glances up from where she’s checking over the prepped items.

I was relieved when she said she was still looking for a good job. She had found a gig at some chain restaurant, but she was miserable.

“Hey, Chef. Everything is ready. The brisket is perfect, you smoked it for just the right amount of time.” She rattles off the rest of what she’s checked over as I walk through and put my eyes on everything one more time.

Burger patties are already portioned and flattened. Carne asada is sliced and held in various containers next to all the items needed to make the fried rice. The bulgogi marinade is fully stocked. There are plenty of fries and everything else we might need.

It’ll be fine.

I close the fridge and straighten. “Thanks, Chef.”

Mia’s eyes widen, but she recovers quickly and smiles. “I’m so excited. It’s going to be chaotic tonight, you know that, right?”

Nodding, I grab my apron and tie it on, shooting her a grin. “Can’t be worse than trying to work while Marquis screams at us, right?”

She chuckles. “It won’t be toxic, at least.” Her gaze shoots outside when car doors start to slam. “All right, Chef. Let’s do this.”

Steadying myself, I glance at the clock I installed. It’s exactly like the one we had at the Crystal Chandelier. The familiar sight settles a fresh wave of fluttering nerves as Mia takes up post at the register and grins at the first customer.

“Hey, there. Welcome to Trucktation.”

And so it begins.

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