Chapter Fifty

Faith

We don't go back to Maverick's house for hours. He wheels me around the discount hardware store in one of those massive shopping trolleys, followed by a brief joyride in the parking lot. We smash two-dollar vases with hammers and then, when we're told off by a ranger, we clean it all up and drive to the local junkyard.

"C'mon," Maverick grins at me in the passenger seat, "you can't sit there and tell me this day hasn't been cathartic as hell."

Somehow, he persuades—or, more likely, bribes—the junkyard guys to let us smash some old TVs. By the end of it, we're both out of breath, and I'm floating on a rare dopamine high.

He takes me to dinner at his favorite taco truck. It's only then I notice him looking around, keeping his eyes peeled, as night descends.

THIS WAS CRAZY , I type. SOMEONE COULD'VE SEEN ME.

"C'mon—what's an underground fighting ring gonna be doing in the suburbs? The neighborhood watch would be on their asses in a heartbeat." At my look, he laughs. "I'm serious! Those guys are ruthless."

Only as we're finally driving back to the house does the day start to catch up to me. My ankle throbs, reminding me how long I've been without my pain meds.

Maverick pulls onto his cul-de-sac. "Alrighty." He drums the wheel. "Home sweet … what the fuck?"

I stiffen, seeing the motorcycle first, parked next to Maverick's drive. Then I see him.

Jaxon.

I can scent his anger from ten feet away. God knows how long he's waiting, but judging on that glare, it's been long enough.

Maverick rolls down his window. "Hey, bud. Pretty sure what you're doing right there is classified as loitering by New Caniss law."

"Get out of the car," Jaxon growls.

"Oh, good," Maverick mutters, pulling the car into park. "We're not gonna overreact."

Jaxon opens my door before Maverick even cuts the engine. He checks me all over, growling lowly, and reaches to help me out.

"Faith," he says, stung when I recoil. "Hey. It's just me."

Yeah, that's kind of the problem .

Maverick's door slams. He walks around. "Stand down, soldier. She's still in one piece. Plus—" he shoulders past Jaxon, offering me his arm, "I'm not so sure she wants to see you."

Rage explodes out of Jaxon's scent. He glares as Maverick lifts me out of the car. "Where are her crutches?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting them."

While he's rummaging in the back seat, Jaxon doesn't tear his eyes off of me. It's like I can hear his inner alpha screaming at him, telling him to wrap me up in his arms. Thankfully he knows better than to give in to instinct.

She'll go feral.

Hurt you.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demands. "It's not safe right now—you know that. The ringleaders are looking everywhere for you."

"Yeah, well, it's not like they're gonna be above ground anytime soon," Maverick drawls, handing me my crutches. "After the shit show you guys pulled off this morning."

"I wasn't talking to you," Jaxon growls.

"And what the fuck makes you think Faith wants to talk to you ?"

The air, charged with alpha pheromones, turns deadly still.

"I don't know what you think you know," Jaxon says at last, lowly, "but this is Pack Wilder business. So you can stay out of it."

"Pack Wilder business?" Maverick clucks his tongue. "Not sure what that has to do with Faith." His gaze darkens. "Last I heard, you assholes were too good for her."

I can sense it happening—Jaxon coiling up, Maverick hardening, two alphas bracing for a fight.

I put myself between them. Jaxon, I sign. You should leave.

"I'm not going anywhere. You need space, fine—but when Caleb said he was taking you somewhere safe , this is not what I had in mind."

"She's plenty safe," Maverick snarls. "Unlike you guys, I'm taking good care of her."

"That why she's been out, god knows where, for hours?" Jaxon's eyes flash, scanning me up and down. "That why she's in pain?"

At this, Maverick stops. "That true, kitten?" he asks me, softly. "Shit, why didn't you say something?"

"Don't talk to her like that," Jaxon snaps.

" Me don't talk to her like that?" Suddenly Maverick's all rage again. "You're the one who's been stringing her along without even getting your head alpha's go-ahead." He sneers. "At least if I decide to court her, I can follow through. You know—instead of breaking her heart."

This is getting out of hand. And yet, my inner omega preens, excited by the thought of two strong, capable alphas fighting over me.

"You piece of shit," Jaxon seethes. "I knew you were always in this for yourself, just waiting for your chance to—"

I slam a hand on either alpha's chest, separating them before things can really escalate. Enough ! my eyes scream. All these violent pheromones are wreaking havoc with my omega. She knows I can't flee, which means I'll go straight to fight. I won't be able to stop myself.

Thankfully both alphas seem to register this at the same time. That bloodthirsty focus softens into something I don't even want to identify. Maybe pity.

"I think you should go," Maverick mutters. "Clearly, she's not ready to talk."

Jaxon's jaw flexes. Just as I think he's about to start swinging after all, he digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a plastic baggie with all my medication.

"Make sure she takes these," he grits out. "Pain meds three times a day. Vitamins in the morning."

Cautiously, I accept the bag.

"I will," Maverick promises.

Jaxon watches me for a moment longer. I almost can't bear to return the look—not when his scent is so thick, so enticing, like melted chocolate. I want to put my lips on his skin and suck the sourness right out. Make things right again.

But the most right thing I did by Jaxon was leaving him. One day, he'll see that.

He gets on his bike without another word, jamming the helmet over his head.

Only as he disappears around the street does it all catch up to me. The pain—physical, emotional, everything in between. I don't notice my legs giving out until Maverick swoops in to catch me.

"You're okay," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

I wish I could believe him.

***

The lights. The cheers. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

It surprises me when he doesn't hold back—this scrawny little omega who smiled at me in the cells, but never held my gaze.

It's the closest I've gotten to losing all year. My skin raked apart beneath his nails. My bones rattling against his blows. He's been fighting longer than I have, and it shows.

I react at just the right time and he slips, knocking his head into the cement. Out cold.

Hamish announces me as the winner. The male omega and I go back to our cells.

"What the fuck was that?" Fang snarls as soon as he reaches me.

I bristle, my every muscle on fire.

"You had your guard down," he accuses. "Do you have any idea how close he got to beating you? How lucky you were?"

Blood snakes down my arms. I know.

He paces in front of me—a literal caged animal. A few of the other rogues take notice, but are smarter than to say anything.

"Faith," Fang says. He crouches before me. "You have to be more careful. I can't—" he cuts off, choking. "I won't lose you."

Even as I feel like my body is breaking apart, and the idea of fighting another fight makes me just give up now, I soften when he takes my face in his hands.

"You're my everything," he whispers, so quiet I can barely hear him. "If you ever throw yourself away like that again … I won't forgive you."

I stare at him, my eyes burning, knowing he's testing me. Making sure I don't break.

So I don't break. I can be strong, like he needs me to be. I can save us.

I won't let my guard down , I sign, I swear.

***

When I startle awake, tears are streaming down my face. I jerk up, not sure where I am. The sheets are unfamiliar. There's dust in the air.

I search for a light, my arm whacking something over in the process. The sound of glass shattering throws me into a panic.

Fuck. Now I hear footsteps down the hall. I can't have anyone see me like this.

I try to stand, try to brace myself, only for a sharp pain in my foot to stop me. Right. The glass. How could I be so stupid?

The bedroom door bursts open, a wide-eyed Maverick standing in its frame. Seeing me—my tear-streaked face, my bleeding foot—he growls with concern.

"Omega," he says, surprisingly low, "hey, you're okay. It's just me."

I need to get back. Better yet, he needs to get back. I show my teeth, instantly tasting the tears on my lips.

"I know, kitten," he purrs. "It's alright, I won't touch. Just gonna clear this glass away."

Slowly, he crouches down to pick up the shards of glass. Are you afraid of him ? my inner omega asks me. Do you have any reason to be? He's taken care of me. I should be grateful.

"There we go." He deposits all the shattered fragments into a small waste basket by the door. Then his gaze lowers to my still-bleeding foot. "Mind if I take a closer look?"

I growl, but right now I'm grateful no sound comes out.

Maverick's big hands cup my bandaged ankle. If only the cast extended a little further, I wouldn't have cut myself—a clean puncture into the ball of my foot.

"The good news is we won't have to amputate." He tries to crack a smile. "The bad news is, Pack Wilder's gonna kill me."

I stiffen, the name like a dagger in my heart.

Maverick strokes my shin. "You have a nightmare or something?"

Hands shaking, I sign back, Or something.

"You get those a lot?"

I hesitate, then nod.

"Okay …" he considers, still examining my wound. "What helps? Apart from shattering innocent glassware."

At once, an image of Pack Wilder springs to mind. Micah finding me watching TV in the middle of the night. Jaxon carrying me in his arms. Lying on Caleb's chest while he purred. Those damn tears spring back to my eyes, burning as they spill over.

Maverick's scent twists with alarm. "Hey, what'd I say?"

Nothing, I sign. It's nothing.

For the first time, I sense him watching my hands—really watching—like he's desperate to know what I'm saying.

"Faith …" he murmurs. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."

My head drops, unable to fight it anymore, the sobs wrenched silently out of me.

Maverick joins me on the edge of the bed. He puts an arm around me, tugging me into his chest. "I've got you," he says, "you can let it out."

The warmth of his bare skin—always, reliably, shirtless—helps. So do his deep, rumbling purrs. But it doesn't change the facts of what I need.

What, and who, I'm missing.