Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Maverick

G unner and I are supposed to be focused on completing the job we were assigned to do. My concentration is shit, and it has been since Gun told me he saw Brooklyn. I've never felt such an all-consuming need to be around another person, but my instincts are obsessed with the fact she's so close and simultaneously so far away.

New York is a dangerous city.

I should be by her side, watching out for her and making sure she's protected.

It's driving me fucking insane.

Our contact in New York, Bless Barrett, basically ghosted us for the entire first week we've been here.

A huge part of me hopes she doesn't show up tonight, so our boss will finally put an end to all of this.

Not only are our talents being wasted by leaving us in limbo, with no clear course of action, but I'm a little afraid I'm going to lose my shit if I don't put eyes on Brooklyn soon.

I've never been one of those stereotypical alphas on the verge of going feral.

Not until I met my omega and lost her in the span of a single goddamn day.

Gunner sighs, glancing away from the woman dancing on the stage.

Who knows why Bless asked to meet us at this club, but I don't like it.

It's clear from his rigid posture that Gunner isn't any happier to be here than I am.

Then again, he's on my shit list too. He said he got Brooklyn's license plate number, but he hasn't given it to me.

If he had, I would have already reached out to Merrick, the tech guy for Assurance.

It doesn't matter that it would make me look like a stalker.

I'd still do it.

Gunner thinks we should hold off on contacting Brooklyn until this mission is over, but that isn't a sentiment I share.

Every day that passes is another opportunity for her to meet a compatible pack or, God forbid, a scent match.

I lean over the table, giving Gunner my most intimidating look.

"Okay, so tell me again what she looked like," I beg for the five hundredth time.

Dammit.

I was trying to demand answers.

Not beg for them.

"She was fine—a little tired, but she looked good. Even more beautiful than I remembered." He crosses his arms over his chest, shrugging. "She was clearly exhausted and probably about to beat herself up pretty hard over the thing with her kid, but she was good."

It's hard to wrap my head around.

She was old enough to drink, based on the fact she was in the bar that night, but having a two-to-four-year-old kid?

I would have guessed she was in her early twenties, so I'm baffled how she's old enough to be responsible for keeping another human being alive.

Most days, I stress about whether I'm reliable enough to keep up with Nova.

The good thing about the dogs is that, if we get busy, they'll straight up bring their food bowls and drop them into our laps. They'll also come over and nudge the shit out of your hand until you let them out when they need a bathroom break.

A toddler feels like a scary level of commitment, but I also haven't looked twice at another woman since Brooklyn. That means I better get on board with a bonus human being and fast.

My impulses are one-hundred-percent convinced that Brooklyn is supposed to be mine.

I haven't even tried to fight that decision, because I agree wholeheartedly.

It's complicated when alpha and omega dynamics come into play.

There's an all-consuming ache in my chest when I think about her and a throb in my cock when my mind replays her delicate, creamy apple pie scent.

But pursuing Brooklyn as our omega doesn't just come with a commitment to take care of her. There's now an additional unknown factor.

"You said her kid is old enough to talk?" I ask, wiping my sweaty palms off on my jeans. At the very least, I'm going to need her to be able to communicate.

"Yeah," Gunner grunts. "Somewhere around three, if I had to guess. She's verbal, but it's still kind of a clusterfuck, because understanding her isn't the easiest thing in the world."

That sounds cuter than what he's describing.

I've always wanted kids. Growing up as an only child, I knew I wanted my kids to have brothers and sisters to play with or to torment each other.

As far as I know, Gunner is neutral about the idea of kids of his own. He loves his nieces and nephews, but I don't think he was planning on reproducing anytime soon.

Still, I don't see it being a full stop.

If it was, he wouldn't have come back that night and told me about finding her. He could have kept that information to himself if he wasn't down for dealing with a kid.

It's different for alphas.

We grow up knowing that we'll end up in a pack. Some take precautions or use paternity tests for confirmation, but to me, even that seems unnecessary.

It's all about a family bond, and DNA doesn't necessarily have anything to do with that.

Gunner has daydreamed about finding Brooklyn just as much as I have these last few months. All that doesn't just go out the window simply because she has a daughter.

My head flies up as Stacia slides in at my side.

She's Bless's second in command.

She also knocked me on my ass in Virginia when Gunner and I walked up on her and Bless changing a tire, but that's an entirely different story.

"Where's Bless?" Gunner growls, leaning his elbows on the table.

"She had something else she had to take care of." Stacia waves her hand. "Let Avery take a seat, or you'll make a scene."

Gunner's lip curls, but he scoots to the inside of the booth.

We always need to be in a position to move—it's ingrained as part of our training. They also taught us all about sitting with your front facing the exit; that way, no one can sneak up on you.

Gunner is stubborn.

Over the years, I've learned to just let him take the seat that has the best view of the room and, subsequently, the exit.

It bothers me less than it would him, so I've adapted.

"Why are we here?" Gunner asks, stretching back into the corner of the booth.

"You're here to take over watching one of our contacts." Stacia nods toward the stage. "Well, her sister. The woman in the white skirt is Lennox. She needs to be monitored and protected. She's stubborn. I would recommend no close contact, but you're professionals. I'll leave that determination up to you."

"Professionals." Avery snorts, swiping her long blonde hair behind her ear. "Just don't fall into the same mistakes you made in Virginia."

I laugh to cut Gunner off from saying something dickish. "We caught on to that lesson."

"Good," Stacia says. "Something major is going down with the Barretts—outside of the unfortunate disappearance of Braxton." I frown. We all know Braxton is dead, but I guess she could be worried about someone listening in. "We've heard chatter that another family is going to make a play to wipe them off the map."

"What?" Gunner leans forward, resting his elbows on the table once more. "Who?"

"Mikhail Ivanov used to run New York. He lost control to the Barretts early last year." Stacia shrugs. "Rumors are that he's asked the higher-ups in Russia for a whole new crop of soldiers."

"Damn," I mutter, swiping my hand through my hair. "That means things could get ugly fast ."

Gun scoffs. "No shit."

"It will, but we also have no idea when they intend to make that play," Stacia says calmly. "Ideally, we would get both women out at once, but Avan has sporadic contact with his kid. If the little girl and mom suddenly disappear, it will be all-out war as he tries to get them back."

"You're hoping the assault by Ivanov will take up all their focus while the ex and kid disappear," I say, following her train of thought.

"We're hoping the Barretts assume Ivanov is responsible. Then, Avan would spend his time looking in all the wrong places. It would also prevent them from ending up as collateral damage in the clusterfuck that's coming." Stacia sighs, snagging my half-empty beer. She takes a long drink and drops the bottle on the table. "Lennox is the holdout. She doesn't want to leave her fuck buddy, and she's making shitty choices, like every other woman in the world at twenty years old."

"Do you have an info packet?" Gunner huffs like an old man.

"Do you feel old right now?" I ask, kicking his boot under the table. "Twenty? God, I feel old."

"That's because you are." Stacia chuckles, moving to climb from the booth. "It would be weird to walk in with a file folder, but you've got eyes on your target. Don't lose her, and you'll be golden. We'll text you the info for the other team. You're doing twelve and twelve shifts."

"I hate this job already," Gunner mutters, swiping his hand through his dark hair.