Page 138 of Sawyer and the Bookworms

“A trial run,” Roman says, “just like we offered Sawyer. You don’t have to like us or tie yourself to us if in the end it doesn’t work out. And your job here is an independent thing. You have it, no matter what.”

Her face twists as if in pain. A smile flits over her lips, then it’s gone, and my heart sinks.

“I can’t…” she whispers. “I can’t.” She’s already backtracking, heading for the door once more.

“Brin. Wait,” I say. “Wait, dammit, can we talk just…?”

She’s gone. Out the door. Vanished.

Too many fucking shocks in one day. I’m winded. I need to sit down.

But fuck, no. I need to go after her. I’m already at the door when Roman echoes my thoughts and joins me.

“We go after her,” he says. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“Like stalkers?” Kyrian growls. “She said no. She was angry.”

“She was scared,” I say, finally decoding the emotions I’d seen in her eyes, “and hopeful, but then… sad.”

“We’re missing a clue here,” Archer says, following us as we exit his office and cross the bar. “What is she scared of?”

“Hey, fuckers, wait for me,” Kyrian calls out. “Dammit. Nobody stays around for a full conversation these days. Fuck, I was coming with you anyway.”

“We know,” Roman says and grins. “Hurry the fuck up.”

She’s on foot, and we follow her at a distance. We really are acting like stalkers, but a sense of urgency is driving me. That wasn’t right. That anger, that burning mask she wore in that office. It wasn’t real.

I want to know what is hurting her. Haunting her. What is prodding her to act like that. Because she may be mad at me for saying I’d bond myself to another pack, but what about the McGraw Pack?

No, there’s something else there, and it ties up with that painful feeling of worry that has been tormenting me for months.

I have to be sure she’s safe, that she’s okay, I need to see that nobody’s threatening her, then ask her one last time if she’ll give me—us—another chance.

It’s vital. Essential.

Sometimes you only get one shot to make it right, to grab what matters to you, and do your best not to let it go.

And she is that. That one thing. That one person. Both I and the McGraw Pack know it. We’re one unit, one pack as we trail her, without any need to communicate, explain why we’re doing this.

She’s ours.

We’re like a commando unit heading out to war, and it makes me grin like a kid. It’s a good feeling, though I hope not to find war. Just answers.

We’re walking down another street, and then another, when Archer slows down.

“I know this part of town,” he says. “I know where she’s heading.”

“Yeah.” Kyrian frowns. “Me, too.”

“The omega shelter,” Roman says.

True enough, after crossing a couple more streets and taking two shortcuts, we find ourselves facing the Omega Sunshine Shelter.

Where is she?

Then I spot her. There she is, walking toward the shelter, her bag swinging from her shoulder. She stumbles as she goes, and I jerk forward, as if I can catch her from afar—but she regains her balance.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve found her here,” Archer says. “I thought she’s not an omega. At least that’s what she’s been claiming.”

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