Page 102 of Taken By the Pack

Jake’s lip splits open, but he doesn’t back down. He shoves the man off him, pinning him to the ground, fist raised.

“Jake, stop!” My voice is raw, desperate, but he doesn’t hear me.

Then Rowan is there, storming onto the scene, his voice a sharp crack through the chaos. “What the hell is going on?”

Neither of them stops fighting.

I push forward, trying to get between them, but a firm arm wraps around my waist, holding me back.

Ash.

His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the strain in it. “Jake, stop.”

Jake doesn’t. He cocks his fist back again, but Ash’s next words freeze the air.

“That’s Liam.”

Silence crashes over the market like a tidal wave. Jake’s body stiffens. His breath is ragged, his knuckles bloodied. Slowly, he looks down at the man beneath him.

Liam.

Ash’s brother.

A sick feeling coils in my stomach.

Jake’s hands flex, like he’s considering another punch, but then he shoves himself away, chest heaving.

Liam pushes himself up, wiping blood from his lip, his smirk returning like he isn’t at all bothered by the fact that he was just pummeled into the ground. He laughs, shaking his head.

“Damn,” he breathes, eyes locking onto Ash. “It’s about time I found you.”

Liam wipes more blood from his split lip, rolling his shoulders like shaking off a fight is just another Tuesday for him. Then, as if summoned by the mess he created, three more figures emerge from the crowd.

An older man in an even more expensive suit than Liam strides forward, the weight of his presence commanding immediate attention.

Beside him is an elegant woman in a tailored navy dress, her expression sharp enough to cut glass. Behind them, a younger woman follows, hesitant but composed.

Liam walks straight to her, placing a hand on her lower back like a man reclaiming his property.

His Omega. His wife.

“What is going on, son?” the man in the suit asks, his voice clipped, unimpressed.

Liam exhales harshly, casting a sneer at the market around him. “This town is full of hoodlums and backstreet people,” he complains, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he’s afraid the place might stain him. “I was just minding my business when I was attacked. We should sue the hell out of these peasants.”

Rowan growls, a low, warning sound from deep in his chest.

Ash stiffens. “Please stop,” he says, his voice tight.

His father turns to him, gaze cold and assessing. “What is the meaning of this?”

Ash swallows hard. The tension around him is suffocating. His shoulders square, but there’s something deeply unsettled in the way he looks at his family, like they aren’t supposed to be here.

“When did you get here?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

His mother waves a dismissive hand. “Early this morning,” she says, then wrinkles her nose, taking a slow inhale like something is offensive to her. “Why the hell does this place smell so fishy?”

Ash’s cheeks darken. “It’s a market where they also sell fish,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed.

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