Page 29 of Ruin Me Knot
Jax stews over my words. "Then we do something about it. She’s underground, probably in the old rail network. It’s a warren of hundreds of disused tracks, junctions, blockhouses. Hardwick could be crawling anywhere down there."
Criminals on the run all end up making the same tired moves. Hide underground. Block exits. Set traps and watch the news cycle for whispers of pursuit. They think they’re clever and original, but they’re not. We’ve tracked worse into tighter holes and always crawled back out on top.
My pulse thrums, cold and ready. I’m not just on board, I’m eager for it. Taking Hardwick out is both justice and survival. This is personal. For Leah, for every Omega Hardwick’s ever hurt, and will hurt again if she goes free.
Ronan is already thinking three steps ahead. "I’ll dig up the blueprints. Every city department has copies stashed away. It’ll only be a matter of crashing through a few firewalls, then we can map out possibilities."
"Hardwick won’t be alone. She’ll have this Wallace. Guards and other sycophants. Gear, food, maybe other victims. They’ll need a large enough space for a lab and to do that, they’ll need power and space," Jax says.
That monster’s already living on borrowed time. The sheer magnitude of her sins boils in my gut. Hardwick’s trail is lined with lives torn apart, vulnerable people turned into prey. And she’s still at it. Every hour she’s free, somewhere in the dark, she’s destroying someone else. I hate it. I hate her for it. The longer she draws breath, the more suffering she brings.
The law can’t reach deep enough to stop her. But we can.
"I hope Leah can find it in her heart to trust us," I mutter, the truth burning in my throat.
Trauma like hers doesn’t go away. Not after fucking years of abuse. My skin crawls with the thought that someone so fragile, so innocent, has been subjected to the sick and twisted things Mercer, Turns and Hardwick have done to her. They’ve taken so much from her, mind, body and soul.
"Then we don’t ask her to. We don’t expect her to do anything. We just be here for her. Help her in whatever capacity she needs it in the moment. And we wait. We wait until she’s ready to fully accept us," Jax says.
Ronan’s hand is gentle as his thumb tracks Leah’s cheekbone, and I see our prime is as lost to her as both Jax and me. "Even if it takes decades."
A shadow creeps in before I can hide it, because that’s a big ask and we all know it. Ronan’s stare meets mine, sharp as a thrown knife. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me, a dare in his eyes. No doubts allowed.
I hesitate, then nod. "Yeah. She’ll heal."
I tell myself I believe it. I have to. Because we’ll go to any lengths to make her world safe until she finally believes it is.
Chapter Thirteen
Jax
Leah’s perfume saturates the apartment. Roses and dew and heated with a touch of spice that is uniquely hers but edged with bitterness and exhaustion. I make it my mission to rid her of those bitter notes. The fury at what put them there gets shoved down, locked away until it’s time to unleash it on the people who deserve to pay.
I move quietly, gathering what I need. A fluffy robe, a soft towel, a bowl of warm water. Anything to wipe away the sweat and the ache clinging to her skin.
I pad back into the living room, the low light catching on the curve of her shoulder where she’s nestled in Ronan’s lap, as limp as somethingwrung dry. He sleeps lighter than I do, head tipped against her temple, arms holding her in a cage of muscle and patience. Even asleep, his hands are gentle on her.
I’ve never seen him like this.
He cares for the hostages we rescue and the people we’re paid to protect, but this is different, instinctual. Our Omega has unlocked the door to his deeper caring side.
I know how he feels.
We separate ourselves from our jobs. We have to, or we can’t do them properly. It’s not that we don’t care, but a degree of separation keeps us sharp, prevents mistakes based on emotion. I can’t be like that now.
Leah isn’t a target on a briefing sheet or an asset to extract. In every mission, there’s scope, priorities, fallback plans. We keep the mark at a distance, compartmentalize the chaos, trust the training, move fast, get out clean.
But Leah isn’t a mission. This is highly fucking personal. There’s no debrief, no cold detachment. Leah isn’t just someone we’re charged to protect. She’sours. She’s the Omega fate dropped into our hands, shredded, angry, half-wild, but tougher than anyone I’ve ever pulled from hell.
No training teaches what it means to want someone safe like this. To see her flinch and shake, to watch her fight herself harder than she’s ever fought anyone else is agony. Every muscle is braced to act, but I can only keep still, stay patient, and prove I’m not the enemy.
Leah is my Omega. Our mate. And if I have to tear down every wall she puts up, wade through hell itself for her to trust this bond, I will. I refuse to fail her. Not when fate finally gave us something worth living and dying for.
Ronan stirs as I crouch beside the sofa, his eyes flickering open, instinct sharp even through exhaustion.
"Just going to wash her," I murmur, keeping my voice low, as soothing as I can. "She’ll rest easier."
"Good idea, brother." Ronan shifts to give me room.
