Page 86 of Taken Off Camera
“No.” He lets out a slow breath. “It’s not.”
My stomach drops through the floor. The Mark on my neck pulses, a physical reminder of my connection to this man, to this family, and to whatever brutal methods they employ.
Jade’s brow furrows. “Did you not have the talk with him last night?”
Gabriel chuckles. “Sounds like Sebastian was too distracted to read his new mate into the family business.”
“There are procedures,” Ezra explains, folding his napkin into an artful triangle. “Protocols. We don’t eliminate problems without consideration. Doing so would be uncivilized.”
“Exactly.” The angelic Omega rubs a hand over his pregnant belly. “First, we explore legal channels, then economic pressure, then social isolation. Violence is a last resort.”
“But always an option.” Milo stares at me from across the table. “We will do whatever is necessary.”
“We need to proceed with caution,” Sebastian says, his fingers still warm on my knee. “We draw Travis out, confirm his identity beyond doubt, and then we decide.”
“Sebastian,” Gabriel says in warning. “Your judgment might be compromised here.”
Sebastian’s hand tightens on my knee. “My judgment is fine.”
“Your Omega was violated, Sebastian.” Gabriel’s eyes flick to the Mark on my neck. “No Alpha thinks with a clear head when their mate is threatened.”
Mate. The word sends a pulse of heat through me at the reminder of the bond I chose without understanding the world attached to it. I’ve gone from independent cam boy and vigilante hacker to mated Omega in a matter of hours, and the implications keep exploding in my mind.
“We should move this discussion to the study,” Milo interrupts. “After breakfast.”
The suggestion breaks the tension, sending everyone back to their meals. Forks scrape on plates, coffee cups clink on saucers, and the rhythm of a normal breakfast resumes as if murder hadn’t been on the menu moments before.
I stare down at my plate, the French toast I was enjoying now sitting in a puddle of congealed, inedible syrup.
Sebastian leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer. At least, not honestly.
Am I okay with how casually these people discuss ending a life? With how comfortable Saint is in theirworld? With how Sebastian didn’t blink at the suggestion of murder?
It’s not that I’m a stranger to violence. The system taught me early on that the law fails people like us. But there’s a difference between survival and this cloaked brutality polished in privilege.
One is inevitable. The other is chosen.
“Eat,” Sebastian encourages, misinterpreting my silence for loss of appetite. “We’ll figure this out.”
I force myself to pick up the fork, though each bite tastes like cardboard. Across the table, Jade catches my eye. His expression holds no remorse, no conflict, only a curious assessment, as if he’s evaluating whether I’m strong enough to handle their reality.
Saint leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispers, “Welcome to the big leagues, Micah. Your boyfriend’s family makes my methods look amateur.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. How can my gentle Alpha with his cameras and safety protocols be the same man who sits so calmly in the middle of this danger?
I’ve known violence before. From my childhood, from Saint’s fists when the system failed us, from thestreets that taught us to hit first or vanish. But this is different.
This isn’t survival.
This is power without consequence.
Sebastian, with his soft touches and careful words, belongs to a world where violence doesn’t cost anything. Where people like him bend the rules instead of fearing them.
My fingers shake, the fork clattering against my plate. I used to imagine that being claimed by him would mean safety. No more watching my back. No more living on edge beside Saint. But looking at Sebastian now, I wonder if I’ve just traded one kind of danger for another.
It isn’t even the violence that terrifies me. It’s the certainty that with wealth, nothing can touch them. The Rockfords don’t answer to the world. They reshape it to fit their needs.
