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They aren’t buying his nonsense, nor am I. The man’s words are as hollow as a rotten tree.
The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm, as Hargrove clears his throat, the microphone crackling to life.
I stand at the edge of the crowd, my posture relaxed but alert. My eyes scan the perimeter with quiet intensity, a subtle smile playing at the corners of my mouth. These people have no idea of the invisible shield we provide, and that’s exactly how it should be. Hargrove hired our pack to keep someone from shooting him, something I’m not opposed to doing myself, but alas, he’s writing us a check at the end of the day. The mayor isn’t a great guy—corruption rumors swirl around him like flies on a carcass—but a job is a job, and I have a reputation to protect.
Zane stands near the stage, his eyes sweeping over every detail and potential threat like a hawk on a high perch, missing nothing. He is the most serious of the four of us. Zane has an earpiece in his ear just like mine, which links us to Quinn in the nearby van parked down the street, where he monitors every single feed in and around the park.
Dash, still recovering from last night’s escapades, manages to look charming, despite the sunglasses hiding his bloodshot eyes. I nearly dragged him out of bed when he didn’t want to get up this morning.
He only got up because I threatened rehab. I should follow through, but I won’t because even though he’s hungover, he won’t mess up. He never has, and he never will. We need him to blend in with the crowd, not look like he’s going to kill them. A smile splits his face, and the easy charm disarms those around him, making them more invested in the mayor. He’s the distraction, the one who makes sure everyone underestimates us. He spots me and gives me a slight nod, his smile never faltering.
It better not.
“Rock and roll, fuckers.” Quinn’s voice crackles in my ear. “Keep your eyes peeled, gents. And seriously, Dash, try not to charm every lady you see.”
“There’s only one gal for this heart,” Dash chirps over the channel.
“One night, and he’s smitten,” Quinn teases.
“Focus,” Zane snaps curtly, breaking through their shenanigans before they get too carried away.
“Esteemed guests,” Mayor Hargrove begins over the speakers, his voice booming with false confidence, “thank you for joining us today. Together, we’ll reclaim Hyde Park and restore safety to our city streets. We will implement stricter curfews, increase police presence, and crack down on omega runaways.”
The crowd murmurs, a mix of approval and unease rippling through the gathered people.
Hargrove presses on, his chest puffing out. “But that’s not all. I’m proud to announce the formation of a special task force. This team will be dedicated to our omega population.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes as murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod in agreement, while others shift uncomfortably. A group near the back begins to whisper more urgently, their agitation palpable, even from a distance. I catch Zane’s eye and nod subtly towards them. He acknowledges with a slight tilt of his head, already moving to get a better view.
I scan the crowd again, tension coiling in my muscles. His words might ring hollow, but they’re stirring up real emotions. The fact of the matter is, Hargrove is awful for Puritan City, and he’s never going to get elected with his outdated vision—one being that all omegas should live in a community center.
Strange description for a prison, but okay.
I suspect that is why more and more omegas don’t come out of the closet, and those who do are either celebrities or disappear within weeks, whisked away by an alpha pack.
As Hargrove drones on about his plans for the community, I scan the crowd, my senses alert for any signs of danger. The faces before me blur, and for a moment, I’m transported back to our early days. We weren’t just thrown together by circumstance, we were forged in the fires of our traumatic pasts. The memory of those struggles strengthens my resolve to protect what we’ve built.
As I scan the crowd, my mind flashes back to the crucible that forged our bond. Zane and I, thrust together in the chaos of foster care, became the unwitting guardians of the younger kids. Our negligent foster parents, lost in their bottles, left us no choice but to step up.
I can still feel the biting cold of that endless winter when the electricity was cut. Zane and I took turns stoking the fire, stretching our meager supplies and offering what comfort we could to the shivering little ones. When social workers finally arrived, they found us huddled together, our visible breaths a testament to our struggle and unity.
Those harsh days etched the meaning of resilience and brotherhood into our souls. Now, as I catch Zane’s eye across the park, I know our bond goes far deeper than the bite marks on our wrists. It’s an unbreakable connection, forged in adversity and strengthened by choice.
With a subtle nod to Zane, I refocus on our current mission. The lessons of our past have made us uniquely qualified for the challenges we face today.
Or so I like to think we are.
Quinn was and still is the brains, the strategist, with a mind as sharp as a tack and a wit to match. We found him when we were on the brink of falling apart, our makeshift family on the edge of survival. Although he was barely old enough to take care of himself when he moved in, he was mentally mature in ways a child never should be. He brought the structure and tactical mindset we needed to thrive rather than just survive.
His sharp mind and analytical skills meant he saw threats before they became problems, always keeping us one step ahead. During those bleak nights, when the cold bit through our threadbare blankets and hunger gnawed at our bellies, it was Quinn who devised ways to stretch our meager resources and figured out how to keep the authorities from splitting us up. His quick thinking and clever solutions not only kept us safe but also gave us hope. With Quinn, we didn’t just endure, we found ways to outsmart the odds stacked against us. His presence turned our group from a desperate cluster of survivors into a tight-knit family with a fighting chance.
With Quinn came Dash, a street kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder and a scowl that could make grown men shiver. Hell, for a long time, we didn’t even know Quinn had a biological brother until he begged us to help him get custody of him. Dash had seen more of the world’s cruelty than anyone should at his age, but beneath the odd charm, there was a heart fiercely loyal to those he considered family. It took time, patience, and a few broken noses to integrate him into our fold, but once he was in, he was in for life.
Together, we formed a unit stronger than the sum of its parts. Each of us had our role to play, and we executed them with the precision of a well-oiled machine. We weren’t just friends, we were brothers bound by more than blood.
Are. We are brothers and a bonded alpha pack.
I notice Zane’s subtle hand signal—a reminder to stay alert. His hard eyes scan over the crowd, and even from here, I can see him grinding his jaw as he fights to remain completely and utterly still.
