Carrying My Alpha Boss’ Twins

Esther

"How much for the whole night, sweetheart?"

A hand landed on my ass a second later, broad and sweaty and way too comfortable there.

I jolted hard enough to slosh beer over the rim, then I turned around with the kind of smile that took me six years to perfect.

"Hey there, handsome." I shifted the tray to my other hip, angling my body out of reach. "Looking for another round?"

The man leered up at me from his booth. Greasy hair, thick fingers, breath that could peel paint. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "You know exactly what I'm asking."

His hand slid from my ass to my hip like he thought he had already paid for the privilege. His thumb dug into bone, trying to pull me closer, and my stomach gave a nasty little roll.

"Oh, honey, I’m already overcommitted." I laughed like he'd told the funniest joke in the bar and peeled his fingers off one by one. "Two pups at home, a double shift, and no room in my schedule for bad decisions. You want whiskey or just attention?"

His buddies howled. Razor, the gang regular with the neck tattoo, jerked his chin at me.

"Esther's always popular. Bring us our whiskey before someone snatches you up for real."

"Coming right up."

I balanced the tray against my stained apron and wove through the crowd, dodging elbows and cigarette smoke. The second I pushed through the kitchen door, I let the smile drop.

My hands trembled as I set the tray on the steel counter. I pressed them flat and held them there until they stopped.

Six years in the Yards had taught me how to handle men like that. Smile when you want to scream. Deflect a groping hand with a joke instead of a fist, because fists get you fired and jokes keep you alive.

I used to be different. Quiet. The kind of girl who trailed two steps behind the boy she loved and never complained about it.

That girl died on a rainy highway. I was what crawled out of the wreck.

My head swam as I straightened up. Too many doubles, not enough sleep, but tonight was the last push. My boss had promised a raise after the Thanksgiving rush, and I'd worked myself half-dead to earn it.

A few more hours. Then the bonus, the paycheck, and a real holiday dinner with my kids.

I grabbed a fresh tray and pushed back through the door. That's when I saw them. A group of men cutting through the back of the bar toward the exit.

Nothing unusual. Strangers passed through every night.

But the one in front stopped me cold.

Tall, with broad shoulders. Dark hair that caught the low light in a way that made my chest tighten.

For one stupid, traitorous second, my body forgot where I was. Because that silhouette looked exactly like —

"Esther!" My boss shouted over the noise. "Get over here."

I blinked. The men were gone. Back door swinging shut behind them.

I pressed my hand to my chest and let out a breath. Six years, and I still saw him in every tall stranger with dark hair. Embarrassing.

I shook it off and headed toward the office. Thanksgiving bonus. Maybe enough to buy the kids new socks, and if God was feeling flashy, matching ones.

He handed me an envelope. Thin. Way too thin.

"Your wages." He didn't look up. "And you're done. I'm letting you go."

The words hit me three seconds late.

"You promised me a raise." My voice held steady, but my nails dug crescents into the paper. "You said if I worked through the holiday —"

"I said a lot of things." He finally met my eyes, and there was nothing in them. No guilt, no apology. Just a man who'd already moved on. "I'm closing up and leaving the district. That's all I've got."

"I have two children!"

He smiled. Every woman in the Yards recognized that smile, the one that said I know, and I don't care.

"And what are you going to do about it, Esther?" He leaned back in his chair. "Single mother, two little pups, no pack backing you up. Think real hard about what happens to them if you cause trouble."

I wanted to smack the envelope across his teeth. I wanted to flip his desk and leave him buried under his own cheap furniture.

But I had two kids at home who needed their mother free, not locked up.

So I swallowed it. The rage, the humiliation, the very understandable urge to commit a small crime before bedtime.

He had his bouncer walk me out through the back. The door slammed shut behind me.

"Asshole," I spat at it. "Cheapskate, lying, bottom-feeding asshole."

A few people lingered on the street. One woman glanced my way with something like pity. A man smoking by the dumpster smirked around his cigarette.

Nobody said a word.

This was the Yards. Nobody ever did.

I made it home with the last turkey I'd managed to grab that evening — marked down, dented box, but still a turkey.

My landlord stood waiting outside my door.

"One month," he said, skipping the pleasantries. "Block's being demolished. Find somewhere else."

He shuffled off before I could respond. I stood in the hallway holding my turkey and my pathetic envelope and felt the floor tilt beneath me.

Fired. Evicted. Same night.

I gripped the doorframe until the dizziness passed, then pushed the door open.

Two small faces peered up at me from the couch. My daughter clutched her stuffed wolf to her chest. My son had his thumb halfway to his mouth, a habit he'd nearly broken.

"Mama?" His voice was careful. "Are we in trouble?"

I gave them the only real smile I'd managed all night, instantly.

"Not even close, baby." I held up the turkey. "We're having the best Thanksgiving dinner this building has ever seen."

Their faces split wide open. My daughter scrambled off the couch, and my son abandoned his thumb to set the table, arranging our mismatched plates by color the way he always did.

We cooked together in our tiny kitchen. She stirred the gravy on her step stool while he counted out forks and lined them up by size. We ate until our bellies ached, and I told them stories about a wolf who could fight sea monsters and build a kingdom out of nothing but stubbornness.

"Just like you, Mama," my daughter said through a mouthful of turkey.

I kissed the top of her head and blinked hard against the sting behind my eyes.

They didn't need a father. They had me, gravy, and enough turkey to feel rich for twenty minutes. And as long as I was breathing, I'd keep the Yards from taking any more out of them than it already had.

After they fell asleep, tangled together in their shared bed, I sat on the kitchen floor with my phone. The screen glowed blue in the dark apartment.

I scrolled through job listings until my eyes burned. Nothing. Everything decent required a pack reference or a family name that opened doors. Everything cheap was worse than the bar, which was honestly impressive.

Then I stopped.

Silvercrest Holdings. The largest pack-run corporation in the region. Hiring a personal assistant to the CEO. Full salary. Benefits.

And employee housing.

I stared at the screen. This was insane. A wolf from the Yards with no degree, no connections, and a last name that meant absolutely nothing, applying to work for the most powerful pack in the city.

But the housing. A real apartment in a real neighborhood, where my kids could walk to school without dodging needles, drunks, or whatever fresh nightmare the sidewalk felt like serving that day.

I hit Apply before I could talk myself out of it.