Chapter 4: Controlled Breach

Chapter Four: Controlled Breach

The alarm cut off mid-tone.

That was worse than it continuing.

Ronan reacted instantly. He moved Elliot without touching skin gripping the back of the chair, hauling it several feet away from the open center of the room and into the shadowed angle between two reinforced walls. It was fast, efficient, impersonal.

Necessary.

“Stay,” Ronan said.

Elliot laughed breathlessly. “You’re really enjoying that word.”

Ronan ignored him. He was already in motion, pulling an earpiece from his pocket, activating a secure channel that hadn’t been used in years.

“Hale,” he said. “Code Gray. Building breach. I need eyes.”

Static. Then a voice, low and familiar.

“Thought you retired,” someone said.

“Thought you’d learned not to ask questions,” Ronan replied. “I need external cams and floor access. Now.”

A pause. Then: “Sending.”

Ronan’s tablet lit up with live feeds. The intruders were good clean movements, coordinated, not amateurs chasing money. Three men. Possibly four. They weren’t rushing. They were hunting.

Elliot shifted behind him, heat rolling off his skin in waves now, scent thick enough that Ronan had to lock his jaw to keep from reacting.

“Ronan,” Elliot said, voice strained. “It’s getting harder to”

“I know,” Ronan said, without turning. “You’re doing fine.”

That was a lie. They both knew it.

Elliot’s suppressor chimed once more and went dark.

Dead.

Ronan felt it like a punch to the chest.

The omega’s scent surged free warm, intoxicating, edged with stress and something dangerously close to need. Ronan’s control snarled in response, every alpha instinct lighting up at once: protect, contain, anchor.

He turned slowly.

Elliot was pale, breathing shallow, fingers gripping the armrest like it was the only thing holding him upright. His eyes tracked Ronan with too much focus, pupils blown wide.

“You need distance,” Elliot said, even as his body leaned subtly forward. “Before this gets worse.”

Ronan took one measured breath.

“There’s no distance left,” he said. “They’ll hit this floor in under three minutes.”

Elliot swallowed. “Then what?”

Ronan stepped closer close enough now that Elliot could feel the heat of him, the controlled violence under his skin.

“Then I stabilize you,” Ronan said. “By the book.”

Elliot laughed weakly. “I don’t think there is a book for this.”

“There is,” Ronan said. “Just not one you’ve ever been allowed to use.”

He removed his gloves slowly. Deliberately. Like he was preparing for surgery, not surrender.

“I’m going to make controlled contact,” Ronan continued. “Non-sexual. Non-claiming. Just enough to ground you and keep the heat from spiking.”

Elliot’s breath hitched. “And you?”

Ronan’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ll manage.”

That was another lie.

Ronan knelt in front of Elliot and placed his hands on the omega’s knees—through fabric, firm and steady. The moment contact was made, Elliot gasped, scent flaring sharp and bright.

Ronan locked down hard.

“Breathe,” Ronan said. “With me.”

Elliot tried. Failed. Tried again.

Ronan shifted closer, one hand sliding to Elliot’s wrist, fingers wrapping around the pulse point. The contact was grounding deliberate pressure, no lingering.

Elliot’s breathing slowed by degrees.

“That’s it,” Ronan murmured. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to carry it all.”

The words surprised them both.

Elliot’s fingers curled instinctively around Ronan’s forearm. The contact was brief but electric.

Ronan froze.

For half a second, instinct roared claim, shield, take.

He crushed it.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Ronan rose smoothly, drawing his weapon, body snapping back into lethal focus. He positioned himself between Elliot and the door without thinking, a human barrier.

“Whatever happens,” Ronan said quietly, not looking back, “you do exactly what I tell you.”

Elliot nodded, heat still burning but contained held together by the echo of Ronan’s touch.

The door handle turned.

Once.

Twice.

Ronan’s finger tightened on the trigger.

And in that charged silence—heat contained, danger imminent, rules already bent—both of them understood the same truth:

This was no longer just a job.

And once the door opened, nothing between them would stay untouched.