Chapter 5

Rebel’s POV

The sounds fade slowly, and that was the cruelest part.

Not the shouting, not the crashing boots or the barked orders. It’s the quiet that creeps in afterward, thick and suffocating, like the world has decided to hold its breath and forget I exist.

I sit curled on the floor of the safe room long after the last echo dies. My knees are locked to my chest and my fingers ache from gripping my sleeves too tightly. I don’t know how much time passes it could be minutes, maybe hours. There’s no clock in here since Fang designed it that way.

Safe rooms don’t care about comfort, they care about survival.

My ears ring as I strain for any sound. Anything. Fang’s voice. A familiar footstep. The clink of a bottle or the hum of the clubhouse settling back into itself.

Nothing.

Silence presses in, heavy and cold.

My chest aches with every breath. They took him, I heard the cuffs, I heard his voice go tight with fury as they dragged him away, and I heard him tell them to go to hell.

I press my forehead to my knees and swallow a sob.

I’m alone, again.

Just when I start to think the silence might swallow me whole, something changes.

It’s faint at first. A vibration through the floor, low and rhythmic.

Engines.

My head snaps up.

Motorcycles that are close, multiple and not fading away like the police. They were stopping.

My heart begins to pound so hard it hurts.

I scramble to my feet and press my ear to the wall, breathing shallow. Voices murmur beyond the thick steel, unfamiliar and rough, layered with authority and something darker.

Boots hit the floor heavily, there is too many to count.

Fear floods my veins and my wolf stirs, uncertain, pacing in tight circles inside me. These aren’t cops, they don’t move like cops. There’s no sharp barked commands, no chaos.

This feels… controlled.

Predatory.

The door to my bedroom opens, and I flinch back instinctively, heart slamming into my ribs as unfamiliar voices fill the space beyond the wall.

“Clear,” someone says.

“Room smells like her,” another murmurs, low and thoughtful.

Her.

Me.

My breath catches.

Footsteps cross my bedroom. Drawers open. The mattress shifts slightly. Someone runs a hand along the wall and my blood freezes.

“Found it,” a deep voice rumbles.

The safe room door shudders as a hand presses against the hidden seam.

I stumble back, shaking, pulse roaring in my ears. Every instinct screams hide, run, don’t let them see you.

Then…

“Rebel,” a voice calls.

My name hits me like a physical blow, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. I don’t recognize the voice but something inside me reacts anyway. My wolf lifts her head, ears pricked, attention snapping forward.

“Rebel King,” another voice calls, closer now. “We’re here to get you out.”

Get me out?

Confusion tangles with fear. My parents used my name like a leash. Fang used it like a shield. These voices, these strangers, say it like a promise.

I shake my head, backing away until the wall presses cold against my spine.

“I don’t know you,” I whisper, though they can’t hear me. “I don’t know you.”

A pause.

Then a quieter voice, smooth, edged with authority, cuts through the air.

“She’s scared,” it says. “Don’t crowd her.”

My breath stutters.

That voice.

It wraps around me, sinking beneath my skin , my wolf whimpers softly, something aching and drawn tight in her chest.

“Rebel,” the same voice says again, closer now. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

The word trembles inside me.

“I’m not opening it,” I whisper desperately. “Fang told me not to.”

Silence stretches on the other side of the wall.

Then..

“I know,” the voice replies.

My heart stops.

“I know he did,” the man says quietly. “And he was right to protect you.”

How would he know?

Panic spikes but beneath it, something else pulses, a tug, deep and instinctive. Like gravity pulling me forward whether I want it to or not.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” another voice adds, rough, edged with something wild. “Swear it.”

The pull tightens, and my wolf presses forward, restless, insistent.

“Open the door, little omega.”

The words slam into me like a shock and my knees nearly buckle.

Omega.

No one outside Fang’s inner circle should know that.

“No,” I gasp, shaking. “You don’t get to..”

The air shifts and power floods the small room, thick and overwhelming, pressing against my skin like a storm front. My breath catches, lungs locking as something ancient and dominant rolls over me.

Then the voice comes again deeper now, commanding.

“Rebel King,” he says, voice laced with undeniable alpha force. “Open the door.”

My body reacts before my mind can, heat surges through me, sharp and startling. My wolf bows instinctively, recognition slamming into my bones. My hands move shaking and disobedient as I stumble forward and press the release latch.

The door slides open with a soft hiss and light floods the room.

Four men, no alphas, are standing there.

The first one, him, stands slightly ahead of the others. Tall, broad shouldered. Muscular in a way that speaks of violence and control rather than vanity. His skin is warm tan, inked with dark tattoos that crawl down his arms and disappear beneath his cut. Shaggy brown hair falls into intense grey eyes that lock onto me like he’s been searching for me his whole life.

Ruin.

I don’t know his name yet, but my wolf does.

To his left stands a man just as tall, his movements fluid, predatory. Black hair frames sharp features, green eyes glowing with feline intensity. His colorful tattoos seem almost alive against his skin. He watches me like a panther watches prey not hunger, but vigilance.

Reaper.

Behind them looms a mountain of a man, huge, broad, devastatingly solid. Brown hair, brown eyes, rugged and handsome in a way that feels ancient and unmovable. His presence is warm and steady, like a wall I could lean against and never fall.

Asmodeus.

And then there’s the last one.

Tall and striking, carved like a warrior from legend. Long blonde hair hangs loose down his back, catching the light. His eyes a brilliant yellow burn with something old and dangerous. Tattoos wind over his skin like runes, marking him as something far more than human.

Viking.

Four alphas all staring at me.

My knees give out, and Ruin moves instantly, catching me before I hit the floor. His hands are warm, steady, impossibly gentle for someone so dangerous.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

My wolf melts instantly, and tears spill down my cheeks as everything crashes over me fear, grief, relief, instinct. I cling to his vest without even realizing I’ve done it.

“I don’t know who you are,” I whisper brokenly.

Ruin dips his head, grey eyes softening. “That’s okay, little wolf.”

Something inside me settles.

Because somehow…

I know this isn’t the end of my world, it’s the beginning of something else entirely.