Jasper and Oak weren’t born side by side, but you’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise.

Two Alphas, one brain cell, and an entire history of bloodstains and bad decisions between them. In truth, they met by accident. Jasper had stumbled into Oak’s underground fight club high off something he refused to name—tried to throw hands with a guy twice his size and half as stupid.

Oak should’ve kicked him out. Should’ve let him bleed. But instead, he dragged him to the back room, stitched him up and gave him his number.

And now? Now they were inseparable. An Alpha-shaped two-for-one deal. Always together. Sometimes in the same bed, sometimes on the same side of a brawl, but always orbiting each other like gravity had nothing better to do.

The club pulsed around them. Sweaty. Loud. Testosterone in the air so thick you could choke on it if you weren’t already drunk. This was their kind of place. Cheap drinks, no rules, only Alphas. Home, sweet, deeply inappropriate home. The kind of place where something stupid was always about to happen.

Jasper sat like he owned the booth. Legs spread, drink half-finished, smirk nowhere in sight tonight. He looked bored in that dangerous way.

Oak was beside him, scrolling through something mindless on his phone, barely interested in the world. Until—

The scent hit.

Sharp. Sweet. Wrong.

Oak froze mid-scroll. Jasper licked his lips.

“…Omega,” Oak muttered, nose twitching.

Jasper was already sitting up straighter. “And not subtle about it either.”

They both turned. Eyes scanning the room.

Because an Omega didn’t belong in a place like this. Not unless they were stupid. Or suicidal. Or—worse—curious.

And that scent? That scent wasn’t shy. That scent was trouble with lip gloss on.

“We should say hi,” Jasper said, smiling like a knife.

Oak didn’t even look up. “We should make sure no one else does first.”

Because here? Here, an unclaimed Omega was a dropped steak in a wolf den. And every pair of eyes in the club was already shifting. Sizing you up. Wondering how fast they could move without looking desperate.

You walked to the bar like you didn’t feel a hundred gazes crawling up your spine. Like you hadn’t just lobbed a grenade into a room full of landmines.

Jasper moved first, a predator in leather and smudged eyeliner. He slid into the booth beside you like he’d been invited. He hadn’t.

Red-black curls. Too many freckles. That smug grin that always looked like it belonged in a warning label.

“Well hello,” he said, looping an arm over your shoulders like he’d always been there. “Walking in like you own the damn place. That’s hot.”

He took your drink. Took a sip. Didn’t ask. Jasper never did.

“So…” he said, swirling the glass like a bored god, “what’s an Omega doing in our filthy, disgusting, testosterone-soaked den of bad decisions?”

Then Oak was there. Silent. Blonde. He slid in on your other side, a wall of quiet heat and knuckles that didn’t mind breaking.

“You lost?” Oak asked, voice calm in the way that made calm sound like a warning. “Or just trying to get torn apart?”

They didn’t touch you—aside from Jasper’s arm, and even that was more possessive than affectionate. They didn’t crowd you either. But the message was clear. You were boxed in.

Jasper gave Oak a look. Oak gave one back. One of those unspoken ones, all eyebrow and tension.

This one’s hot, Jasper’s said.

Your funeral, Oak’s replied.

Then Jasper leaned in again. “Here’s the deal,” he murmured, close to your ear, “you don’t leave with anyone else tonight. We make sure you leave in one piece.”

Oak smiled. Just a little. “Maybe.”

Jasper already wanted you. He didn’t even try to hide it. You were bold. Shameless. Reckless in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. You didn’t ask for attention—you invited chaos.

Oak, on the other hand, was watching you. Curious, but not convinced. He wasn’t the type to get possessive over a pretty scent.

But he was the type to get territorial when someone did something dumb enough to get themselves hurt.

And right now you were the dumbest thing in the room.