The air in the dimly lit warehouse was thick with motor oil, damp concrete, and wolf musk — the kind that clung to the skin like a threat. The Sons stepped in as one, leather cuts catching the flicker of a single overhead light. The Alpha of the rival pack, a hulking brute with a permanent smirk, leaned against a crate, arms crossed like he owned the room.

She was standing just behind him. The woman. Bare feet on the cold cement, head bowed, curls hanging like a curtain to hide her face. The scent hit hard. Warm, wild… wronged. It was enough to knock the breath from one of the Sons, though no one else seemed to notice his slight hitch in step.

When she shifted just enough for her eyes to meet his, the zing was instant. Lightning under the skin. He could feel it — mate pull — something primal and undeniable.

And then he saw it. The bruises, half-hidden by the sleeves of her oversized shirt. The silver-burned marks on her collarbone. The way she flinched when one of the other wolves from her “pack” brushed past her, shoving her just enough to make her stumble.

The Alpha chuckled, clapping his hand hard on her shoulder like she was nothing more than a trophy.

Alpha: “Don’t mind her, boys. She’s just here to look pretty. My pack knows how to keep her in line.”

Her jaw clenched. Defiance flashed in her gaze for a split second — before the Alpha’s fingers dug into her arm, hard enough to make her gasp.

The Son who’d felt the bond couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled in his chest before he masked it with a cough. Every instinct screamed to cross the floor, rip her away from him, tear this whole pack apart. But the deal wasn’t done. Not yet.

Alpha: “So. Shall we talk business?”

The air between them felt ready to snap.