The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 62

Sarah’s POV

The best-laid plans have a nasty habit of rotting from the inside out.

I pace the length of the warehouse, my heels clicking against concrete that smells of salt and diesel and forgotten cargo.

The docks at night carry a particular kind of silence—the kind that amplifies every creak of old timber, every distant lap of water against the pier, every beat of my heart.

Three days since I was supposed to meet Thomas here, in this exact spot where rusted shipping containers form walls around our secrets.

Three days since I overheard Zane and Paul discussing Morgan’s location with the careful urgency of men who have finally found what they’ve been hunting.

Three days since I sent Thomas that message, the one that should have ended this entire nightmare once and for all.

The tracker I installed on Paul’s car the day after our wedding—a precaution I never imagined would become essential—pinged its location to my phone the moment he left pack territory. I forwarded the coordinates to Thomas without hesitation.

Me: Safe house in the suburbs. Location attached. Finish it.

Simple instructions, clear objectives. Thomas has never failed me before, which is precisely why his silence now feels like a noose tightening around my throat.

I stop pacing and press my palms against the cold metal of a container, letting the chill ground me in reality.

Shit.

The warehouse offers no answers, only shadows that shift with the wind howling through gaps in the corrugated walls.

I chose this location because it exists outside pack territory, because the human world doesn’t care what monsters do in the dark corners they’ve forgotten about.

Now that isolation feels less like protection and more like a trap of my own making.

The timeline plays through my mind on endless repeat, each detail examined for the flaw I must have missed.

Zane returned to the packhouse first, his jaw tight with tension that I initially mistook for grief. My heart lifted at the sight of his barely contained agitation, at the clipped way he answered questions about border security and patrol rotations.

She’s dead, I thought. Thomas succeeded, and they found her body, and now I just need to play the concerned Luna until the mourning period ends.

But grief doesn’t look like that.

Grief doesn’t pace with restless energy or snap at subordinates over minor scheduling conflicts. Grief collapses inward, and Zane was coiled like a spring waiting to release.

Then Paul came back, and hope curdled into dread in my stomach.

My husband wore satisfaction like a second skin, barely concealed beneath the serious expression he maintained for pack business.

The set of his shoulders spoke of a man who had reclaimed property he considered stolen. The way his eyes tracked the doors, the windows, the exits—he was guarding someone.

That is how I knew Morgan survived.

Morgan is alive, tucked away somewhere under my Alpha’s watchful eye, carrying evidence of my downfall in her womb.

The border activity should concern me more than it does. Unidentified wolves moving in formation near the eastern markers, their scent signatures triggering alarm among Cormac’s patrol teams.

Under normal circumstances, I would be analyzing threat assessments and coordinating defensive strategies with the efficiency that earned me my position.

But Thomas’s silence has made normal circumstances impossible.

If Paul or Zane captured him during whatever confrontation occurred at the safe house, they might already be extracting information I cannot afford them to have.

Yet, she watches me with the same evaluating gaze I would use on a chess opponent, building a profile that she will use against me the moment the opportunity presents itself.

Interesting.

“You’re remarkably calm for someone in your position,” I observe, approaching her corner of the warehouse. “Most humans would be begging for their lives by now, promising anything and everything in exchange for freedom.”

“Most humans haven’t spent six years hiding from people who wanted them dead for reasons that had nothing to do with their own choices.”

Her chin lifts, and I catch the ghost of defiance beneath her careful composure. “You’re not the scariest thing I’ve ever faced, lady. You’re not even in the top five.”

The audacity almost makes me laugh.

I crouch before her, close enough to smell the fear she’s concealing beneath bravado, close enough to watch her pupils dilate when my proximity triggers instincts her conscious mind cannot override.

“I went to that safe house planning to burn it to the ground with everyone inside,” I tell her, letting the truth settle between us like poison. “Morgan, her unborn bastard, those idiot brothers who can’t seem to choose between obsession and duty.”

Ricky’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t speak.

“I waited in the trees for hours, and then you appeared.” I tilt my head, examining her. “Alone, unprotected, waiting for a friend who had already abandoned you. Do you know what that tells me about your value to this situation?”

“I imagine you’re about to share your analysis whether I want to hear it or not.”

“It tells me that Morgan cares about you.” I reach out and grip her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “It tells me that hurting you will hurt her, and right now, hurting Morgan is the only thing that matters to me.”

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