Page 103 of Run Wild Omega

It happens fast—one second he’s standing between Rourke and the booth, the next he’s got Rourke by the lapels, slamming him back against the door frame with a force that rattles the glass. The business card falls from the table. Several customers gasp. Margaret shouts something.

“Listen to me,” Wyatt says, his voice a quiet, lethal thing that I’ve only heard once before—on the mountain, when he was talking to the helicopter crew about Tess’s condition. “You come into this town. You walk into this café. You stand in front of my pack and call what we have a performance. You do that again, and I will put you through that window. Do you understand me?”

Rourke doesn’t flinch. His back is against the door, Wyatt’s fists twisted in his lapels, and his expression is almost bored.

“Violence, and with witnesses present? Not a smart move,” he says smoothly. “I’ll have a field day with this.”

Daniel is on his feet now, his hand on Wyatt’s arm. Not pulling—guiding. “Wyatt. Let him go.”

“He doesn’t get to talk to her like that.”

“I know. But this is what he wants. He’s a pathetic loser who only wants to rile you up so he has a reason to sue you. That’s what he does best.”

Wyatt’s jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles jumping. He holds the position for three more seconds—long enough to make the point—then releases Rourke’s lapels and steps back.

Rourke straightens his coat. Smooths the wrinkled fabric. “I’ll leave my card,” he says, as if the last thirty seconds didn’t happen. “The Ashfords are reasonable businessmen. When Miss Hartwell is ready to have a real conversation about her future and save her boss’s company, she knows where to find them. Oh, and Mara, it was nice seeing you.”

Daniel growls.

Rourke turns and walks out. The door chimes behind him.

The café is dead silent. Every customer is staring. Margaret is gripping the counter like she’s holding herself back from something. Mara’s face is white, her hand still locked on Daniel’s arm, trembling.

Wyatt is breathing hard, his fists still clenched at his sides.

I look at Tess. She’s frozen, her eyes fixed on the door, her face a mask that I can’t read because I’ve never seen her wear it before.

“Tess,” I say.

She doesn’t respond.

“Tess.” Daniel’s voice is gentle. He rounds the table and crouches beside her, bringing his face level with hers. “Hey. Look at me.”

She blinks. Focuses on him.

“He’s an asshole. You know that. Nothing he said can be trusted,” Daniel says.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Jason Rourke,” she says, her voice mechanical. “He’s part of Mara’s ex-pack.”

“But he’s not just here for the Ashfords,” Daniel says carefully. “He’s freelancing. Rourke is furious about everything that went down when Mara escaped from them. This is them taking revenge on us.”

“Revenge?” Wyatt asks.

“Yes,” Daniel says, his tone turning hard. “Mara left their pack. She humiliated them and exposed all of them for their abuse. Rourke lost standing, lost connections, and lost the social capital that came with being part of a high-profile pack. He’s been looking for a way to hit back at us ever since. The Ashfords may have expressed interest in Tess, but Rourke using it as an excuse to walk in here? That’s him using you to get to Mara.”

Tess looks at Mara across the table. Mara’s face is stricken, her hands pressed flat against the wood surface as if she’s trying to keep herself from shaking apart.

“Oh god,” Mara whispers, the trauma of seeing her ex flooding into her voice. “This is my fault. He came here because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tess says, cutting through the heavy shock in the room. “It’s his fault. Rourke’s. He’s the one who walked in here. He’s the one running errands for predatory packs because his ego can’t handle losing.”

“But if I hadn’t⁠—”

“Mara. Stop.” Tess reaches across the table and grabs her hand tightly. “You didn’t do this. Jonathan did. Rourke did. The Ashfords did. Not you.”

The room is still tense, but something in Tess’s voice—a clarity, a fierce protectiveness—starts to settle the air. She’s not falling apart. She’s angry. And Tess Hartwell’s anger is a far more useful fuel than her fear.