Unraveling Threads
The fifteenth floor of the Presidential Hotel was a maze of corporate offices and meeting rooms, but Matt's true target lay three floors above. Fisk's penthouse suite, heavily guarded and supposedly impenetrable. But Matt had learned long ago that nothing was truly impenetrable - not if you knew how to listen.
His enhanced hearing mapped out the movements of the FBI agents patrolling the corridors. Twenty-three steps from the elevator to the first security checkpoint. Twelve seconds between guard rotations. A ventilation shaft that ran directly to the eighteenth floor.
But his mind kept returning to Agent Poindexter. The alpha's scent had been hauntingly familiar - the same clinical precision, the same carefully controlled power he'd encountered at the warehouse. The same presence that had saved his life and then systematically destroyed his suppressant supply.
"Focus," he muttered to himself, forcing his thoughts back to the mission. But his omega instincts were becoming harder to ignore, his body's natural responses amplified by the lack of suppressants.
He made his way through the fifteenth floor, playing the role of the confused businessman perfectly. "I'm sorry," he said to a passing secretary, "but I seem to have gotten turned around. The Morgan meeting...?"
"Conference Room C," she replied helpfully. "Down the hall to your left."
But Matt had already gotten what he needed - the sound of her keycard accessing a restricted door, the subtle electronic tone that would help him identify similar security systems throughout the building.
He found an empty office and slipped inside, his enhanced senses monitoring the corridor outside. The ventilation shaft was exactly where the building plans had indicated, hidden behind a false panel in the ceiling.
As he worked to remove the panel, his hearing picked up fragments of conversation from the floors above:
"...Fisk wants the omega protected..."
"...Poindexter's getting too involved..."
"...can't risk exposure..."
Matt's hands stilled. They were talking about him. About Poindexter. About...
A sudden wave of dizziness hit him, his body trembling as another dose of suppressants wore off. The world tilted dangerously, sounds becoming too sharp, scents too intense.
"Not now," he growled, forcing himself to focus. But his mind was putting pieces together, forming a picture he didn't want to see.
Poindexter. The perfect shots. The warehouse. The suppressant dealers. It all connected back to Fisk, to some grand plan that Matt was only beginning to understand.
He pulled himself into the ventilation shaft, moving as silently as possible despite his shaking limbs. Three floors up. Just three floors between him and answers.
But as he climbed, memories surfaced unbidden. The way Poindexter had reacted to his presence. The protective surge in his scent that had been quickly suppressed. The familiar precision of his movements.
"He's been watching me," Matt whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "All this time..."
The ventilation shaft opened onto the eighteenth floor, and Matt paused, listening intently. Fisk's heartbeat was steady, calm - the crime lord was in his suite, apparently alone except for his security detail.
And one other person.
Matt's blood ran cold as he recognized the controlled breathing, the precise movements. Poindexter was there too, reporting to Fisk in low, measured tones:
"He's in the building. Fifteenth floor. The suppressants are wearing off - I could smell it."
"Good." Fisk's voice held a note of satisfaction that made Matt's skin crawl. "Everything is proceeding as planned. Soon, he'll have no choice but to accept what he truly is."
"Sir." Poindexter's voice carried a hint of... concern? "He's suffering. The withdrawal-"
"Is necessary." Fisk's tone brooked no argument. "Matthew needs to understand that fighting his nature only leads to pain. You've done well, Dex. Continue to watch over him. Protect him. But remember - he's not to know your role. Not yet."
Matt's hands clenched into fists, his whole body trembling with rage and something else - something he didn't want to acknowledge. Betrayal. Pain. The crushing realization that he'd been manipulated, watched, controlled.
His mysterious protector, the alpha who had saved his life, was nothing more than Fisk's puppet. Another piece in the crime lord's elaborate game.
And Matt had walked right into their trap.