Oh. I guess I am. I’m standing on the driver’s side.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I shrug, pulling the door open.
We’ll have to air this place out. Even with Mirabelle’s lingering perfume in the front of the cabin, Jett’s moldy scent still lingers around.
Maybe I should get myself clothes when we make that stop. I want to get his dirty clothes off my body.
“Who pissed in your cereal?” Ash asks as we climb into the car.
“What?” I ask.
“Your head’s been a million miles away since we left the room.”
“Just thinking.”
“No shit,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to ask you what you’re thinking about.”
“Oh. Just about how we’re going to make money. We’re probably going to burn through Rowan’s cash pretty fast.”
Ash stares at me like I’m stupid.
“You’re joking, right?”
“What? No, that’s what I was thinking about.”
“We fight,” Ash says, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “You made money fighting, right?”
“I mean yeah, before my dad fucking sold me off, I made decent money fighting.”
“Then we make decent money fighting. It’s the only fuckingreliable thing I know how to do, anyway. Why not use that shit?” He cracks his knuckles again, a determined look in his eye.
Damn. He’s right. It’s the most logical thing to do.
I need to pull my head out of my ass. This time around, I won’t be fighting for my ungrateful family. I’ll be fighting to make sure we can keep Mirabelle safe and comfortable. This is the easiest way to give her the life she deserves. A life where we can get her the simple things that seem to make her world light up.
Will we be able to get her the designer bags and clothes the Northside omegas seem to want from their alphas? Probably not. But Mirabelle doesn’t seem like she’d ever be the kind of omega that would want that kinda shit in the first place.
“You’re right. I’ll get the fighting ring contacts from my dad too, when we’re there.”
“You don’t know those contacts yourself?”
“He was the one who arranged my fights. Guy was basically my manager.”
“So basically, he was your pimp?”
I roll my eyes as I pull out of the parking lot.
“That’s definitely one way to put it, asshole.”
“Just calling it how I see it,” he shrugs. “Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Sort of. There’s a truck stop close to my parents’ place. Pretty sure they’ve got some basic clothes there.”
The rest of the drive is silent, the only sounds between us being the car’s engine.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, throwing open the car door in the parking lot of the truck stop. The fluorescent lights of the store have me on edge. I don’t know why I feel so strange walking around in public right now. Other than a tired-looking beta cashier, there’s no one here at this late hour.
I try to shake off the buzzing sense of anxiety as I pick up five t-shirts and then five pairs of gray sweatpants. Might as well pick up some clothes for everyone else while I’m here.
