“I’m Raney Grady. I also use my mother’s name Jones. I have identification from Unity Omega Collegiate, I am one of their students. I have permission…”
“No pack?” He tips his lips up in a cruel smile as he speaks.
I drop my eyes from his. He’s an alpha, not a strong one, just a malicious one. “It’s complicated,” I answer.
“Well, sweet thang, why don’t you un-complicate it,” he replies. Flicking his eyebrows up impatiently, he’s definitely not shying away from sharing his asshole tendencies with the room.
“I’m here to sign Pack Dissolution Forms.”
He laughs, and again it’s patronising and thick with mock. “In this tattoo shop?”
“No.”
“All right, Fucknuts, I’m calling harassment now,” King snarls as he struggles against the agent holding him. Even without looking behind me, I know dad’s trying to buck free. Another handful of agents swarm towards him.
“Have I touched your precious daughter?”
“She just told you she’s an omega. She gets special privileges, irrespective of relationship. And I heard her tell you…”
“No offence, but I’m not quite believing any relation of yours. She could be the Queen of Sheba or Siderno’s fucking accountant for all we know.”
His knees fall dangerously close to my face, “You’re a bunch of fucking criminals who make a living by lying and cheating to get what you want. Which means I get to ask any damn question I want to ascertain if she is indeed who she says she is. But since you’ve got so many issues with her being here, she’s going to the station to sort this bullshit out. Barrett, cuff her and take her downtown. No special privilege.”
A noise like a low roar echoes through the room, but they all pointedly ignore Koz, although a couple of the agents swivel and pin their weapons in his direction.
“Raney, you know your rights. Keep repeating you want to make your call and don’t stop till they listen. Call the club, whoever answers, tell them King said to get Puck. You got me? And don’t leave with anyone but Puck. Right?”
Before I can answer, I get dragged up to my feet, literally. Someone from behind hoists me up using my bad shoulder, and I lock down the scream as I get frogmarched away. Koz’s voice follows me out. “Ti troverò gattino. Hai accesso ai miei soldi e al mio avvocato.”
I twist around to catch Koz getting a kick to the side as the agents around him spit angrily, the same, “Talk English, cockhead.”
Both Koz and I refuse to translate. And even without Koz telling me he’d find me, or that I have access to everything that is his including his money or lawyer, I still want to stay here to fight with them. It’s easy to see that shit is about to get ugly. These cops are clearly after blood.
A commotion pulls another rush of the agents over as I trip on my bad knee. And the noise behind me gets worse as I’m carried out of the tattoo parlour. Like the agent said, there’s no consideration for me being an omega, if anything, I’m unnecessarily manhandled out of Deluge Ink, coming face to face with both Hayes and Talon again.
The fact that Talon is wearing a protective siege vest is not lost on me.
ChapterThirteen
PUCK
Iused to hate this house. And King. I’ve grown to not just appreciate them but love them in a strange way.
King took way too much inspiration from bad movies. The asswipe followed me around parroting, “Wax on, wax off,” whenever I moved into a new room because apparently there was a lesson in me fixing a goddamn dilapidated two bedder down on the furthest corner of the compound. The house, by rights, should have been burnt down years ago. Instead, he made me fix it.
Even now, walking in my bedroom, I can visualise the prick with his six pack of beer at his feet as he rocked on a seat looking like his namesake. But let’s be real, there’s nothing royal about King. Except he’s a royal pain in my ass.
He was relentless too, goading me as I patched holes so big you’d think they were windows. He’d get this tone in his voice, schooling me fucking constantly with all these quotes and bullshit. And man, did he get stuck on a few.“Life will knock us down, but we can choose whether or not to stand back up,” was one of his all-time favourites. Shit, thinking about him, I can see the cock-sure look of amusement on his face. I can seriously hear the mock in his tone, and I can feel his encouragement under all the bluster and asshole tease.
I think I surprised us both, that I never raised my hand at him. Despite him taunting me every minute, of every day. I came close on a few occasions, but I never touched him.
I knew the lessons he was ramming down my throat; I’m not an idiot. And I also recognised he was giving me a reason. Somewhere to hone all the fucking pent-up emotion in me. Fixing floors, replacing leaking faucets, moving walls, and plugging tiles on the roof, ended up being that. And the backbreaking work still proved easier than talking.
Just because I didn’t talk much, didn’t mean he let up. He went on, and on, and fucking on. He also wouldn’t let me drop doing other shit because apparently ‘you always need a fall-back plan’.
The fact is though, I owe him a lot, everything really. Some days I’m not sure I would be here without him. I fell down so many black holes I wasn’t sure what was up and what way would take me further away from where I wanted to be. But every time I dropped in my grief and despair, he was there to put me straight.
The drill in my hand drops to the floor the moment I see my mobile ring. The deal is, no one calls me unless it’s an emergency.
