The night has left me jittery and agitated, with more questions than answers. It started off bad, with my protection detail not doing their job and still missing, and ended with me babysitting Walsh. In his catatonic drug-fucked state, he’s completely useless to anyone except a dealer. Knowing I’m pretty much at his mercy drives me stark raving nuts. The only option I have is to let him sleep it off, then to re-question him about Oscar. And Arthur Kelly. Along with all the other missing pieces. When I pick him up to take the truck back to the depot, because he couldn’t remember where he was meant to drop it off.
The only good thing from tonight was finding out where Walsh lives. Like the rest of him, his humble abode is a disappointment and doesn’t match the man, nor the ego. He’s really trying hard to be someone he’s not. Guess we share more than I thought.
That thought alone is horrific and sends me searching for food. Standing in front of the fridge, I realize how hungry I actually am and start grabbing food without looking. The first plate goes in the microwave while I break off a corner of the block of cheddar cheese. It’s tasty, but I also know that, given how rich it is, I’m going to have nightmares when I sleep.
I chase the heavy texture of the cheese with a bite of apple. It should be comforting, considering how much I love them both, but the combination leaves me with nothing. Triple-checking the house, then grabbing a small pile of supplies, I run them upstairs before getting distracted by an urge to have a long, hot shower. I’m crashing hard and fast, chasing comfort in all the wrong places, but it’s not like I can phone Rafferty and say I’ve changed my mind. Because I haven’t really, but I have too.
Walking back downstairs, I have to reheat my food again, and I type out a text to Tynan but delete it before sending it. What am I going to say, anyway? He’d definitely get my message—he said he would—but right now, I need to wait on bloody Walsh for clarification before I do much else.
Sitting in bed, I gulp down the food before logging on remotely to my iCloud, opening up a document calledRecipesand start writing up everything I can recall. I have to get up to make a cup of tea after the first hour, and my eyes hurt from typing in the dark, but I know no matter how tired I am, I’ll toss and turn all night unless I’ve purged the details.
There comes a point when I roll on to my side, trying to type that way, but it clearly doesn’t work, because I wake up to myalarm ringing and my face pressed against the open keyboard of my laptop.
I feel like crap, even after a scolding hot shower where I indulged and used the opulent products Rafferty brought me. My phone pings an alert, and without checking, I know that sound. My stomach bottoms out, and I sit on the bed, wondering what else the universe can throw at me.
The start of my heat timer usually means arranging a safe room at a heat shelter and arranging the use of a single, “safe” Alpha for the most intense part of my heat. It’s worked up to now, but that was before I met my scent matches. Now, I won’t be able to get relief from anyone but them. It’s an Omega thing, a reminder I have a pack and should use them or suffer my heat alone.
I barely have time to sort through that minefield before Walsh texts, asking where I am. Clearly, he woke up nasty, but since he’s got information I need, I send back a long, overly apologetic response to say I’m leaving now, despite me being summoned two hours before our agreed time.
Driving the truck through the morning rush hour without any coffee leaves me in a feral mood. I toot the horn, letting him know I’ve arrived. Then I text because he doesn't come right out. After double-parking the truck, I pound on the door, but still nothing.
Trying the handle, the front door opens. And it’s ominous, as is the heady presence of blood in the air.
“Walsh!” I yell out, racing blindly through his shitty two-bedder.
The smell of his blood was nothing but a ruse to get me inside the house. It covered up the smell of the masked men standing at the ready.
The taser hits my chest, front and center.
Nothing. No training or presentation in a classroom could prepare anyone for the pain. It’s indescribable. But worse is the way it incapacitates. Every part of me wants to run, not one part of me can.
I watch black boots approaching, unable to do a thing to avoid a second taser hitting my shoulder.
My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it. No air can get past the weight or the pounding of my heart. It damn near beats out of my chest.
Black spots dance around more black boots. All I can hear is how dangerously fast my heart is racing. There’s a rush of panic made worse because I can’t get any air into my lungs.
I’m not walking out of here. That realization grows with each second that passes. Terror ramps everything up to another level, stealing the last of my fight and plunging me into a dark void.
Chapter Forty-Six
TYNAN
Tally’s position hasn’t changed.
Her guards haven’t called in.
No one has seen her at O’Malley’s or on the street.
Unlocking the door to Rafferty’s nest is something I never thought I’d have to do, but here I am.
The scent of their coupling as it rushes past me as soon as the door opens is obnoxious, like a punch in the face. I can’t look at their writhing bodies as I step past them. It’s intrusive of their privacy, but it would feed my anger, too, which isn’t fair at all. By the strong Alpha pheromones and the subtle warning sounds they give off, Ronin and Keegan are mid rut, and Rafferty is happily drowning in their adoration. Me interrupting Raff’s heat is a dangerous move. But they’d do the same if the situation was reversed.
Using the key to access the emergency cupboard where the large red button sits, exactly for moments like this, I don’t waste time second-guessing why I haven’t acted sooner.
When I slam my hand against the button, it hisses angrily, almost like a warning too. I race away, counting off the precious few seconds we built into the program so I could escape the room.
The first drops hit my face like a gentle summer rain shower. Nothing will happen, but still I wipe off the heavy-duty chemical suppressant, not liking anything but Tally’s scent near me. Especially now.
