“My apartment has the same layout as yours. Exactly the same,” I offer, unable to hide the devastation from my voice. I want to argue with her that she should trust us, that she should stay, but I also can’t bear to be the reason she’s so overwhelmed.
Her lips purse together, and she takes a series of slow inhales and exhales before her eyes drift downwards.
Without another word, not even a small look at any of us, she starts to move. It’s painful to watch, and each small movement makes her face twist in discomfort, but the fear filling my nest means no one says or does a thing to help.
Tally stumbles to her feet, a small whine escaping. Or maybe it’s a sob. It resonates through my nest like a living creature. Her hand shakes as she finds the wall, and she doesn’t turn around to see where the doorknob is, because she doesn’t trust us.
I try not to move, but my stomach lurches.
Ronin’s touch presses firmer against my back, and it saves me from hurling.
The lock disengages, and she opens the door only wide enough to pass through. As soon as she disappears from view, Keegan is on his feet. He turns on the monitors, and we all watch as Tally uses the wall to keep her upright as she hobbles away.
She walks straight past the kitchen and nearly to the front door before she half collapses. Her arms curl around herself as she slumps against the wall, barely able to hold herself up. Butshe still goes back to the kitchen to get the tablets before moving even slower to the front.
Her hand slides off the door on the first and second try. Ronin is there before she even has the energy to try for the third time.
It’s easy to see him talking to her, but it’s impossible to hear. My heart swells with pride in the next moment—for both of them—when he swoops her off her feet. He opens the door effortlessly, and I want to scream, “stop, come back,” as our front door closes after them.
The simple action of the door closing hollows my insides and has me scrambling for my pack.
Chapter Seventeen
TALLY
Ican feel how safe I am. It oozes off them. His nest is saturated with the heady notes of pack, protection, and devotion, confirming the fact I’m safe over and over like a beating drum.
Without question, I can easily lose myself here. Happily, for days.
I nearly do.
Until someone utterspanties. How bad is that? Even remembering Daisy telling me who took her, I wasn’t freaking out too much. Unlike what happens when I hear the word “panties,” which only reminds me of the bug I hid in them while dressing.
My stress is sudden and abrupt, like a slap in the face. But it’s also the reminder I need. I can’t exactly say,stop fucking talking. Anything you say can be taken in evidence and used against you, so the logical thing to do is get the goddamn hellaway from the best-smelling pack I’ve ever met. To protect them. Or me. Either way, I have to get out of here.
I didn’t even stop to find out their names. The ones I’ve used so far will have to keep working—Genoa Alphas, surly Beta, and my masturbation buddy.
Or I simply refer to them by their scents. Individually, they are home run after home run. Four scents mashed together into one, and I’m floating in Omega heaven. Being in their presence, and in the male Omega’s nest, feels like I’ve won the lottery and am living in luxury.
Which I am not. And it will do me well to remember. I mean, the incentive is not letting them find out I’m a rat and staying alive. So, there is that.
It helps. The sheer level of pain reverberating each time I blink also helps keep me on track. I’m not really a fan of feeling the way I currently do, and without question, I’ll be a lot worse off if they find out what I am.
This pack is essentially Irish Mafia royalty. They’re the next generation touted to run the streets. In their world, you are either a friend of the family or an enemy. My badge alone will brandish me the latter.
While there is fault to my story, that I was ignorant to who they were, I’m sticking to it. The first time I saw the distinctive Irish cross the Genoa Alphas both have tattooed over their bodies, I knew. It’s a symbol only used by those in the Irish mafia.
The Jameson we shared made it easy to look past the fact I was in bed with O’Connors. The way they got my body to sing ensured my silence. I was happy to go on with my guilty pleasure too. And I did. Probably would again.
Yetpantiesis my downfall. One word is nearly my undoing, on so many levels.
Caught in my mild panic, I forget the goddamn pills someone mentioned. Turning back to get them is like trying to walk towards a turbine engine—every step I take robs me of my effort. But I can’t collapse in a ball here; I have to get home.
By the time I’m facing the door again, my ideas about running before they find out what I’ve done fade out, replaced by a huge wave of exhaustion. I ache, knowing what a shit person I am by lying. I hurt physically and spiritually. And when I’m at my lowest, silent tears streaming down my face, is when he appears.
“Still such a stubborn Omega.” His lips are at my ear, and he steals the last remains of my fight. I collapse at the same time he sweeps me off my feet. “You can’t outrun us, Tally. And here’s the kicker—I know you don’t want to. Your scent is plain as day. So, for now, you get to sleep in your bed and dream of us, instead of being in the nest Raff made for you, surrounded by your pack.” His accent is musical, soothing my panic straight away.
“You’re not my pack.”
