Chapter one
ASH LYNN VOSS
Redhadbeenthewrong fucking choice.
My stupid nails. I pick at the chip in the red polish on my pinky and then curl my fingers into fists. I don’t want to remember that night. How the blood gelled in puddles and I was forced to clean it up. How it felt tacky like that time we coated our hands with white glue to make fake skin for Halloween. How I sat there, disgusted with myself for even thinking it would make a pretty nail color. How it caked under my nails for days.
It’s been eight years and I can still see the blood on my hand.
Why had I picked red tonight for my nails? They should be purple to match the dress and not blood red. I cringe and swallow hard. I should get a freaking medal for how good I am at pushing memories away.
The neighborhood blurs past me, a mix of battered cars and porches in desperate need of fresh paint. The cool glass of thewindow presses against my forehead, but it does nothing to quiet the anger, fear, and anxiety twisting inside me. I hunch in the seat and dig through my wallet again, checking every pocket for hidden bills. Fifteen singles, two fives, three quarters. This is all I have left from my tips. I flick my eyes to the meter. The digits climb higher with each block. I barely have enough for the ride, let alone a tip.
The date was a bad idea from the start.
On my very first day at the diner, this perfect woman swept in like a whirlwind of designer clothes and style I’ll never have. She claimed a booth, papers scattered everywhere. When I brought her pie, she was holding her phone a foot from her ear while someone screamed on the other end. I had barely set the plate down when she blurted out,“Would you like to go on a date?”
I blinked at her like an idiot with my hand stuffed in my apron pocket, fishing around for creamers. She pulled me into the booth and rested her fingers on my arm while she talked, and I lost every one of my senses because I wasn’t used to being touched like that. Gently. For no reason except to reassure.
She, Marilyn, explained that she was a public relations person for the hockey team, that something had come up, and she needed just the right omega for a player’s last-minute dinner.
Fucking bonkers.
Like I’d ever be “just right” for anything.
But there was something about her, something that made me want to say yes, even though I knew better. I hesitated and quietly panicked, looked down at my ripped jeans and faded T-shirt, and said I didn’t have anything to wear. She offered to send me a designer dress from one of the best boutiques in Nashville.
Yes. I had said yes. Which is how I ended up here, broke, in a cab, in a dress I’ll never be able to afford, after being humiliated by a celebrity with blood-red nails that make me want to puke and also don’t match the stupid dress.
What the hell had I been thinking?
I’ve never been on a real date. I am barely allowed out of the house. And now, since moving here? I have a job. Fine, a part-time job. And an apartment. Okay, “apartment” is a stretch; it’s little more than a shack. And now I think I can have dates and designer dresses and fancy restaurants?
The date started fine. Timber, the hockey player, didn’t want to be there. Not really. And I was okay with that. The waiter brought bread that must have been just baked. Timber blurted out that he wasn’t into me. Rude. But I gave it three seconds of thought and said fuck it, I’d stay for the bread. It was actually kind of a relief. The alphas Papa brought home were always wanting something. Timber only wanted to be somewhere else.
Then Ollie showed up. With another alpha.
She was beautiful. Blonde, red dress, effortless in the way that real omegas should be. She sat down, looked at me once, and discarded me. She wanted both alphas for herself, and I was furniture. Rude. But again, there was even more bread.
The other alpha, Kane, tried. Made conversation and asked questions.
And then everything became very not fine.
Timber tried to smooth things over in the way oblivious alphas do when they’ve made a mess and want someone else to clean it up. He nodded toward a nearby table and said, “That’s Beckett, a teammate. He’s a nice guy. I’ll give you to him.”
I’ll give you to him.
My skin crawled. Every unwanted hand I’d ever had to smile through rose up at once. For the first time in a long while, I got angry. I was done being passed around to alphas who didn’t care, who just wanted a party favor, a toy to play with. There wasn’t enough bread in the world to make up for that.
I made the stupid mistake of looking where Timber pointed.
Beckett was tall. Handsome. Everything an alpha was supposed to be. For half a second, I let myself want him. Maybe not him specifically, just the idea of him.
Then I saw who was standing with him.
Then the past, that night, stole all the air in the room.
Pierce.
