His phone rings, and he looks down at it. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says casually as he heads for the door. He answers the phone on the landing.
“Matteo,” he says, using his lawyer voice, part charming, part scheming. “No, no, you know that’s not part of the deal. I have until the end of the month to make payment.”
His chuckle fades as he makes his way downstairs.
I take a few shaky breaths until the nausea passes. Then I rip both tapestry pieces off the wall, ball them up, and stuff them deep into my laundry basket. I need a closet. Someplace safe. Someplace I can just be an omega. Someplace he can’t touch.
I dig my fingers into the dead leaves for Reed’s knife. Turning it over in my hands, I trace the triangle that was carved into the handle.
“Just in case.” That’s what he said when he gave it to me. I didn’t need to ask just in case of what.
The memories, like vivid snapshots, come rushing in again, just like they did at the restaurant with Timber when they were allignoring me. I was able to push them back then, but I don’t want to now.
I was used to shouting, fights. They were almost daily occurrences since Reed became an alpha. Papa had taken it as a personal insult that Reed was now better than him. Like he did it on purpose just to piss Papa off. They fought every day. But this wasn’t a shouting match. The scream was the sound of death.
I hit the bottom of the stairs just as Papa chased Pierce out the door. Pierce paused and caught me standing there.
“Run, motherfucker.” Papa cocked a shell into the shotgun. “This is your fault. You did this.”
He was covered in blood. Pierce. Papa. Both.
And Reed. On his back in a swimming pool of blood. A fountain of it gushed from his middle.
I froze. I wasn’t able to move.
Reed looked at me. His face was the color of paper.
“Pierce.”
His last word was his best friend’s name. The friend who had killed him.
Chapter six
BECKETT
You’dthinkIwaswalking into Coach’s living room after seducing his omega. I’m not that dumb, and yet I feel like I have to slink through the locker room, taking the back hallways so no one sees me.
“Yo, Beckett!”
I squint my eyes shut. I didn’t even make it fifty feet. Javier, one of the trainers, jogs up to me. His footfalls sound like bombs going off in my head. This is why I don’t drink. This is why you shouldn’t drink when you have a concussion. The minibar at the hotel was just too tempting last night. I push my shades up the bridge of my nose. There’s no real reason to hide my black eye, but everything is just too damn bright.
“Doc wants to see you,” Javier says, crossing his arms as if he’s reading me like a packmate.
“Sure, I’m all good though,” I lie.
“Yeah, I know, but team protocol. Big fight equals Doc. Your face is busted up, hands too, I bet.”
I roll my eyes behind my glasses. I like Javier, but I just can’t today.
“Besides, maybe Doc can give you a get out of jail free card for when you see Coach.”
“Whatever,” I snap.
“Hey, are you okay? Let me see your eyes,” he says as he reaches for my glasses.
I slap his hand away. “Fuck off.”
“Beckett. Dude, seriously, what’s up?”
