I smile as I take out my phone to reread our texts. He jokes that he is supposed to wait a day or two between dates or else it’s just one giant date. Says he’s going to send a car for me in the morning. He has something planned.
“Where the fuck have you been? Your shift ended two hours ago.”
My heart stops at the mean edge in Papa’s voice. I pick my head up from my phone, thumb still hovering over the screen. Papa is standing next to a beat-up pickup truck, one arm braced on the open window. There’s a guy in the driver’s seat, older, with a beard that looks like it might still be holding on to last night’s dinner. Heleans in, talking to Papa like they’re old friends. I tuck my phone into my purse, and pull it tight to my body.
Papa jerks his chin at me. “Come here and meet my good friend. This is Rex. I thought you two should get to know each other.”
Rex tips his cap at me and smiles. At least he has all his teeth.
“Oh, you’ll do just fine, baby girl,” he says. “My pack will love you.”
The way he says it, I can already feel them, rough hands, smelly breath.
Papa’s hand lands heavy on my shoulder, squeezing a little too hard, pulling me into the circle of his arm.
“She’s kind of quiet,” he tells Rex. “Except, you know, when she’s not.” He winks, and I want to peel my skin off and run.
I smile and yank the strap of my bag tighter across my chest. Like that’ll help.
“Oh, I bet she’ll get real chatty when that heat sets right in.” He’s got that kind of southern accent that’s sticky sweet and makes his words all run together. “Well, all right, all right. Let me know when the time comes.”
He touches the brim of his hat like he’s a fucking cowboy, and then the truck rolls off, belching exhaust.
Papa’s hand stays on my shoulder until the taillights disappear. I shrug him off, and head for the gate.
“Your next heat is next month, right? Maybe two?” Papa calls after me. I swallow so hard it hurts, and keep walking.
Chapter twenty-three
BECKETT
Thedistinctivesoundofa latex glove snapping makes my eye twitch. I’m playing it cool though and trying not to react to the loud sounds and the horrifically bright lights. A few days camped on the couch in near dark has helped, but only so much.
“Now, Mr. Dawson, what do we say when someone asks us to spar at the gym?” The doc does a perfect swish with the gloves into the open trash can, which is a nice add to her Muscle Mommy demeanor.
“We say fuck yeah,” Pierce snarks back.
She crosses her arms and leans against the door. “You didn’t re-break it, but the swelling isn’t going down and that’s a concern.”
Dr. Crosby is well acquainted with alphas with superhero complexes and is obviously not impressed.
“Is that why I can’t smell a damn thing?”
“Yup. You can do Flonase or the big boy Sudafed that they keep behind the counter. Ice and ibuprofen work too, probably better. Do I have to assign one of your packmates to hold you down and ice your nose?”
“You can prescribe bondage? Fuck yeah, but no ball gags. I like to talk through it.”
I cough into my fist to keep from laughing. So does the doc. Pierce’s wildly inappropriate behavior with members of the medical profession is nothing new for Dr. Crosby, thank god.
She turns to me, not softening at all. “Be a good boy like Beckett. I didn’t have to tie him down to pump another bag of fluid into him.”
Pierce’s face lights up. “That was an option?”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Don’t make me break your nose again, Pierce. I really don’t want to send you for a rhinoplasty.” Dr. Crosby smiles through her concern.
Liam didn’t tell me until this morning that Pierce was sparring with clients again. And I still can’t tell if it is concern for Pierce’s face or a sick desire to force us to talk that made Liam decide Pierce should tag along to my follow-up. But the second I saw his face, my irritation got dunked in ice water. His black eyes now have black eyes.
