I have to fight back a wave of sorrow. The last happy memory I have of my mom was the two of them dancing in front of a bonfire, their arms wrapped so tight you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “Thanks, Glory,” I manage to mumble, but I'm interrupted by the sound of a brittle laugh.
“Well, look what the stray cat dragged in.”
I turn to face the sneering omega, who’s clad head-to-toe in tight leather, one hand propped on a curvy hip. I’d break an ankle in her four-inch heels, but Mimi looks as confident as ever. As much as she’s always turned my stomach, she’s a stunning woman, her brilliant red hair cascading down her back like she just stepped out of a salon. “I heard you were back, but I hoped it was just a nasty rumor.”
“Don’t start, Mimi,” Glory growls, her hand tightening on my arm. “If you can’t say anything nice…”
“Stuff my mouth with an alpha cock? Sorry, Glory, but I think you’re lacking in that department.” She smirks at her crude joke, while Glory makes a disgusted sound. “I do have a question, though.” She shakes back her hair and gives me a scathing glance. “Hasn’t the club already exceeded its quota for broken-ass omegas?”
“Mamma mia, Mimi! Do youhaveto be so unpleasant?”
I can feel Glory’s anger like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and the kid in me wants to scuttle for cover, but the smug look on the other omega’s face reminds me that those days are long past. Mimi might have intimidated me when I was seventeen, but like I keep telling everyone, I’m not that helpless kid anymore. “Ah, you can’t blame her, Glory,” I reply with false sympathy. “If I had to take Jackpot's slimy knot on the regular, I’d be a sour-faced bitch, too.”
Glory hiccups a startled laugh, but Mimi lunges towards me, hands curled into claws like she plans to rip my hair out by the root. I block her easily, thrusting her back so she teeters on her heels and almost drops on her ass. The rage in her face makes me grin, especially when she starts to back up. “You’ll fucking keep,” she mutters.
“Sure!” I call to her retreating back. “Any time you want your skinny ass handed to you, Omega, come look me up.”
She shoots a venomous look over her shoulder, and I shrug at the surprise on Glory’s face. “Good lord, Abbie! I feel like I should wash your mouth out for that one, but I enjoyed seeing her scuttle off far too much.”
“Always happy to help out,” I tell her. “But maybe I’ll go check on my bike, just in case she decides to get there first.” I can easily imagine her putting one of those spiky heels to evil use, and I’m still raw about the damage my poor queen has already taken. “Can you point me in the direction of Cruise?”
“He’ll be at the workshop,” she tells me, “but let me swap out with Patch. We don’t like to leave Lyla on her own too much.”
I nod, but touch her arm as she turns to the door. “Glory, she’s really lucky to have you.”
Her eyes grow misty as she glances at the butterfly on my throat. “I hope you find the same happiness, honey. You deserve every bit of it.”
I force a smile, but there are too many thoughts tangled in my head for me to agree with her. I’ve been in the compound for less than an hour and I’m already starting to question my own assumptions. Like why is Patch so defensive of Ark, even though they were both responsible for kicking me out? And what did Glory mean by Ark sending Wings to check up on me after they supposedly tracked me down? We reconnected in my localgrocery store, for god’s sake. Despite my shock at bumping into him out of the blue, he never suggested it was anything but random luck. And what’s this about the club having an omega refuge pipeline? As far as I’m aware, the club’s business is in private security contracts, custom bikes, and a few other local businesses. The Flyers I remember were more likely to profit off trafficked and abused omegas than protect them.
Folding my arms over my chest, I drift across the gravel clearing towards the open doors of the gym. I can hear the heavy thuds of someone punishing a punching bag and I’m tempted to go in and join them. A nice, hard sparring session might jar this tight feeling out of my chest, and then I can grab my bike and put the whole club behind me…
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but it’s easy to spot the guy working the punching bag, since he’s the only person in the whole gym. He’s stripped down to faded jeans and boots, which is kind of weird for a workout, but my gaze slides over the heavy muscles of his back, appreciating the view. He’s a picture of raw power, every punch he levels at the bag making it shudder on its chain. I take another step forward, wondering why someone isn’t spotting for him. He pauses, the bag swinging wildly, and as my foot scrapes against the concrete floor, his head snaps around.
He peers at me through a tangle of dark hair and my heart nearly stops in my chest.
My alpha.
It’s such a ridiculous thought, but I feel his gaze like it’s just hooked deep in my soul.
Goosebumps prickle my skin as I stare back at him, entranced. Like most alphas, he’s big, with broad shoulders and thick-knuckled hands. But he’s also tightly muscled, with not an inch of fat on his frame. His face is almost painfully lean, with deep hollows beneath his cheekbones and a sharp chin covered in scruff. Combined with his midnight black eyes and the dark hair brushing his shoulders, he has a wolfish look that makes me pause. Or maybe that’s the silvery scar running from his left brow down to his ear… or the tiny knots of damaged tissue peppered on his chest and shoulders…
Who hurt you, Alpha?
Despite my greedy stare, he doesn’t say anything, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine.What is he thinking?And who the hellishe, for that matter?Because there’s no way I’ve forgotten a guy who looks like him, even if it has been five years.
“Hi.” I start forward, feeling a faint whisper of embarrassment at the wobble in my voice. “Um, I’m Abbie…”
He drags in a harsh breath, but before I can say another word, he turns on his heel and strides towards a side exit.
My heart thuds, my muscles instinctively tightening in protest.
He can’t possibly be running away from me, can he?
Something deep inside me shudders at the thought, and there’s no stopping my feet as I hurry to follow him.
“Stay away!” I’ve barely taken a half dozen steps when his alpha authority cracks over me, rooting me to the spot. I’ve been commanded before, but this is like being hit by a barbed-wire whip, and I cry out as my muscles seize in shock. As he turns to stare at me, I can barely draw a breath, but there’s no missing the acrid scent in the air.Hisscent, I realize, a honey and amberblend that would be as delicious as maple syrup if it wasn’t dosed with pure, alpha rejection.
He doesn’t want me.
