“I fink she’ll be alright,” I say, stroking a hand over her hair. “She’s a figh’er, she is.”
“Yeah,” a low chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, “she left Jasper with a pretty good parting gift.”
“Wot ’bout the other two?” I hedge. “Don’ tell me they got off scot-free.”
“They didn’t,” Maverick growls. “Let’s just say that my fists are…verywell acquainted with their faces.”
Good.
Something niggles at the back of my mind though. They…they both seem far more involved than they would be with a simple extraction. At least…more emotionally involved. Maverick’s never introduced his fists to anyone’s face. If anything, he lets his weapons do the talking. Beating someone…that takes a certain level of emotional involvement that he shouldn’t have with the omega in my arms.
The way Maverick’s eyes keep darting to look at us in the rear-view mirror. How Brennan looked at her when he carried her to the car, and the slight guilt in his eyes when he injected her with the FMS shot. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, because her smell was fucking amazing and I was reeling at the realization that Dove—the woman I’ve been in love with for the last year—is actually my true fucking scent match. We’ve rescued omegas before, but this? This is different.
Maverick’s eyes dart to her in the mirror again and—you’ve got to beshittingme.
“Oh, fuck no,” I groan, my head falling back. “Both of you?”
I don’t even need to elaborate. I can hear the wince in Brennan’s voice. “Um…yeah. I mean, yes for me. Mav?”
“Yeah.” He grunts, no apology in his voice.
I mean, I had my suspicions that I hoped to fuck I was wrong about when Ethan scented the sticky note she left me, but I never expected Brennan and Maverick to be a part of it.
Fuck.
“This is right bullshite, it is,” I mutter, my heart clenching. “I’m the only one who actually knows ’er—loves’er. You all gave me shite and called me a fuckin’ simp and now look at you.”
Maverick huffs. “We’re not going to try to take her away from you. She doesn’t even know us.”
“But if she wants to know us…” Brennan shrugs. “She isn’t a toy or a fucking…last piece of pie or something. You can’t call dibs. It’s up to her.”
Despite the way my heart feels like it’s about to be squeezed right out of my chest, I smirk. “Well then, jokes on you. Wren doesn't want a pack. We spent the last year fig’ring out exactly ‘ow to keep ‘em away.”
“She didn’t want to be forced into a pack her parents picked for her,” Brennan reminds me, brows raised. “Not only are we not one of those packs, we’re her true scent matches.”
I fucking wish he wouldn’t say that.
My hand strokes over her hair, and not for the first time, I grimace at the blood on her dress. My fingers itch to rip it off—to remove any semblance of another man on her—even if it is his blood from when she stabbed him.
Being an alpha is fuckingweird.
I move to wipe at the blood, and evenIgrimace at the fabric. Stiff and a bit scratchy. She must be absolutely miserable. One hand still on her hair, I fish my phone out of my pocket and search for…fuck, whatdoI search for?
“What are you doing?” Maverick frowns.
“This dress—it’s no good. She needs somefin’ elseto wear.”
“So you’re…shopping?” Brennan looks at me questioningly.
I roll my eyes. Fucking alphas.
“I don’ see a fuckin’ suitcase packed for ‘er, do you?” My thumb flies over the keyboard, typing “cosy omeha coothes”. Fuck. This is a pain to do one-handed. I backspace quickly, retyping “cosy omega clothes”.
The first thing that pops up is a full-on onesie, with a hood and coloring that makes it look like a panda. I click on the link, and it takes me to a store called “Nesting Co.”. Thank fuck that “Nest Luxe” store isn’t our only option. That’d be just more money in her parent’s pockets.
The onesie looks soft as fuck.
Add to cart.
