10. Resa

Chapter 10

Resa

" O n your knees, bitch."

I'm on my feet in under a second, searching for Rupert Lang to stick with my knife.

But I'm alone in a silvery-gray guest bedroom and Rupert is dead.

Also, the soles of my feet fucking burn.

I lean against the wall beside the door, taking some of the pressure off it as I reorient myself.

I fell asleep. That's a given.

As I rub the sleep from my eyes, the ugly purple-blue bruise on my shoulder is a painful, throbbing reminder of the last twenty-four hours.

My mind flashes back to shoving Rupert to his death from the factory, his head cracking open like a coconut. And Vaughn, a flirty beta, saved me from certain death in the bottom of an alley and brought me to a mansion where I came face to face with my scent matches.

They'd been outside in the hallway, their voices pitched low, but I'd known they were talking about me.

Why else would they move away from the door to continue their conversation?

Someone had knocked when I had my head between my knees, struggling to breathe.

They hadn't left, even though I hadn't answered that knock. Gasping for breath as tiny bright lights danced across my vision, I'd hobbled over to the bathroom, started up the shower and waited for whoever was knocking to get the message to stay the fuck outside.

And they had.

Eventually.

More surprisingly, the tightness in my chest had eased, and I'd sat with my back to the bed, my knife in hand, watching the door in case someone forced the lock. It's a miracle I didn't stab myself in the leg.

My feet still throb, though the pain isn't as bad as it was yesterday. When I lift one foot, then the other to check, there's only a little blood spotting my dressing.

The sound of muffled laughter draws my gaze to the door. It doesn't come from right outside, but farther away. Maybe even downstairs.

I hesitate for a beat. Conscious I can't stay in this room forever, I tighten my hold on the knife, unlock the door and open it, braced to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble.

Right outside my door are two white bags. Both with designer labels.

That's not the only thing out there.

There's a handsome blond beta sitting cross-legged as he juggles three palm-size, silver, spiked edge throwing stars.

Vaughn's hair is loose around his face, the damp ends brushing his shoulders, and he's dressed all in black. If my feet weren't killing me, I'd think I was dreaming this up.

I watch him for several seconds, struggling to believe what I'm seeing. "How are those not cutting your hands?"

I have a brief flash of tropical sea-storm eyes when he peers at me, but he keeps up his juggling. "Practice. That and I'm good with my hands."

Why do I think he's flirting with me?

"Juggling and shooting?"

"Among other things." His lip quirks in a half smile.

There it is again. More evidence of flirtatious behavior.

Instead of telling him to go away, I lean my head on the side of the door and watch him.

He never slows his act as he uncrosses his legs and pushes himself to his feet. "The clothes are for you. Sadie sent vitamins and painkillers as well. Breakfast is downstairs when you want it."

Sadie must have gotten up extra early to have it to me first thing.

Vaughn ambles down the hallway. I was sure I'd left bloody footprints in my wake, but there's no hint of blood at all, just bright white carpets a beta is juggling down.

"You're not going down the stairs like that, are you?" I call after him.

"Why not?"

I open my mouth. Then shut it again.

It should be obvious why juggling throwing stars downstairs is a bad idea.

Right?

Vaughn hums a song under his breath as he walks down the stairs. Still juggling.

I hesitate.

I have no desire to venture downstairs to a breakfast that's going to come with two alphas, but I am curious about this beta with a death wish.

Knife in hand, I trail after Vaughn, walking on my tiptoes to ease the worst of the throbbing pain in my feet. I lean over a matte black balustrade. It's a modern house. White walls, black accents with silver door handles. Expensive looking, if a touch cold and impersonal.

And there he is, still humming, head banging as he juggles those silver stars. One slip, one tumble, and he's at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck.

"Go on, you can say it." He risks certain death by flashing me a grin. "You wouldn't be the first."

"Say what?" I fold my arms on the dark wood as he continues his path down the stairs.

"I'm an idiot about two seconds away from breaking my neck."

"You look like you might know what you're doing." As mornings go, this is as unexpected as it is interesting. To my surprise, he reaches the bottom in one piece.

"Oh, and there's a cell phone in one of those bags. Our numbers are in it. We guessed at your size for the clothes, but if things don't fit, drop me a text and Lex can get something else."

"Lex?" He's practically underneath me now, and I have to lean a little over the balustrade to see him.

He peeks up at me and yelps when he nearly loses a star. Only fancy footwork saves his juggling act, and only biting my lip stops him from seeing my smile.

"Yep. You look beautiful, by the way. A beautiful woman with a knife in her hand will always be my weakness."

He winks at me before he disappears through a doorway directly below me.

What do I do now? Follow Vaughn down the stairs, go investigate the bags he left outside my room, or do the smart thing and leave this house full of alphas like I told myself I would last night?

A dark-haired man with a strong jaw, thin lips, and hazel eyes steps through the doorway beneath me. As if he knew exactly where I'd be standing, he looks up at me. He's in black pants and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms.

Garrison. My scent match.

I can't smell him from here, but I remember how intoxicating his cedar and leather scent was. I'd wanted to stretch toward him and drag that potent scent right into my soul. I'd ached to press my nose to his throat and spend hours and hours sucking it in.

It… disgusts me to know how badly I wanted him then, and how badly I want him now.

I shake with that same need now. But I tighten one hand on the knife hilt and the other on the balustrade and drive that stupid need out of my head.

He's an alpha, Resa. And all alphas need to be launched into the sun.

"Resa." Garrison nods a greeting, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

I don't nod back.

His dark presence is a bucket of icy water someone flung in my face. A visible, tangible reminder that I am in a house with alphas which is no place I would ever want to be.

Give me a flirty beta to dig shards of glass out of my feet.

I push off the balustrade and hobble back down the hallway.

I stop long enough to gather the bags outside my room and carry them inside, firmly closing, then locking the door behind me. A lock on the inside is new, and I intend to take full advantage of it until I decide on my next steps.

When I empty the bags out on the bed, I'm pretty sure I'm looking at thousands of dollars in designer clothing. There's the basics: a set of pink silky pajamas, blue jeans, a couple of tees, underwear, and a white linen dress. Everything is simple, tasteful, and well made. When I spot the labels, well-made would have to be a requirement to demand stupid prices like that.

I already discovered a bathroom stocked with shower stuff and a spare toothbrush and toothpaste. The extras in the bag: a hairbrush, moisturizer, and other high end beauty products top up what was missing.

Whoever guessed at my size did a scarily good job. When I think of the dark-haired alpha I left staring up at me, I can't help but wonder if he was the one doing the guessing.

Even the panties look the right size. I'm not sure if it's something that should impress me, or if I should climb out of the nearest window and take my chances on the streets.

As I'm puzzling out what I feel, I spot the cell phone Vaughn mentioned alongside two white medicine boxes. I open the prenatal vitamins, check no one has tampered with the packaging, and take one with a bottle of water I find in the bag. The painkillers go in the trash. I don't need anything that could interfere with my ability to protect myself.

With my baby's needs taken care of, I pick through everything else Vaughn brought.

The cell phone is so new it doesn't have Wi-Fi. I try to set it up, and it asks me if I want to mark this location as home.

Home?

"No, I do not," I mutter as I abandon setting up the internet to scroll through the contact list instead. I find six names and numbers.

Vaughn

Garrison

Blaine

Frost

Roman

Lex

The first three names I know. But who the hell are Frost, Roman, and Lex?

Family? Colleagues? Pack?

More questions tempt me downstairs to find out.

I told myself when I woke this morning, I'd leave as soon as possible. Now I'm no longer in pain, I perch on the edge of the bed and think through my options.

I did the impossible when I escaped Nathaniel Lang. I'd known I needed to get off the street, and no one would think to look for me in a fancy mansion.

Nathaniel Lang is out there and he thinks I shoved his son to his death. Mostly because I did. I don't remember my nightmares from last night, but I expect what I did will mean I have some terrifying ones to look forward to. Not as bad as the ones I've had before, but if any alpha needed to die, it was Rupert Lang. Any nightmare I have will be worth it.

Somehow, I've landed myself in the home of probably the best security firm in the city, if I can believe them. If I can get the internet to work, I'd like to do a bit of research of my own instead of taking a fancy-looking business card at face value. And I'm scent match to their alphas. Not the beta, Vaughn. Betas don't have scent matches the way alphas and omegas do.

But I like him.

Do I like him because he killed two men who were after me? Yes.

Do I also like him for giving me a knife, saving me time from having to steal one? Also yes.

I have limited choices here. Take my chances on the street, go home, or track down Everleigh who, now I have the benefit of sleep, might have something to do with the reason Pack Ashe named their free heat clinics Ever Safe.

We spoke briefly in the Asylum while she was battling her drug induced heat, and I was battling my rage.

My eyes linger on the cell phone.

I could call the cops and do things the right way. The official, go down to the nearest station and give a statement to the cops, way. Maybe someone might believe me.

But that wouldn't end things.

Nathaniel Lang will slip and slide his way out of trouble the way alphas always do. Maybe there'll even be a crooked cop he'll pay to deal with me so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty.

No.

I need to take what I know to the only person in the city who can change things. Dexter Pieter. Head of the Council. The most important person in the city.

Unless he's involved in this.

"But if he isn't?" I whisper. "He could change everything for omegas."

Decades ago, the Council formed the Omega Institute because people didn't believe omegas could look after themselves.

All claimed omegas and their alphas must sign the omega register, so the Institute knows which pack is responsible for an omega. They say it's a kindness, a way to protect omegas. I'm not convinced.

For four days, every three months, we are at the mercy of our need for an alpha's knot. We're also at our most fertile, and our pheromones can and will drive alphas wild. Omegas are rare, so the fact it took so long for me to get pregnant made me think I couldn't until I did. The Omega Institute answers to the Council, and the man who leads the Council could make real, lasting change. If Dexter Pieter wants the Omega Institute gone, he can force them to change, make it fair, or just get rid of it altogether. No one has the power he has.

I have to find him, and I can't do that sitting on my ass, staring into space.

Despite what a juggling beta with a cheeky wink said about me being beautiful, I'm not. Especially in the mornings. My cheeks are always tear stained, my eyes red, and face blotchy from dreams I mostly never remember.

I pick out a pair of blue jeans, white lace panties, sports bra, an oversized white linen shirt and I hobble over to the bathroom.

Every day I had one thought in my head: escape. I didn't know how I would do it, just that I would. Now it's time to work on what comes next.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I think.

I have a fiancé who doesn't know if I'm dead or alive, and parents who might wonder the same thing. But I can't go home. The people I love are my weaknesses, and Nathaniel Lang will be looking to exploit every one of them. So there's no returning to the life stolen from me.

Not yet.

Something matters more.

Change .

I don't know what Dexter Pieter looks like, where his office is, or if it's even possible to set up a meeting with a man like that.

My child is not growing up in a world where omegas can go to a heat clinic, a supposedly safe place, a sanctuary , and have their life snatched away like what happened to me.

No .

I mean to change the world.