21. Resa

Chapter 21

Resa

I 'm not an introvert. But brushing elbows and shoulders, inhaling scents, trying to stay alert for any hint of trouble for hours was a lot. Even with Garrison's periodic orders to sit down and rest.

We got back at eleven, and I dove straight into the shower, changed into a pair of gray sweats and a baggy white T-shirt before I crawled into bed, hugging my knife, like a psycho.

I needed to be alone until I heard the drums.

So, here I am, smothering a yawn as I hobble down the stairs.

Garrison and Blaine make sense.

Alphas and omegas are naturally drawn to each other. Biology is hard at work, pulling us together like an industrious spider weaving its web. A scent matched alpha and omega is the equivalent of chucking a grenade into a volcano just to see what happens. If I don't find Dexter Pieter and get out soon, biology will make me forget why I want nothing to do with alphas.

But Vaughn?

What is it about him that compels me to ignore the aching soles of my feet to investigate the beta who plays the drums like he should be on stage?

I linger like a bad smell at the door that I partially push open. I'm not sure I want him to know I'm here, but I secretly wish he would.

He's still in the same black outfit. The wall lights bounce off his cheekbones, bright blond hair, and the backs of his hands.

Hair loose, and with the top of his black shirt unbuttoned, he looks like he was getting ready for bed and at the last minute decided to come down here to drum instead.

"That you, bloodthirsty omega?" Vaughn calls out, though he never pauses his drumming.

He couldn't have known that I shoved Rupert to his death, just like he couldn't have known how many times I wished all alphas would spontaneously combust in a mass of blood and guts. If only he knew how fitting that nickname was.

I hesitate.

"We're friends, right?" He knows it is me hanging around and he makes it a challenge. A dare to enter the room.

I push the door the rest of the way open.

The second my feet hit the spongy black matting, I wish someone would cover Earth with the stuff because, for once, my feet don't hurt to walk.

"Come over here."

I hobble over and hesitate beside the drum kit. "What?"

Vaughn promptly pulls me into his lap.

"What are you doing?" I ask tightly, not sure where to put my hands.

"What does it look like?"

It's the middle of the night. I'm dressed for bed and I'm sitting in his lap. He doesn't want to know what I think it looks like.

"You said we were friends." And friends do not sit in each other's laps like this.

"We are," he assures me. "Friends care. You've been on your feet all day. I figure you need to rest."

"In your lap?" I raise my brow.

"It's the only place to sit." His expression is innocent. Too innocent.

I look at the padded office chair in front of the computer.

"Can't drum from over there." He offers me the sticks. "And you are here to drum."

Am I?

"You could stand up."

A slow smile stretches his lips, turning an already handsome man into a gorgeous one. "I could, but then I'd be missing out big time."

I'm fumbling for a response when Vaughn presses the sticks into my hands. "Here."

"I don't drum." I tell myself I should get up or ask him to get up. There's really no need for me to be sitting in his lap for this.

He clasps my hips and squeezes. It's so distracting I nearly drop the sticks. "Go for it."

His expression is patient, and he still has his large hands on me. Firm, but breakable.

I hit the drums. The vibrations work up my arms, and it's actually kind of fun. So I hit them again. Another one this time.

He doesn't make a sound, but his body is shaking. "Fuck me, you're terrible ."

"I've never done it before." Glaring into his grinning face, I move to get up.

"Not so fast." His hand tightens around my waist. "I was joking. You should've heard me the first time." He strokes his hands down my arms and I shiver. His fingers circle my wrists and his grip is still easily breakable as he lifts my hands back to the drums. "You can do it."

This is not friendly behavior.

I look at him. "You're trying to seduce me."

"I am trying to introduce you to a little something called fun. Ever heard of it?"

"Maybe." A long time ago. Before going to the wrong free heat clinic ruined my life.

"Well, there's plenty of it to be had with a couple of sticks in your hands." He manipulates the sticks in my hand, changing the position of my wrists. "You hold them like that. Go on."

When he takes his hands off me, a teeny tiny part of me wishes he hadn't. "How did you learn?"

"Practice. Needed something to take my mind off of Violet."

I smirk to hide the tiny pang of jealousy his words provoke. I guess I'm not the first girl he pulled into his lap and asked her to play the drums. "Old girlfriend dumped you?"

His brief smile is sad. "My twin. She died."

My smirk slips right off my face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to?—"

"Didn't know, did you?" He nods at the sticks in my hand. "You need a song in your head first. A simple one will do. Rhythm first, activate full head banger mode later."

He teases a smile from me. "How long did it take you to learn?"

"A day."

Yeah, fucking right.

"I don't believe you."

He looks horrified. "You think I'm going to tell you how many months it took me to learn? I'm taking that knowledge to my grave."

His eyes are sparkling, so he has to be feigning his horror. " Months ?"

"Did I say months? I meant hours. So many Garrison suggested we soundproofed the gym to save his bleeding ears." He grins at me and I return it. Easily. "Have at it. More important, have fun with it."

"And pretend you're not secretly laughing at me?" I raise a brow.

His smile is all dimples. "If you can."

Snorting, I try to ignore Vaughn as I pick a simple song.

It's fun.

"Not bad, bloodthirsty omega." Vaughn nods, looking proud. "I wasn't tempted to plug my ears even once."

I roll my eyes and push the sticks toward him. "Here."

"Who says the fun has to stop?" His voice is low as his eyes settle on my lips.

It's no longer fun. Now I'm conscious the heated look he's giving me is decidedly more than friendly, and I'm still sitting in his lap.

I get up.

He doesn't hold on to me. "It's late. I should go to bed."

He salutes me with one of the sticks he takes back from me. "You know where to find me if you want another round of fun. And if you want to learn for real, real, I can teach you a simple drum beat. It can feel like work until you learn coordination, but it's the best feeling when you realize those beats mean you know how to play six songs."

Honestly, that sounds like fun.

"Okay." I turn to leave.

"Good job today."

I stop, angling my head back. "I didn't do anything."

He's lightly drumming the cymbals so I don't have to raise my voice, neither does he. "The brunette in the white dress."

Oh. I guess he found out about me going rogue and giving their business a bad name.

"I don't know what you mean," I lie.

"Sure thing." He's smiling as he drums. "Good night."

I watch him for a little longer, that same pull making me resistant to go up to bed when it would be the smart thing for me, him, for everyone.

I remember why I'm here: to find Dexter Pieter, tell him about the predatory alphas in this city, and then I can go home.

Back to my parents and my fiancé.

Back to my life.

I go up to bed.

Long after I crawl back into bed and resume hugging my knife, my brain is still whirling as I think about the pride in Vaughn's voice when he said good job.

No one commented on what I did at the party. I thought the smiles and nods I got from Garrison, Roman, Frost, and Vaughn were a well done for not getting in the way or causing any problems.

I thought I had gotten away with causing a scene.

Now I think all those approving nods and smiles were because I didn't stand for the way that shallow bitch treated Blaine. And I can't help but feel a little proud of myself. It isn't often I've gone toe to toe with someone and won, but I'm glad I won this battle.

Unfortunately, I lose the battle with sleep.

I'd slept so well last night, I thought it would go the same way. Instead, I lie flat on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling and trying to shut my brain down.

Hours later, I get up.

For the first time in forever, I can go anywhere I want. I don't have a locked door keeping me in and only one room to pace anymore. My feet still hurt, but I could go down to the computer room and do more research on Dexter Pieter's assistant—whoever that is.

I can even root around in the refrigerator or see if they have any of the fancy apple juice that's become my new favorite thing. The tiny French canapés at the party were nice, but not nearly enough food.

I can literally do what I want.

Which is a strange feeling for a girl who has spent the last two years as a captive.