30. Resa

Chapter 30

Resa

I 'm sitting at the kitchen island, two pancakes with lemon and sugar on my plate, courtesy of Lex, and I can't stop looking at Garrison's hands.

He had them on me.

In me.

It felt good. Really good.

Then I woke up.

The only problem with having a dream like that was it happened while I was cuddling up to his coat in an armchair opposite him.

And he was there.

In my dream, I was moaning.

But what if I wasn't just doing it in my dream?

Vaughn was crouched in front of me when I woke up, wanting to carry me to bed. No sign of Garrison, and I hadn't felt rested enough to have slept for too long.

What if he had been there? Worse, what if he had heard me moan and slipped away so he wouldn't have to listen to me?

I almost lower my head to the table at the thought. It would be less embarrassing if I'd rolled off the armchair and into the fireplace instead. I'd have been crispy around the edges, but still…

"Resa?"

My fork slips out of my hand and clatters off the plate, the table and finally the floor as I whip my head up from Garrison's hands.

Lex is frowning at me, concerned.

"What?" I ask.

Garrison lifts his head from his newspaper. I immediately look away.

"You're not eating your pancakes. Did I fuck it up? I can do waffles if you want?" Lex offers.

I heard every single word, yet it's taking me far longer than it should to process them. "What did you say?" I repeat.

"Waffles or pancakes?"

My eyes dart to the dining table. "I…"

Garrison is on his feet, walking toward me.

Why? What is he doing? Did I slip into a dream, because he looks like he's on a mission. Just like my dream. I forget everything I was about to say. I'm too busy having a flashback to Garrison dropping to his knees in front of me, a dark smile curling his lips as he slid my dress up, lowered his head and?—

"I'll get that," Garrison says, and he crouches.

Right in front of me.

Just like in my dream.

In a panic, I tip back, and my bar stool topples. Garrison's hands snap out. He grabs the chair with one hand and my right ankle with the other, stopping me from cracking my head open on the kitchen floor.

My face is hot as he returns all four legs of my stool to the floor.

His voice is husky and his hazel eyes are concerned as he rises from his crouch. "Are you okay, Resa?"

No. I am not okay. My panties are wet because I had a stupid, insanely hot sex dream of you that I now cannot get out of my head.

"Fine, thanks," I say instead.

"You look flushed," he says, not moving away. "Can I get you something?"

For a split second, I'm almost positive he knows exactly what sort of dream I had and would like nothing more than to make it a reality.

"Uh…"

Vaughn, thankfully , isn't here. He'd probably have something to say about my red face, and it feels red. All hot, like I haven't stopped blushing. He stuck his head in the computer room early this morning, saying he had to go to Ever Safe for a bit but would be back for breakfast. That was an hour ago, and I thought he would be back by now.

As if I'd summoned him, the front door creaks open and slams shut. He bellows, "Honey, I'm home."

I wait for him to appear before I ask him if I'm the honey. He walks into the kitchen, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. He's surprisingly calm, considering it's not a small amount of blood.

"What happened?" Garrison orders, turning away from me.

"Someone took a pot shot at me when I was leaving Ever Safe," Vaughn says as he walks to the kitchen and grabs the white dish cloth hanging from the oven door.

The kitchen island is granite, but I bet if Garrison were to headbutt it, the counter, and not his head, would be the thing that cracked. His expression is thunderous. "Someone shot at you?" he growls.

I abort my mission to slip my knife out of my pocket. This is not a stabbing situation. This is Garrison worried about Vaughn.

"Why would…" My voice trails off as the answer slams into me.

I know exactly why someone would take a potshot at Vaughn. Wasn't it only a few days ago that Vaughn saved my life in the alley opposite Ever Safe? What if someone tracked him down, figured out he got me away, and wanted to take him out?

"They know you helped me," I whisper. "Don't they?"

Vaughn leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen island. He says nothing for so long, I imagine he's cycling through responses that won't pin the blame on me.

"We don't know that," he eventually says.

"Did you see who it was?" Blaine bites out from his usual seat at the far end of the table, where no one can accidentally bump into him.

Vaughn shakes his head. "The door was slamming shut when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Don't know what it was, a reflection, metal glinting, something. I dropped. All I can say it's a good thing Rune, Cian, and Kylian didn't cheap out and went for bullet proof glass like we'd recommended."

No one speaks for several seconds.

Garrison grips Vaughn by both arms and squeezes. "And you're sure you're okay?"

Vaughn nods. "I dove out of the way and paid for not looking first when I head-butted a sign. Hence the blood. It looks worse than it is."

"Better a sign than a bullet. No more trips to Ever Safe for now. I'll speak to the staff down there, warn them about trouble. We can continue to screen applicants for the new sites from here," Garrison says.

"They know to be careful," Vaughn says. "John and Bee heard the commotion, and I figured the sooner I left, the sooner whoever took the potshot would leave, too. I called them when I got back here and they said it's been quiet ever since."

Garrison frowns. "I'd recommend closing it?—"

"But it's not necessary," Vaughn interrupts. "John and Bee know what happened. They'll warn everyone to stay alert, and we can't close the doors on Ever Safe when omegas need it."

I listen to their discussion, and I wait for someone to ask me who I ran from and who would want to shoot Vaughn. This was my fault, even if no one is blaming me for it. I said nothing and Vaughn nearly paid for it with his life.

"It's Nathaniel Lang," I say quietly.

All heads swivel my way. "When I escaped, I killed his son. Nathaniel had a security company working for him. Whoever shot at you was probably one of them. If they know Vaughn helped me, then they must know about you all."

Which means it isn't safe for me to stay here.

Blaine pushes his chair back from the table.

We all watch him walk out.

"Blaine?" Garrison calls after him.

"I'll be back," he responds.

He returns in under a minute carrying a sleek, small silver laptop that he places on the table, flips the lid open and looks at me. "What else can you tell me?"

"About Nathaniel Lang?" I ask.

"About anything we can use to protect you," he says with more determination than I'd expected.

Here I was thinking they were getting ready to throw me out.

"Staying with you means putting you at risk," I remind him.

"This is what we do," Garrison says.

I'm not going to lie, but a part of me, a bigger part than I like, would like nothing more than to keep quiet, meekly accept their help and say nothing more.

I can't do that.

Rupert deserved to die. I don't regret what I did, but the consequences of his death should fall fully on my head. Not Pack Lucas.

"I killed Nathaniel's son. His only child. He won't stop until he gets me. Even if it means going through you," I warn them.

"Nathaniel won't be going through us." Garrison's confidence is unparalleled. "I've heard of him. His son caused a scene at a party. Lost his job, I think. You said he has security? Do you know the company's name?"

Getting drunk at a party and causing a scene? That sounds like Rupert, all right.

I frown as I think. "Han… something." What little information I gleaned came from eavesdropping on the brief moments O'Brien and Nathaniel would talk outside my locked door. Those opportunities were few and far between.

"Hancock Security," Blaine says typing.

"If anything happens to me, you need?—"

"Nothing is happening to you, Resa." Vaughn hops on the counter with a wet dishcloth he uses to wipe the blood off his face. He was right about it looking worse than it was. There's a thin cut above his eyebrow that I don't think will leave much of a scar once it heals.

Garrison looks at Blaine. "Have you finished your research on the teacher?"

The teacher ? What teacher?

Blaine nods.

"Good." Garrison nods. "I'll arrange a meeting with Rune. For now, our priority is securing the house and ensuring they can't get to Resa."

"Secure the house?" I ask, remembering that keypad on the black iron gate.

"They won't get in," Garrison assures me. "Any attempt they make to take one step on our property, and we'll know about it."

I hope so.

"And Jerome Walker?" I ask. "What about him?"

"We'll find him," Garrison says.

"We could take them out," Vaughn casually suggests.

"That isn't what we do," Garrison says before Vaughn has finished speaking,

"But they?—"

" No ." Garrison's voice slices through Vaughn's. "We help people. There is a reason I named Lucas Security after the man who saved my life, and it is not to take people out."

Oh.

Now is not the time to be asking about this, but… "So that's where the name came from?"

Garrison meets my eye. "I had a next-door neighbor when I was growing up. I wouldn't be the man I am today without Detective Lucas Shaw. In fact, I would not be alive at all without him." He refocuses on Vaughn and his voice softens, as does his expression. "I know you mean well, and I know you want to keep Resa safe, but this isn't the way to do it."

"And if they hit the house?" Vaughn asks.

Garrison squeezes his shoulder. "We'll do what is necessary to defend ourselves. They'll soon learn the error of their ways." He focuses on Blaine. "Hancock Security. What do we know?"

"They closed their downtown office years ago and stopped taking on clients." Blaine's eyes flick from side to side as he scans his laptop monitor.

"If they were working exclusively for Nathaniel Lang, he must have been paying them big bucks," Vaughn says, looking at me. "Killing isn't easy."

"But sometimes, it has to be done," I say tightly. "Rupert needed to die."

None of them asks what Rupert did to deserve his fate, but they can probably guess.

"I have something," Blaine says, sounding distracted.

"What?"

"There's a rumor Rupert got himself tied up with a dead hooker. He caused a scene in a club and she started talking to reporters, teasing them that she knew something juicy and would spill if they paid for it."

Vaughn snorts. "And that right there is why we don't take cases from wealthy alphas."

I frown, confused. "Why? And how did she die?"

"Because they create a mess and expect someone else to clean it up for them," Garrison explains. "It sounds like Nathaniel didn't want the family name publicly tarnished by a blackmailer."

"Well, he made sure of it. Someone fished her body from the river. Cops said it was a drowning, but her friends suspected foul play." Blaine types for a couple of seconds then sits back in his seat and nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Vaughn whistles. "Nathaniel told Hancock Security to clean up his son's mess, and that's exactly what they did."

I absorb the implications of that, and I gulp.

That's me. A mess. It's O'Brien's job to clean up messes.

"Resa?" Concern softens Garrison's voice.

I blink myself back into the present to discover everyone is looking at me.

"You look like you're thinking hard," Vaughn says slowly.

"That's because I am."

"About?" he prompts.

"Being a mess that needs cleaning up." And how close I came to being one in the factory. If Nathaniel wasn't so greedy, O'Brien would have shot me in the head and dumped my body weeks ago.

I'm a thing of value to Nathaniel Lang. Or I was. I'm not sure if that changed after I shoved Rupert to his death.

"But not about leaving?" Garrison's question is quiet, but his stare is intense.

"I thought about leaving for a second," I admit.

"But?" he prompts me.

"I realized that is probably what they want." I swear the tension in the room drops until I look at Blaine. "You offered to teach me self-defense."

Then all the tension in the room ramps up again.

Eyes flick from me to Blaine and back again.

"You want to learn?" Blaine asks.

"I would like not to be a mess that needs cleaning up. If anyone is making a mess, I'd prefer it was me."

Vaughn snorts a laugh.

Blaine's expression doesn't change. He closes his laptop with a soft click and I start thinking maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all.

"I can teach you," he says so reluctantly that I know for sure he's regretting having offered in the first place.

Vaughn bounces his gaze from me to Blaine. "I've got some time free."

"For?" I ask him.

He tosses his bloody cloth in the sink. "I've always wanted to be a dummy."

We all stare at him.

"You heard me. I can be the guy who gets beaten up." He winks at me. "Just try not to make too much of a mess of me. What do you say?"