3. Jag Finds The Books

3

JAG FINDS THE BOOKS

Jag saw the omega yanking futilely on his trash can.

That had been two days ago.

The trash can sat forgotten at the side of his house now, its lid slightly lifted because it was packed so full. He was going to miss the collection soon—Jag could hear the faint rumble of the truck nearby.

With a shrug, he headed next door, parking himself on the porch after he’d pressed the bell.

For a long while, no sound came from within the house. Then something flickered in the peephole, and someone made a muffled sound.

But Niall didn’t answer the door. Jag raised an eyebrow; it had been the same thing two weeks ago, when he’d tried to introduce himself.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that he should’ve tried another method. Troy had given him the rundown on Niall’s history: kidnapped for several years, tortured during that time. He’d been safe for a few years now, but even so, trauma was difficult to recover from.

None of that should’ve happened to an omega.

Anger surged through Jag, making his hands itch. He forced himself to relax. He didn’t need to show a nervous omega his fury, especially when Niall had done nothing wrong.

When an idea flashed through his mind, he said, “I’ll be right back,” just in case Niall was still behind the door.

He jogged back to his house and grabbed a sheet of paper. On it, he wrote:

Hello, my name is Jag Gardner. I’m your new neighbor next door. Would you like some help dragging your trash can to the street?

He folded it up and jogged back, tucking the note into the double-flapped mail slot in the front door.

Was Niall going to reply? Or was he going to ignore Jag like he had before?

Jag waited, noting the cracked paint on the front door, the loose floorboards on the porch, the dirt-stained window trims.

A minute later, a folded sheet of paper shoved back out through the mail slot. Jag waited until it had stopped moving, before gently retrieving it.

The first thing he noticed was the scent.

Held at a comfortable letter-reading distance, the paper smelled like it had been thoroughly doused with vanilla essence. But it was dry and unstained, and...

Come to think of it, the Ingles’ house had smelled faintly like vanilla this entire time. Even from the sidewalk.

It was odd. Did they do a lot of baking?

He unfolded the paper and found a Yes in unsteady writing, like Niall couldn’t quite control his hands. And squashed at the bottom, like an afterthought, were the words Thank you.

“Alright,” Jag said. “I’ll get the trash can. The truck’s coming around soon.”

He was about to return the note to Niall, when he remembered something.

Here’s my number, he wrote. Call or text if you ever need help.

He pushed the note halfway through the mail slot, and strode to the side of Niall’s house.

The vanilla scent was stronger next to the trash can. Had someone spilled vanilla essence in there?

Jag tipped it onto its wheels and pulled it down the driveway, cursing when one of the wheels bounced over uneven concrete.

The trash can wobbled dangerously. Jag caught it before it rolled over, except the momentum sent three books spilling onto the street.

First things first. He parked the trash can next to the sidewalk. Then he went back for the books.

The paperbacks seemed to be brand new, all with a splash of vanilla scent. On each book, the corners and page edges had been mangled, as though they’d lost a fight against a paper-cutting machine.

The thing was, none of the books had cracked spines. The machine damage was unsightly, but it hadn’t ruined the printed text.

Had Niall thrown out the books without even reading them?

Jag felt a smidge indignant. He looked more closely at the books; each one had a broad-shouldered alpha on its cover—two in suits, one in a lumberjack shirt—and they’d all been written by the same author.

Llain Hardcox.

Jag hadn’t meant to read the titles. But the moment he saw one, he couldn’t help reading the next.

Stuffed by the Billionaire Alpha.

The Billionaire’s Big Knot.

The Lumberjack’s Knotted Wood.

A sheet of paper was tucked into the pages of The Billionaire’s Big Knot.

Before Jag could get a good look at it, the front door slammed open.

A small omega stood in the doorway, his eyes wide, his brown hair mussed. He was frightfully thin, with narrow shoulders and red lips, and he seemed to be in his early twenties. His chest heaved against his shirt. “No,” he yelped.

“No...?”

“I need those books back.” Niall stumbled down the porch steps, his face pale.

Except a sudden breeze caught the sheet of paper and tugged it out of the book, sending it fluttering down the street.

Niall was too far away to make a grab for it. It was going to fly across the road, and into the path of any oncoming traffic.

So Jag did the only thing that made sense. He went after it himself.

He caught it easily in a few steps. The bold black words snagged his attention, though.

Wanted: An alpha to help me move a toy back and forth. Repeatedly.

He scanned the rest of the sparse text. It didn’t take more than a few seconds.

Behind, Niall made a strangled, choking sound.

“That’s not mine,” he yelped.

The next moment, a small figure darted in front of Jag and snatched the ad out of his hand.

Used to watching for danger amidst several bloodthirsty alphas, Jag couldn’t help but notice the way Niall moved.

Niall held onto the ad with both his hands—or rather, his wrists. He clutched it awkwardly in front of himself, twisting his curved, bony hands against each other as though he was trying to crumple up the note and make it disappear by sheer force of will.

There was something wrong with his hands, Jag realized. Niall’s fingers didn’t budge from their squashed, curved shapes. He moved as though he was completely ignoring the existence of his fingers.

And suddenly Jag understood the reason for that ad.

Niall turned away the moment he noticed Jag staring, his face flushing tomato-red. “Um, thanks,” he blurted, unable to look Jag in the eye.

He was small, a head shorter than Jag, and so delicate. Silvery scars spanned his neck and dived under his bulky hoodie. More scars covered the wrinkled skin of his hands.

All Jag could smell was vanilla; it was almost overpowering.

And he was willing to bet that Niall’s scars, his deformed hands, his unusual scent... They all had something to do with his kidnapping.

Anger and protectiveness surged through him.

How was Niall still standing? Where had he found the bravery to face down Jag, an alpha he’d never met before, when alphas were very likely the ones who had inflicted all that suffering on him?

Jag set the books on the sidewalk, before holding his hands up and backing away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Niall blinked. And he looked so young, so surprised, that Jag had to swallow his anger all over again. “Oh.”

“I’m going to go back to what I was doing,” Jag said, jerking his thumb at his own house. “If you need help with anything, just let me know.”

Niall nodded silently. When a car drove by, he jumped and looked around, as though he was only now remembering where he was. His expression pinched. He gathered his books and dropped them multiple times, his face scrunching further with every try.

“Hey,” Jag murmured, crouching without moving closer. “Let me pick those up for you. I’ll walk you to your door.”

Niall’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. But he nodded jerkily, and Jag slowly came closer, scooping the books off the sidewalk.

“You didn’t read these?” Jag asked. “They seem new.”

Niall lifted one shoulder. “I’ve read them before.”

Maybe he’d gotten the paperbacks as a keepsake. “This must’ve sucked, having your books destroyed like that.”

Niall froze, his gaze darting to Jag in shock. Had Jag said something wrong?

Niall studied him for a long moment. Eventually, he said, “I’m getting replacements, it’s okay.”

“Alright.” Jag walked with him, keeping an arm’s length between them in case it helped Niall feel safer. He went all the way to the open front door and held the books out.

Niall dropped his ad just inside the door and kicked it out of sight.

“You know,” Jag said quietly. “If you need any kind of help, all you have to do is ask.”

Niall’s face turned red again. He was kind of adorable, actually, in a way that Jag didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Um,” Niall said. He glanced at something inside the house, then bit his lip. “I—I broke my shower.”

“Want me to take a look at it?”

Jag hadn’t thought it was possible for Niall’s blush to intensify.

“Um, if you want.” Niall fidgeted, looking at his feet. “It’s just—the tiles came off.”

“That should be a quick fix,” Jag said. “Just an hour at most.”

“Oh. If—If you want to look at it...” Niall retreated into the house, watching Jag from the corner of his eye.

“Would you like me to close the door?”

Niall hesitated and nodded. When Jag shut the door, he found three heavy-duty deadbolts on the back of it, each with large round knobs that had been added after the installation.

“You don’t have to lock them all,” Niall said.

“Alright. I’ll lock just one.” Jag set the ruined paperbacks on the floor next to the wall, and followed Niall through the small living room.

When Niall paused next to the hallway bathroom, he turned, his face pinched.

Why would some missing tiles cause that much embarrassment?

His curiosity growing, Jag stepped into the bathroom.