Chapter 18 Something is Seriously Wrong

I’m going out of my mind. Haven said she might be hard to get a hold of when she went home. She warned us that her phone is not really private, and neither is her email and laptop. Her father checks them regularly in the name of ‘safety’, but I’m sure there’s another reason.

Something a bit more controlling.

We’ve texted. We’ve called. We’ve emailed.

Every attempt to talk to our sweet omega is met with silence.

Okay, no big deal. She warned us that might happen but that she’d be at her father’s side at every one of his press meetings, or campaign rallies. She told us that would be the place to see her. She promised to see us the day after she left our house.

Only… she hasn’t been at any event her father has attended for the last week. When a reporter asked about her whereabouts, Frederick Bell smiled charmingly and said she’s come down with a bug, likely the stomach flu, and was at home recovering.

That was almost a week and a half ago.

And still no Haven.

Something is seriously wrong.

“Maybe he found out,” Jude says, sounding worried, drawing my attention away from the chemistry set in front of me. He must be really worried if he’s bothering me while I’m cooking. All of my pack mates know not to do that. When I’m, shall we say, enhancing our product, I like to be left alone to concentrate.

If I’m honest, I came down here to shut my mind off from the worry over Haven, but it hasn’t really worked. I’ve already fucked up one batch and had to start over. Nothing like making a twenty thousand dollar mistake.

“Found out what?”

“What we’re doing. Who we really are. Maybe he told her, and she’s ignoring us of her own volition. What if she hates us, Tic?”

The question makes my heart thud out of rhythm. A stutter that has my hand moving to my chest. What if she does hate us? When did that become one of the worst things that could happen to us? We went into this knowing Haven Bell was going to suffer at our hands, knowing any warm or soft feelings she had for us would harden into something much colder, icy. We knew she would hate us at the end of this.

Now, I can’t stomach the fucking idea.

I swallow thickly and offer him false hope. “That’s not what happened, Jude. No one knows who we were. They only see who we are. And besides, it’s not exactly as if he knew who Janie was, that she had a pack or anything. There’s no way.”

He nods. “You’re right.” Then he shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “I would almost rather that was the case, though, you know? At least then we’d know she’s safe, just pissed.”

I shift and turn my attention back to the mixture in front of me. “I’d prefer that as well,” I murmur, adjusting the flame under my beaker.

“There’s gotta be something we can do.” Jude runs a hand through his hair in aggravation. “Not knowing is driving me crazy.”

“ You’re driving me crazy,” I mutter, and his mouth snaps shut. Guilt hits, but I push it aside. He knows I come down here when I need to clear my mind, knows I need complete fucking concentration. Otherwise I make mistakes and our pack pays the price, literally.

Hurt flickers over my pack mate’s face, but he pushes away from the table he was leaning on. “Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re just the only one that seems sort of rational about this. I thought maybe we could come up with a plan or something. But I’ll go.”

I know what he means. Creed has been an absolute bear since the moment Haven left. Well, before we realized there was something more to worry about. He’s been a growly, surly motherfucker and it’s only gotten worse over the last week.

Hale is on the other side of the spectrum, pretending like everything is fine and still going exactly to plan. Nevermind that we haven’t seen our ‘mark’ for almost two weeks.

He’s pretending that there’s still a plan in place, when we all know that’s not the case. I’m pretty sure we’d all give our right testicle in order to keep Haven from feeling the betrayal of our actions, to keep her from hurting.

But Hale isn’t ready to admit that yet.

“Jude,” I call out just as he reaches the door to my lab. He pauses but doesn’t turn around. “She’s…. I’m sure she’s fine. And even if she knows, she’ll forgive us. Once we explain why, she’ll understand.”

I mean it to be a comfort, but he just barks out a laugh. That same one he did earlier, lacking any mirth or humor. “Yeah, maybe. But she’d have to talk to us first.”

He slips out the door as my stomach clenches uncomfortably. Haven will need to talk to us, or at the very least, listen . If she knows what we’ve done, will she give us the chance? Probably not.

Which leaves me with the sinking realization that we might have just lost a second omega.

My fists clench. No. No. I refuse. Absolutely fucking refuse to believe that.

Resolve hardens in my chest. I’m going to find a way to talk to Haven, to figure out what’s going on. This is not how things between us end.

It takes me an hour, but I track down the production company Florence Karlin works for. I had nothing to go on other than that she’s a ballerina. So given that an hour was actually pretty fast.

I park outside the building where the rehearsals are held. Not the theater until dress rehearsals, a very helpful older woman over the phone informed me. She also informed me that rehearsal ends at six, unless the director and choreographer feel any of the dancers need another run through, or extra work. Then they can end up staying late into the night.

It takes everything in me to not storm inside and yank Florence out to demand she talk to me.

I want answers though, want to know if Haven is okay, and if I want her best friend to talk to me, I need to play this right. Demanding isn’t right. From my very limited interaction with Florence, I know that will make her shut down, push back, refuse to answer. Asking, begging, pleading for any scrap of information is going to be the right way. With any luck, she’ll see my sincerity and fold like a blanket.

While I wait, I try texting Haven again.

Me:

Hey, angel. Checking in.

Wondering if you’re ready to talk yet.

We’re getting pretty worried over here.

I watch as the messages send and then get marked as read immediately. “Come on, angel,” I whisper. “Say something.”

I wait with my heart in my throat, thunder in my ears, hoping against hope that this is the time she’ll type something back. But there’s nothing. No response. Not even the three dots pop up.

Just silence.

Like there has been every time we’ve texted.

The door at the front of the building opens and a stream of people wearing sweats or leggings and oversized sweaters emerge. The women all have their hair in tight braids or buns and all of them carry themselves gracefully, like it’s second nature to do it. I shut off the screen of my phone and tuck it into my pocket as I step out from my car, scanning the faces of the dancers as they pass by.

Some of them give me curious or appreciative looks, but most of them ignore me, too busy chatting amongst themselves to pay me any attention. My brow furrows and frustration grows as twenty people pass by me, but not one of them is the girl I’m looking for.

Fuck. Maybe she didn’t come to rehearsal today. Can dancers do that? I have no fucking clue. But If she’s not here, I’m not giving up.

Jude can find her home address for me. I didn’t ask him for help with tracking Florence down earlier, because I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I wanted to approach her alone, and not ambush her and her family at their house, but I’ll fucking do it. For Haven I’ll do anything.

Just as I pull my phone out of my pocket, the door bursts open, and Florence stomps out. She looks absolutely pissed, arms crossed over her chest, brow pulled low and muttering an impressive string of curses about a man named Giles.

She pulls up short when she spots me, though. Her angry furrow turns into a worried one as she drops her arms to her side and hurries toward me. “Atticus? Why are you here? Is Haven okay?”

Her obvious worry for her friend both soothes and makes me even more anxious. Soothing because if Ren is asking me that, Haven doesn’t know what we’ve done, what we’re technically still doing. But anxious because Florence’s first instinct is to worry about Haven’s safety.

I watch her approach. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that.”

She tilts her head as she comes to a stop in front of me, confusion plain on her face. “Hasn’t she been texting you?”

“Has she been texting you?” I ask back.

The omega makes a frustrated noise and rolls her eyes. “Yes, she’s been texting me every day like normal.” Then she looks at me again. “Are you saying you haven’t been texting her?”

I shake my head. “We have, every day, multiple times, but… she’s not responding.”

“She’s not?” Florence says the confusion deepening on her face. “Then why would she tell me… Oh my god.” All the color drains from her face and she sways slightly. I curl my hand around her upper arm to hold her steady as her fingers flutter up to her forehead.

“Oh my god, what, Florence?” I grit out, resisting the urge to shake her. Begging, pleading, not forcing , I remind myself.

I glance around and spot a cafe just down the street. Florence allows me to guide her into the warm space and to a table, where she plops down bonelessly. I crouch in front of her, meeting her eyes, hating the worry I see there. “What do you want, Flo?” I ask. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Hot chocolate,” she whispers. “With cinnamon. Extra whip.”

I squeeze her knee. “Anything else? Something to eat?”

Her eyes flick up to the pastry case and then back to me. Mutely she shakes her head.

I squeeze again and push to my feet, heading to place an order as Florence scrambles into her bag and pulls out her phone. I watch as she jabs at the screen and then lifts it to her ear. She’s calling Haven. I can tell. I want to hover behind her and listen in on the conversation, but I force myself to stay where I am in line.

The omega is still whispering into the phone by the time I get back to the table. “I’m telling them,” she says stubbornly. “He can’t do this to you.”

I linger just behind her, straining to hear over the espresso machine and chatter of the other patrons. “No, Haven. No. I love you. So fucking much, so I’m going to do this for you. You can’t tell them, but I fucking can. You’ll forgive me, eventually.”

Florence hangs up and slams her cell onto the table, before her back curves and she slumps over to press her forehead into her palms. I watch as a deep breath makes her shoulders rise and fall. Her faint hibiscus and citrus scent is burnt, acrid.

This is bad.

Whatever she’s going to tell me is bad.

But I need to fucking know.

I round the table and take the chair opposite her. She stays as she is for a long moment, not saying anything. I don’t push. She’s already going to tell me. She declared it to Haven, so I just wait.

“Frederick Bell is a controlling asshole,” she finally mutters. “He’s always been that way. Always. Ever since Haven can remember he’s been… he’s been…” She trails off, lifts her head to meet my gaze with her multicolored eyes. “He’s been barking at her since she was a kid, Tic,” she whispers.

My body lurches at that, but I quickly stifle the reaction. I know some alphas abuse the power of their bark. They use it to get what they want from whoever they deem weaker than them. I’ve done it myself to betas I need answers from, or to get a better deal on my product.

But I can’t fathom repeatedly using my bark on a child, let alone my own flesh and blood.

Florence looks away from me, shaking her head. “Everything the public sees about Haven is a lie, a carefully crafted one held together by her father’s dominance. He’s turned her into his puppet.” Another lurch in my chest. Hadn’t Creed warned us that this might be the case? Hadn’t he seen it well before any of us? One conversation with her and he’d known. “She has no free will, makes none of her own choices. It’s been that way for as long as I’ve known her. The only time she’s really defied him was to be my friend. She’s stubborn when she really wants to be. Brilliant about working around the commands he gives her. He eventually realized that I wasn’t a threat to his control over her, to his way of life, so he tolerates me.”

I should say something, but I can’t speak through the horror of what I’m learning.

“But you,” Florence looks back at me, that furrow back between her brows. “And your pack? That’s something he will not tolerate. Not now that he knows.”

“He knows?” my mouth goes dry and I feel a surge of bile churn in my stomach. Fuck. Was Jude right? Does he know who we are, what we’re doing? Did he tell Haven? But no. No. If Haven knew, Florence wouldn’t be sitting here across from me, telling me her best friend’s secrets.

I open my mouth to ask, to clarify what Frederick Bell knows, but at that moment the server approaches with our drinks and the selection of pastries I bought because it seemed like the right thing to do. Feed the omega. Even if she’s not my omega.

We eye each other intently as the server places our order on the table, silence lingering until the server murmurs a departing comment. Florence wraps her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, shoulder hunching down, like she’s cold.

I lick my lips. “What does he know exactly?”

She looks up at me, then back at the mound of whipped cream in front of her. “When she went home, he was waiting for her. He demanded to know where she was, because he knew she wasn’t with me. Where she was supposed to be. She didn’t want to answer, tried to work around the command he gave her, but eventually… well, eventually she had to give in. She told him she was with you, a pack, at your pack house, and that you’re courting her. And then he…” She swallows thickly and scrunches her nose as she shakes her head. “He barked at her to not contact you, to not communicate with you via talk or text or email. I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that, but she wasn’t completely forthcoming with everything he’s told her to do.” Her brow wrinkles again. “She never has been. I just know it’s bad, Tic. Really bad.”

“Why haven’t you done anything about it?” Florence looks up at me, fear in her eyes that I can’t even blame her for. My voice came out far darker than I’d intended it to.

She takes a shuddering breath and lets it out as her eyes harden, her chin firms up, and she pins me with a glare sharp enough to cut. “You think I haven’t tried? Really? I have. I’ve supported her in every way I can, which, if I’m honest, is frustratingly little.”

She leans closer to me over the table, kaleidoscope eyes spewing venom. “I’m an omega , Tic. And a poor one at that. I don’t have endless funds to whisk her away to safety. I can’t bark back at him and make him stop. I am basically powerless to help my best friend in the entire fucking world. And the worst part is…” she chokes, and tears fill her eyes as she looks away from me, blinking rapidly, like she doesn’t want me to see them.

“What’s the worst part, Flo?” I ask gently. Because everything she’s said is right. Florence isn’t going to be the one who can save Haven from her father. I am. We are.

Her chin wobbles. A deep breath and she looks back at me. “There are groups that help omegas like Haven escape their shitty situations, ones that have the resources to save her. I’ve tried to get her to go to them, to ask them for help. But…” her eyes drop back to the table. “In order to do that, they’d basically set her up with a new life. Frederick Bell, being who he is, he wouldn’t just let them take her from him. He’d hunt her down. It’s the only way she’d be safe. New name, new life, new everything.”

Realization dawns on me, on why this is the worst thing. “She won’t leave you behind.”

A tear slips down Florence’s cheek as she shakes her head. “She won’t. I have a family here. My mother and a little sister. I couldn’t just disappear on them to go with her.” She swipes at the moisture on her face. “She’s so fucking stubborn in her love that she just won’t save herself.”

I sit with that for a moment, letting it sink in. That is the kind of person Haven is. She loves her best friend so hard she’s willing to live in hell, a puppet to an overbearing alpha, no choices of her own, except to love Florence.

This is the omega we’ve targeted in our revenge. Someone who has already had everything taken from her.

I refuse to take anything else.

“She’s broken, Tic. He broke her. Has been breaking her since before she presented as an omega. If you can get her away from him, remember that. She needs time to heal.”

I reach across the table and lay my hand over Flo’s, giving her frigid fingers a quick squeeze. “We’ll get her out. We’ll help keep her safe.”

Her face crumples with emotions, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Florence is a pretty crier, but I still hate seeing it. So I’m up and out of the chair, kneeling in front of her, tugging her into my arms for a tight hug. She stiffens for a moment, then sags against me with a sigh.

The hug isn’t like how it is when I hug Haven. This feels an awful like how I imagine hugging a sister would feel. Warm with affection, but none of the lust. Which is… strange considering I’m an alpha, and she’s an omega, but then… not every alpha and omega are compatible. Beyond that, I’m so fucking tangled up in Haven that there isn’t room for anything else.

She wipes her nose and tears on my shirt and leans back, multi-colored eyes red rimmed and puffy. Her cheeks are flushed, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s embarrassed or just from crying. She licks her lips and clears her throat. “Sorry. I just… It’s such a relief. I want her to be safe. To be away from him for good.”

I nod and swipe my thumb over her cheek. “We’ll do that. I promise, Flo. We’ll take care of her.”

I mean it. I really do. Haven doesn’t deserve what her father is doing to her. No one does. I just hope my pack mates don’t make a fucking liar out of me.

She gives me a smile and leans back, gaze flicking around the cafe, taking in the curious stares. “Get off your knees, Tic, or someone’s going to think you’re proposing to me.”

I smirk at her. “Not a chance, Flo. Not with how you’ve been blubbering like an idiot. They’re more likely to think I’m breaking up with you.”

A reluctant laugh falls from her mouth as I push to my feet and return to my chair. “You should call me Ren,” she says as I settle into the seat. Her nose wrinkles. “I hate Florence. And Flo just reminds me of a period.”

I blink at her, not getting what she means. She tilts her head. “You know, like ‘my Aunt Flo is coming to town’. Beta females say that when they’re on their periods.” It takes a moment, but I get it. My cheeks flush a bright red and Ren bursts out laughing, a dramatic change from how she was just crying. She points at my face and chuckles again. “Oh my god, that’s cute. I’m going to delight in telling Haven how uncomfortable you get while discussing periods.”

I grin right back at her, liking that she’s back to joking, though there’s still that underlying tinge of sadness. She takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Whipped cream dots the tip of her nose when she sets her cup back down.

Her brow furrows again, face growing serious. “I want to help. Whatever way I can. I want to help you get her away from him. I’ll tell you everything I can. Whatever you need.”

I nod and pick up my Americano, sipping it even though I don’t need the caffeine. Or maybe I do. I have a feeling we have a long night of planning ahead of us.