Chapter 20 I can’t. I can’t.

Today has been tough.

Who am I kidding? The last two weeks have been fucking tough. Ever since I left the Calloway pack house has been tough. I couldn’t leave my room for the first week. Confined to bed thanks to my father’s fists, his cane, and his denial of any sort of pain medication. He wanted me to feel my punishment, to learn from it.

Moving hurt. I forced myself to shuffle to the bathroom three times a day to relieve myself, and showering was a big fucking chore. The hot water was painful against my tender skin. The bath would have been better, but I didn’t trust myself to climb in and out of it without my muscles giving up, which would undoubtedly result in me falling and cracking my head on the pristine white tile.

It sucked, but it’s manageable, even if I’ve never felt this kind of physical pain before, this intensity.

It paled in comparison to the pain in my heart, my soul.

He commanded me not to talk to them. Not to text. Not to go to them. No emails. No telling anyone about what happened. No asking Florence to talk to them, to let them know. If they show up, I’m to remain in my bedroom, silent like a mouse.

He could have told me to block them on my cell, on my email, but this too is a punishment. To have them reach out to me, to read their messages of concern for me, demands for me to respond and to be unable to. I’ve crafted a million responses to all of their messages, stored them away in my head, jotting them in my journal. Carefully penning in their text, and then writing what my response would be if I’d been able to type anything back.

I know it’s weird, but it helped.

Or it was helping until today, when I’d wandered down to the security office and found Chuck arguing with a voice I know all too well. As soon as I realized Hale was outside, my father’s command took hold, demanding I return to my room. And instead I stayed. Stayed and watched through the camera, drank up every ounce of the Calloway pack I could. I opened my mouth and forced words out, words that urged them to go away. I heard Hale speak to me, like he knew I was there, listening, waiting with my heart in my throat and a migraine building behind my eyes.

I waited until they backed out of the driveway and then gave in to my father’s demand.

Too late to avoid the migraine. With no pain medication on hand, the most I could do was close all the blinds, shut off all the lights, and lay on my bed with a cool washcloth draped over my eyes.

I focused on my breathing, in and out, for hours. Literally.

It’s dark out now, and I have no clue what time it is, only that it must be relatively late. The house is quiet.

I push myself to my feet and slowly make my way to the blackout curtains over my windows, pushing them open and peering outside. Dark, dark, dark. Only the silvery light of the moon offers any illumination.

I leave the curtains open and the light off, retreating to the bathroom, where I rinse the sweat from my skin and the lingering fuzziness from my migraine from my mind. Feeling moderately better, I wrap myself in a towel and step into my still dark room.

I’ll throw on some clothes and then head to the kitchen for a light snack. My stomach won’t be able to handle a full meal, but I can’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. It’s not healthy. Only when I get to my bedroom door, its locked.

My father locked me in while I was in the throes of a migraine, unable to even move. But he was still concerned about me getting out. Even with the commands he put on me. My fingers grip the handle tighter, and I feel the first inkling of panic in my chest.

He hasn’t kept me locked in my room the entire time I’ve been here. Not once.

Granted, I couldn’t really move, not while I was healing.

But the Calloway pack coming to our house today must have worried him.

Or maybe Chuck told him about me seeing them, staying in the security office when I should have immediately left. Maybe he knows I fought his command.

I can’t help the sting of betrayal I feel at even the idea of Chuck telling him. But then what do I expect? My father is his employer, is the one that pays him. Not me.

Doesn’t lessen the sting, though.

I stand there for a moment with my hand on the door, and consider pounding on it, screaming, kicking up a fuss. But I know that won’t accomplish anything. For all I know my father isn’t even at home, the only person on the premises is likely the guard in the security room, monitoring the cameras, and that’s far enough away from my bedroom, that with the door shut and music playing or the TV on, he wouldn’t hear me.

Even if he did, I’m sure he’s under strict instructions to not engage and not let me out.

My fingers uncurl from the handle, and I sink down to the floor, my back pressed against the door. I tuck my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, resting my cheek on the bony protrusions, staring at nothing as I talk myself down from an impending panic attack.

I can’t stay locked in here. I can’t. I can’t. But I have nowhere to go. I can’t go to the Calloways, and I refuse to go to Florence. She doesn’t deserve the wrath my father will direct at her if I escape.

Maybe she’s right, though. Maybe I should go to one of those groups that helps omegas. Maybe they can give me some kind of protection, something that would let me stay here with Florence. Maybe the bruises on my skin and my statement that my father did it to me will be enough to arrest him, ruin him.

As soon as I have thought, I dismiss it, even if the idea of him behind bars makes my chest feel all warm and fuzzy.

He’s too well connected, too charming, too rich, to stay behind bars for something like hitting his daughter. It would be his word against mine, and he’d probably convince the judge that I did it to myself or something.

Beyond that, I can’t actually tell anyone he did this to me. Not so long as I’m under his control, under his commands. He told me not to tell anyone, and so I can’t.

A flash of movement outside the window that overlooks the porch draws my attention away from the wall. I blink. Then blink again, not sure I’m seeing this right. Creed Calloway is standing on the roof of the porch, peering through the glass.

His dark eyes move back and forth like he’s trying to find me, and I realize he can’t see into the dark corner where I’ve tucked myself. I force myself to my feet, and the movement draws his attention. His shoulders sag in relief when he sees me, only for them to tense up again when I get closer, stepping into the pool of moonlight streaming through the windows.

His expression turns from relieved to stormy, as his eyes sweep over me, taking in the bruises that still mottle my skin after a week. They’re healing, but still visible even in the barely there light of the moon.

He reaches for the window and tries to push it up, but it doesn’t move. He frowns and tries again, then looks at me when it doesn’t budge. Brows arched like he’s waiting for me to unlock it for him. Slowly I shake my head and mouth the words, “I can’t,” at him. No sound, since I was ordered to not talk to them.

“Fuck,” I hear his voice through the glass before he gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’ve got this.” He kneels by the window and pulls something from his pocket. A thin rectangle. He opens it and pulls out two slim pieces of metal. Lock picks. Creed Calloway is kneeling on my roof, readying to unlock a window in order to get to me.

A surge of panic threatens to swallow me whole.

He can’t do that. He’ll be caught. I’ll be caught and then my punishment will be a million times worse than what it has been. My father and Brian will pile on more commands, more orders to keep me bound up even tighter.

A knocking sound filters through the room, drawing Creed's eyes up to me. And I realize I made the noise. My fist presses against the glass and my head is shaking back and forth, frantically.

Creed pushes back to his feet, moving closer to the glass like he’s considering just breaking through to get to me. My shaking head moves faster. “No. No. No.” I mouth at him.

His big hands fist around the thin strips of metal as he forces himself to relax for my sake, I’m sure. “What’s the matter, Haven?”

My fisted hand slides over the glass, one finger uncoiling from the tight ball to come to a rest right next to the new door sensor. The one that will announce “Haven Window Open” from the alarm system in the security office downstairs. The one that will alert my father’s guards and my father himself that I’ve somehow sprung the lock and gotten out.

The alpha on the other side of the door curses and shakes his head, not as violently as I have been, but in frustration. Still, he gives me a reassuring smile. “Okay. Thank you for pointing that out, omega. We’ll handle it.”

How? I want to ask, but I can’t. No words can pass my lips, not when they’re for any member of the Calloway Pack. Holding my gaze like he can’t bear to break eye contact, Creed yanks his phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear. “Jude, we got a problem.” My heart lurches at the mention of the other alpha, the first one of them to kiss me, to make me feel like they actually wanted me. “There’s an alarm sensor on her window.” He runs his eyes over me again. “Yes, I’ve seen her. She’s standing right on the other side of this fucking window and I can’t get to her.” His jaw tics and he drops his eyes to my feet. “She’s-she’s okay, Jude.” His voice is a growl. “Now please shut off the sensor so I can get our girl out of here.”

My brows jump. Can Jude do that? Can he hack into our security and shut off parts of it without being detected? Creed wedges the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he kneels again and starts on the window again.

A wordless sound emerges from my chest and draws his attention. He offers me another of those smiles. “Don’t worry, baby girl. I won’t open it until Jude says it’s safe, okay? I just want to be ready for when he does. Wanna get my arms around you as soon as I can.”

I want that too so badly. But I want to be safe more. I want to not worry about my father catching me and taking even more of what makes me Haven from me. Creed must see it, the fear in my face, because a low growl rumbles from his chest. “Remember what I told you the first time we talked, baby? Remember what I said?”

I remember, but it’s not like I can say that to him, not like I can repeat it for him to hear. I touch my throat, then my lips, then I point at him and shake my head.

Creed's eyes darken with rage. “He commanded you not to speak to us?”

I nod, and he curses my father. “That’s okay. That’s okay. I said you’d be safe with me. With us, didn’t I? I promised that to you. Promised that I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. I broke that promise, baby girl, when I let you come back here to him. But I will not break it again. You hear me?”

The lock clicks right at that moment, and I look down in surprise, my vision blurry with tears. “Don’t cry, Haven. Please. Breaks my heart when you do. Jesus, Jude, stop shouting in my ear. She’s gonna be just fine as soon as you-”

He cuts off when the light on the sensor dims and in the next moment the window is open, letting in a burst of fresh air into the musty room, along with his petrichor scent. His arms slide around me, his body curling over mine protectively as I bury my face in his black shirt, taking heaving inhales of his scent between sobs.

His cheek brushes over the top of my head, rubbing back and forth, leaving his scent all over me. And for the first time since I left the Calloway pack house, I feel relatively at ease. My alpha is here and he’ll take care of me, just like he said he would. Everything is going to be okay.

Creed whispers reassurances into my hair, uncaring that I haven’t washed it in days. He hugs me tighter against him when that realization only makes my tears flow hotter and faster. I have no idea how long he holds me for. It feels like forever and also like not enough time. With every hiccup or sob he strokes my back, my hair, strong fingers knead into tense muscles and knots, slowly but surely bringing calm.

When my sobs have died down to just trembling sighs, his arms around me tighten. “Can you come with me?” Creed asks softly against my hair. “Did he tell you you couldn’t? Do I have to kidnap you? Because I will, baby girl, I fucking will.”

I let out a shuddering breath, my fingers tight in the fabric of his shirt, and think about leaving with Creed, slipping out the window and returning to their pack house. There isn’t an immediate rejection of the idea, not like there had been when I’d considered pushing through the command to go to them. That had left me feeling sick, shaking, so weak I couldn’t take a single step toward the door.

Now, though… There’s none of that. Nothing. Just the desperate urge to get away. I nod hesitantly, and he pulls back. “Yes, I have to kidnap you?” I shake my head, then grunt in frustration. My mind flicking over the command to not speak to them. My father had demanded no talking or texting… but paper and pen aren’t really a text, right?

Only one way to find out.

When I go to pull away from him, his arms tighten the slightest bit, but I persist and eventually he lets me go. I slide my fingers between his and tug him over to my desk, where I pick up my most recent journal and flip to an empty page in the back.

He told me I couldn’t go to you, not that I couldn’t go with you.

He blows out a breath and tightens his fingers around mine. “Fuck. That’s good, baby. So good.” He glances around. “Pack anything you can’t live without, okay? Anything you don’t want to leave behind.”

My brow wrinkles and I follow his gaze, taking in the room that is mine, but has never felt like it. There’s not one spark of myself in the space. While I was at AOA, my father had a decorator tear out any part of the room that was mine and replace it with this. Something that resembles more of a hotel room than a personal space.

After a moment, I hurry to the closet and pull out a bag, then carry it to the bookshelf with my journals. Creed comes over and helps me stack them neatly in the bag. I add the picture of me and Florence from the academy, the only photo I have of my mother. Creed watches as I scoop up BunBun and put him on top of the journals, then zip the bag.

He arches his brows. “That’s it?”

I hesitate then, return to the closet and pack a few items of clothing. Nothing that I truly want, but more so I have something to wear. I don’t expect them to provide clothing for me.

“What about your birthday presents?” Creed asks when I return.

I scoop up the notebook and write my response.

They’re at Wren’s. My father wouldn’t have let me keep them here.

“Motherfucking fuck,” Creed curses under his breath. My mouth twitches into a half smile at him cursing my father. Honestly, it lightens my heart knowing someone out there dislikes him as much as I do.

Creed grins at me when he notices. The tip of his finger brushes the corner of my mouth, before he grips my chin and tilts my face for a quick kiss. “Nothing else, baby girl? Because I can promise you, you won’t be coming back here. Not for anything.”

Hearing those words, absorbing them, makes tears form in my eyes. No one’s ever cared enough to help me. No one’s ever looked at my situation and seen it for what it is: abusive as hell. No one but Florence. Instead, everyone sees my charming father, a devoted single dad who is working toward making the lives of everyone in his city, his state, better.

“Don’t cry, Haven. Please. It’s going to be okay now. We’ve got you.”