Chapter 8 I’ll be good

Me:

I feel bad.

Hale:

Why’s that, mouse?

Me:

We were supposed to spend time together,

get to know each other a bit, and I ran away.

Like a mouse.

Jude:

But like a hot mouse.

Or a very, very cute mouse.

Tic:

Jesus, man, quit while you’re ahead.

You know, angel, there’s a way to remedy that.

Me:

How’s that?

Tic:

Just come out and see us again.

Jude:

Fuck yeah! This time, I promise to keep my hands to myself.

Actually… no. I won’t be able to keep that promise.

Me:

I want to.

Hale:

But?

Me:

It’s complicated.

Tic:

Complicated?

Me:

Yes.

Hale:

Let me uncomplicate it for you, mouse.

We like you. A lot.

We want to see you again.

I stare down at the most recent text from Hale, my heart thundering in my chest. Even a day after it was sent and I first saw it. I haven’t responded, not yet. I’m worried about what it’s going to mean when I do. When I admit that I like them too. A lot.

That I would give just about anything to go out with them again. Or stay in with them.

I can still feel the press of Jude’s body along mine. The rasp of his fingers over the skin of my inner thigh. I can still taste him on my tongue almost a week later. I want more of that, more of everything.

But it’s like my father has some sort of sixth sense for these things. As soon as I find a modicum of happiness, something for myself, he does everything in his power to take it from me.

Even if he doesn’t know what ‘it’ is.

In this case, he’s taken over my entire freaking schedule. From sunup to sundown, I am booked solid. Starting with early morning trips to the gym for an appointment with a personal trainer for an hour and a half. Which omegas are not supposed to do, by the way. We’re supposed to be a little soft, a little cushiony and curvy. But he wants me to look more like a beta, so I spend hours carving away that softness and turning it into muscle.

Which, don’t get me wrong, makes me feel strong, but I hate working out. Hate it.

After the gym, it’s brunch with the wives of his biggest supporters, or luncheon with a foundation that donated money, or a visit to a children’s hospital. He has me go to a clinic for omegas and try to talk them into just ignoring their instincts. Those are the worst events he makes me attend. I hate every word that falls from my lips, every lie, every time I say, ‘if I can do it, so can you!’

What follows is lunches with lone alphas and betas that act like alphas, a lot of staring at my chest and not caring one bit if I ever say a word. From morning to night, it’s been the same. A blur of my strings being pulled, of the proverbial hand of my father shoved up my ass to make my mouth move with the words he wants me to say, nothing more than a doll for him to use.

I’ve only seen the Calloway Pack once.

While they’re some of his biggest donors, which I still can’t wrap my head around, he doesn’t view them as all that important. Or maybe he feels he can’t be seen giving them special treatment and invites to these intimate gatherings since they are an established pack. And everyone knows Frederick Bell doesn’t support pack life.

The one time we did see each other, Brian was on my ass all night, hand hovering over my lower back, almost possessively, as he ushered me around the room. I’d tried to get him to give me some space, but he’d flatly refused. So the most I’d been able to do was give them a smile—the real one—and murmur a greeting, which they’d returned, if a bit stiffly.

Jude had glared at Brian, more specifically, at all the places where we were touching. Brian’s hand on my lower back, my shoulder nestled into his side, not by choice, but because every time I moved away from him, he followed like he was stuck to my side with an elastic band.

Hale had made allusions to seeing Brian the night before, but that they hadn’t had a chance to speak since my father’s aide was a little tied up. I don’t know what that meant, but the way Brian flushed deep red and hustled me away from them, clearly flustered, was almost gratifying.

If only he’d left me with the Calloways while he scurried away like the little rat he is.

Alas, that was not to be.

I miss them.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, seeing as we’ve literally spent all of four hours together, probably less. But I do.

And if the way they’ve been texting every day is any sign, they just might miss me, too. Or maybe they’re still banking on my being able to help them get closer to my father. I don’t know and I don’t particularly care.

Except for Ren, I have nothing of my own, nothing for myself.

I’ve spent my life following my father’s orders and being the good puppet he needs me to be. I need something for myself.

I want that something to be the Calloway pack. Even if it’s only temporary. Even if they are using me to get close to him. I’ll go into this with my eyes open, keep in the back of my mind that it might all blow up in my face. If I do that, it’ll hurt less, right?

Sure.

That’s what I’ll tell myself.

It’s what I tell myself as I pick up the phone and finally, twelve hours later, respond to Hale’s text that they like me. A lot.

Me:

I like you a lot, too.

Jude:

Whew! Thank god for that.

I was starting to worry we’d scared you off.

Tic:

I wasn’t worried.

Jude:

Sure, that’s why you’ve been distracting yourself in your lab for the last twelve hours.

You weren’t worried at all.

Tic:

Shut it, Jude.

Hale:

You like us, huh?

Does that mean we get to see you again?

Jude:

Preferably without the dickhead that is your father’s aide hovering.

Wanted to tear him apart for touching you, button.

Haven:

That’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?

Creed:

Not at fucking all.

I blink down at the first text Creed has sent. Ever.

When I said that the Calloway pack texts every day, what I actually meant is Jude, Tic and Hale text every day. Creed… he hasn’t. He also kept his distance at the Market and now I can’t help but feel that maybe… he’s not as into the idea of seeing me as the rest of his pack is.

Or I was, but the viciousness of his text now has me second guessing.

Maybe he’s just reserved?

Shy?

I snort at the thought that such a big, kind of mean looking alpha could be shy, but I suppose stranger things have happened.

Jude:

There he is!

I knew I just had to mention Brian, and it’d wake you up.

Creed:

Like Tic said, shut the fuck up, Jude.

Hale:

Focus, please.

When can we see you again, mouse?

Me:

I’ll work on it and get back to you.

My father has me booked solid for the next few days.

I don’t tell them I can usually only get out when my father goes to one of his special donor dinners. The ones that take him out of the house until the early morning hours. They don’t need to know that in order to have some semblance of freedom, I have to sneak out like a teenager and not simply walk out the front door like the grown woman I am.

“Who are you texting?” I resist the instinct to startle, to jump, to give away that I’m doing anything wrong. If I do, Brian will smell blood on the water, and he’ll be ruthless in finding out who I’ve been communicating with.

I lower my phone slowly, even as I feel it vibrate in my hands. Arching a brow, a turn to him slowly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m texting Ren.”

Brian gives me a ruthless smile. “It is my business, Haven. Everything about you is. Your father trusts me to look after you.”

I grit my teeth around the words I want to say. If I do, he’ll demand to see my phone and then the jig will be up. “Right. Sorry. I forgot.”

“You seem to forget that a lot, Haven. Do you need a more permanent reminder that you need to listen to me?”

All the blood drains from my face and I give a quick shake of my head. “No. No. I don’t. I’ll be good.”

Brian’s eyes drink in my reaction, my fear, fucking loving every second of the power he wields over me. Not only can he physically overpower me if he wanted to, but he doesn’t need to. He can just bark at me to get me to comply with anything. And I do mean anything.

He could order me to strip off all my clothes and go stand on the back porch in the chilly autumn night for hours and I’d do it. He could tell me to drop to my knees and suck his cock, and I would. Inside, I’d be screaming the whole time, but my body would obey him.

He knows it. I know it.

Only one of us relishes it, though.

“Remember that I own you as much as he does, Haven.”

I give a quick nod, dropping my eyes to the carpet in submission. It’ll get this over faster. “Yes.”

“Good.” He claps his hands together and this time I jump. More because I know he delights in it, and I’d rather have him focused on me than my phone and who I’ve been texting. “Now, get me a drink, omega.”

I flinch at him using that term with me. Even though it’s what I am. There’s something so wrong about an alpha you loath using it on you. And Brian flings it like an insult, like it’s demeaning to be an omega. Like my designation makes me weak, less than somehow. It’s nothing like when Jude said it on the dancefloor with… reverence.

I do as I’m told, mixing up his preferred martini. As I hand it over to him, it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why he’s here. In our house. It’s not uncommon, but normally if Brian is here, so is my father.

But then the front door opens and in walks the man of the hour. I step back from Brian, fold my hands in front of me, and lower my head. This is how he prefers me here. A shadow, silent, unobtrusive, nothing.

He pauses just inside the living room and I feel his gaze scrape over me, looking for anything to find fault with. He won’t unless Brian decides to spill about my moment of bravery. Though he’d frame it as a moment of being a brat. An omega that needs to be handled.

“Good, you’re both here,” my father says as if we’d be anywhere else but where he wants us. “A drink, Haven.”

I know he’s not offering me one. He never does, and that’s just fine, seeing as when he allows me to drink it’s always something I dislike, almost as though he delights in making me ingest something I can’t stand just because he can.

I move over to the bar and pour him the exact right amount of bourbon. It’s taken years to master this pour. And I do mean years. He used to find fault with it, no matter what I did. Even if I was sure I’d poured the alcohol in the exact same way, it was always wrong.

“How’d the meeting go?” Brian asks, making my hair prickle. They do this a lot too. Discuss business in front of me like I don’t exist. And I suppose to them, I don’t. It only takes a few words from them for me to never be able to spill any of their secrets.

“Good. Good. I think the drug is almost there. He’s a brilliant scientist, approached it in a way that no one else has.”

I carefully carry the drink to my father while biting back a snort. He has no fucking clue what the so-called scientist he just met with did, whether it was the same approach as all the others he’s worked with or not. But he can’t let anyone know that, now can he? Not even is closest confident.

“Really?” Brian leans forward eagerly. “You think it’ll stop the designation from forming all together?”

My father nods, beaming as my stomach roils with unease. This is one of the more evil things he’s ever pursued. Seeking a way to eliminate designations, making it so all babies born are beta.

I’ve known this is the end goal for a while now. Any omega that sets foot in that fancy clinic we just broke ground on weeks ago will be given the option of having the drug administered. And by option, I mean, I suspect my father will give orders to simply have it done to all patients, but specifically the omegas and alphas, since those pairings are more likely to result in alpha or omega children. While two betas will probably have beta children, there have been cases of alpha or omega children from them as well.

If my father has his way, everyone will be given this new drug he’s been working on. His ideal would be to make it as common as the flu shot or the mumps vaccine. Something that everyone just does in order to combat a sickness.

The only difference is being an omega or an alpha isn’t a sickness. It’s not killing people, it’s not a threat to our population. It’s just… instinct. Being a little out of control every so often because you can’t help it. It’s an omega going into heat and begging for an alpha to knot them. It’s an alpha going into a rut because their omega needs them.

The only time alpha and omega instincts are actually a danger is if someone threatens their pack, in which case most alphas—and some omegas—lose their shit and rip them apart. Sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively.

But that same could be said of a beta shooting an intruder to their home. Their family was threatened, and they took protective action on instinct.

I’m not sure I’ll ever understand the distinction in my father’s head. But I know it’s there.

“We believe so,” my father says. “Of course, we’ll need to do extensive testing to be sure, which will take years. But the projections look good.”

I wonder if whoever he’s working with knows what he wants to do. What his end goal is. It’s not just to give people the option of making sure they have beta children. He wants it to be the law.

“Hmm.” Brian leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s lucky that doctor figured out how to suppress the omega designation, isn’t it? Gave us something to work off of.”

“Suppression isn’t a cure,” my father snaps back.

It doesn’t need a cure. It’s not a disease.

I clench my teeth around the words, swallowing them back. Saying them will only result in drawing attention to myself, reminding them I’m here, and then they’ll punish me for speaking the truth.

“Of course not,” Brian says smoothly. “But it gave us something to work off of.”

My father nods his agreement and settles back in his chair. I tense when his gaze slides to me. “Haven.”

“Father.”

He points to a spot on the floor in front of him and I scurry over to stand there, like a dog beckoned by its master.

“Your birthday is coming up,” he says this like I’m not aware. Like I don’t know what day of the month it is.

My heart thunders in his chest and I resist the urge to cross my fingers, as I hope for what he says next.

“Which means I’ll be leaving for a week.”

I stay very still, not letting my excitement show. If I do, he’ll wonder why. Or maybe he won’t wonder. He knows how I feel about him, about the life he forces me to live. “I see,” I say carefully, keeping my voice free from inflection.

“You may stay here or you may go stay with Florence.” It’s been the same every year since I returned from AOA. He disappears for a week around my birthday, and then comes back surlier than ever. I’m allowed to spend the week with my best friend’s family, though if I choose to do that, I have to be prepared to send update photos to him, to prove where I am.

Usually it’s not a problem, because I stay with Florence, Ginny and Moira. We spend the week just hanging out and I can relax. It’s the only time I get to.

Some part of me thinks my father views this as a punishment, like I’ll resent that he’s leaving me behind or something, but it’s the best part of my year. The only time I’m free of new commands, even if the old ones still linger.

“Florence,” I say. “I’ll stay with Florence.” As if I would pick anything else.

Well, this time I am going to do something else. He just doesn’t need to know that.

He hums in his throat like he expected that. “You know your normal rules apply.” I nod. “You will receive messages from me or Brian at any time and you will be expected to respond with a photo with the date and time displayed somewhere, yes?”

I nod. This is standard for him. In the past it hasn’t mattered because I’ve always been where he expected me to be… Well, maybe not always, but I was always with Florence or her family if she was at rehearsal. This time it’ll take some maneuvering, but I’m going to make it work.

Excitement thrums through my veins and my fingers itch for my cell phone, as Frederick Bell tells me all the rules I already know, the rules already ingrained in my bones, in my very make-up. Rules I wish I could ignore but know I can’t.

The rules that I will find a way around in order to get what I want more than anything for my birthday: a week with the Calloway pack.

Later, when I’ve left Brian and my father to their after-dinner drinks and I’m safely tucked up in my room, I finally do what I’ve been dying to for hours, pull up the text chain to tell them the good news, only to stall out.

What if they don’t want me to spend the week with them? That’s fine. I can split the time between Ren and them. But I really want to spend all week with them, even if it takes a lot of mental gymnastics to get to the point where I will not spend the week with migraine thundering through my head.

Still, I can’t just invite myself over to their house, even if that’s what I want to do.

Me:

My father just informed me he’ll be out of town for a week starting Sunday.

Hale:

Is that so?

Any plans for while he’s gone?

Me:

I usually spend the week with Ren.

Jude:

Usually you do, but is that what you want to do this time?

I stare at the text, willing them to just invite me.

Me:

I would like to spend some time with her.

But I’d also like to spend some time with you.

If you’re up for it.

I hit send then squeal, because I can’t believe I just sent that. I can’t. And I want to take it back, but it’s as close as I can get to inviting myself over, of requesting they spend time with me without just outright begging. Which I’m seconds from doing.

Jude:

Oh, we’re up for it.

You should see how up for it I am.

Hale:

Jesus, Jude. Stop.

Jude:

I will not.

Our little bellybutton needs to know how much we want her.

Tic:

Yes, but not at the risk of scaring her away.

Me:

I’m not scared.

Jude:

See?

You wanna come stay with us for a week, baby?

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

Me:

If you’re sure. I would really like that.

Hale:

We’re sure.

Jude:

So fucking sure.

Tic:

Can’t wait to have you in our house, angel.

I wait for confirmation from Creed. The last thing I want is for one of the pack mates to resent my staying with them. But there’s only silence.

Me:

Creed?

Hale:

He’s sure too.

Jude:

Even if the surly motherfucker won’t admit it.

Creed:

Shut.

Up.

Jude.

Creed’s arrival into the chat should make me feel somewhat better, knowing he is paying attention, but then I have to wonder if he’s been here the entire time, and just not engaging. Maybe he doesn’t actually want me to come. Maybe he resents me inserting myself into his pack life?

There’s a long pause, no texting coming through on their side, while I work out a plan in my head for how to make this work. With the threat of needing to provide pictures at the drop of a hat, I’ll need to spend some time with Ren and her family.

Eventually, a text comes through from Creed in a private message.

Creed:

I would like to see you, baby girl.

I just want you to be sure before getting involved with us.

I frown at the message. Why wouldn’t I be sure?

But then I think about all of my concerns and misgivings. They are supporters of my father’s. I straight up told him and Hale that being close to me won’t help them get close to my father. Maybe Creed took that to mean I’m not sure about them.

To be fair, I’m not.

I’m ninety percent sure this is going to end badly for me.

It’s sweet that he’s trying to keep a little distance to keep me from hurting. Or maybe he’s afraid of getting hurt by me.

Me:

I appreciate that.

But I can’t be sure until I get to know you and your pack better.

This will help with that.

But if you aren’t sure, or you don’t want me there, I can just stay with Ren.

We can get together while he’s gone.

I want to say that the next time we’ll have an opportunity like this will be in a year. But he doesn’t need to know how limited my options are, how controlled my time is.

Creed:

I do want you here.

Probably too much.

I frown at the text, even as my insides go all warm and melty. I don’t like how he seems torn. Even if I can’t blame him. I’m in the same position.

There’s no guarantee that this pack of alphas won’t turn around and tell my father about this, about my sneaking out to see them at a club or going to stay with them. If they do, my life will be over. I’m not even sure I just mean figuratively.

I’m pretty sure my father could easily decide it’ll be better for his image to be a grieving father who lost his daughter in a tragic accident than to suffer through any embarrassment that might arise from me allowing a pack to court me.

Not that he would kill me himself. He’d probably have Brian do it. Or order me to do it myself. Have me write a suicide note and jump off a cliff or something.

Creed:

What time should we pick you up on Sunday?

Butterflies swirl in my stomach at the question, excitement trickling down my spine.

Me:

I’ll have Ren drop me off.

It’ll probably be late afternoon, early evening.

I’ll need the time with her and her family to stage some photos, where we do some things we normally do together. I’ll have to figure out how to show the date and time, but I’m pretty sure Photoshop can do that efficiently enough.

Creed:

I’ll send you the address.