6. Six - Tate

six - tate

. . .

My addiction is growing. I've been to Nova's house for the last two nights. I can't be away from her, not when I know she exists. It was easy to sneak her keys back into her desk like she'd misplaced them. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally found them. The look of fear on her face through the cameras I planted around the room made me rock hard. It was the mixture of frantic confusion and a touch of fear that someone out there had found them and would have access to the house. My sweet little omega. Don't you know, the big bad wolf always finds a way in?

The clock on my desk shows two thirty in the morning. I rub my eyes with my knuckles, the need to go to sleep drawing on my strength. I don't know why I haven't looked her up on the web. I knew her name was Rebel but didn't know her last name until I rummaged through her purse and found her ID.

An hour later, the information lay before me like a map to her soul. It was a treasure chest, and by the end, she would be my gold and diamonds. My sweet girl isn't just a nameless face in the crowd.

No, she was royalty even before she became my queen. Patience , I remind myself.

Rebel Davis, age 23, daughter to tech mogul billionaire Stefan Davis and wife, Elizabeth. Heiress to the Davis fortune.

I scroll down the page a bit, and her photo pops up. She's stunning, even with all her clothes on. In this picture, she's with a brunette, smiling, but it doesn't meet her eyes. There is a depth to her eyes that tells a story of pain and heartache, and I wonder who put it there. Who did this to my sweet, sexy omega? I'm sure I'll find out in due time or by the time I find out every little detail of her life.

From the little I've read, it seems like Rebel was left alone a lot. Seeing as her father seemed to fly all over the country at the drop of a hat. Several articles brought up his mistress, who was apparently very well-known. Another article I read detailed the rehab stay her mom did for a stint a while ago.

A few photos later, a man appears next to her.

Heiress Rebel Davis attended the Rosington Gala this evening with fiancé, Brad Clark , is what the headline reads. Fiancé? My eyes widen, and my head tips forward in shock. Obviously, they aren't still together. I doubt he'd let his omega go out to the bar and get absolutely smashed. Interest peaked, I research Mr. Brad Clark, and the findings make my gut churn. Multiple drug charges, assault charges, and numerous other things, all seemingly slid under the rug.

Given what I can see from his profiles, it appears that he's single? Or he's a Grade A asshole? Maybe both? A recent article pops up, and a specific set of words catches my attention. Insiders tell us that Brad Clark has moved on from Rebel Davis to bigger and better things. The heiress of the Davis fortune doesn't hold a candle to his new love interest.

Well, that answers the question as to whether he's single or not.

A picture of him with a skinny blonde sitting on his lap follows. She has a trashy smile and breasts that are clearly made for her. Not the all natural kind like my omega has. Thinking about him laying hands on Rebel has a deep growl slipping out. My jaw hardens as I grind my teeth, balling my hands into fists. The possessive rage that flares inside me is like venomous poison, spreading quickly. My heart pounds, nostrils flare, and if I could see my eyes, I'm sure they wouldn't be their normal, non-dilated selves.

It's amazing what one little internet search will show you. Turns out, my omega, Rebel Davis, is definitely on the market again. Good riddance to Brad Clark. A freaking beta? What the hell was she thinking?

After I breeze through that article and a few more, my search goes cold. It seems when her parents passed away, she was dropped into the system, and no one cared what happened to the ex-heiress. She was an orphan, therefore, no longer carried importance.

I allow myself to study her picture. Pinky pouty lips, makeup-coated eyes, the tip of her eyelids stained with coal ink, making a bold statement in her dark makeup. Blonde hair with a fade to brown beneath and perfect, perky breasts that whispered peekaboo from beneath her shirt; a promise of the naughty things to behold. Her delicate right arm is covered with a sleeve of tattoos in addition to the tattoos on her curvy hips.

The urge to drive to her house just to feel them almost has me grabbing my keys and storming down the road to see her. My eyes find the window, and I realize a sliver of light pierces the sky as the sun starts to rise. How long have I been sitting here?

The clock flashes six thirty-seven. Obsessing for four hours is a new low for me, but somehow, I feel no guilt. My eyelids are heavy, closing without permission as I sit here. I should really fucking go to bed, get some rest, so in a couple hours I can follow her. She's mine now, and I fully intend to make sure not a single hair on her head is harmed.

Clearly, she has the gull to put herself in dangerous situations she can't control. A prime example was the night I met her.

I have to admit, it was disappointing, knowing that she couldn't remember a thing about me or how she'd gotten home from the bar. Nova told her some guy had carried her home, but she couldn't remember my name. I kept my anonymity. Can't exactly let her know how deep my possessive streak goes… yet .

Logging into the app I downloaded onto her computer, her picture flashes before me. One last look, I promise myself. She's sleeping on her side in bed, legs curled up. Several strands of blonde hair cover her face, keeping her beauty from me. Her arms are curled in front of her as if she's holding herself while she sleeps.

"Fuck," I say, dragging a hand through my hair. I need to be at practice in a few hours, but I have time for a quick nap. My bed calls to me like a distant lover. Hauling myself from the chair, I head over to the bed and get in. I'll check on Rebel in a few hours. My eyes close, and a few minutes later, I'm lost to the darkness; lost to the hysteria of her invading every part of my sleep. It's peaceful.