Chapter 3

Two years later

SUMMER CAN NOT COMEfast enough. I graduate in one week. One more week and I'm free because I also happen to be turning eighteen the week after.

I wanted to leave this house the moment that diploma got placed into my hands, but Charles made it known that he would make my life hell if I messed with him getting his last check from the government.

Living with them has never been pleasant, but when the guys were here, it was bearable because I'd have them by my side and to distract me from this god-awful life we were forced to live.

Sure, it could have been worse. They could have beaten us, starved us, or other unspeakable things, but that doesn't lessen the fact that they are horrible people.

It only got worse the moment the guys left. Since then, it's gone completely downhill.

Shortly after, they found out I was lying about being asked to stay back by my teachers to do extra work, because the music teacher called the house, letting them know I left my sweater behind. Karen called back and everything was outed.

I lost that one little piece of my life that I enjoyed. It was the only thing that helped me deal with being away from the guys. Karen had a field day making me their full-time housemaid.

I'd text the guys, telling them every detail about my life. At first, they would text me any time of the day, no matter what. Then about a month after they moved, they got a meeting with a big-time record label.

They left that building, fresh ink on three contracts. I was so excited for them, pure joy I hadn't felt in a very long time.

We talked for hours about all the amazing things they were going to do. My joining them after I turned eighteen was still a big focal point of that conversation.

It was like a part of me was settled in some way. It's one thing talking about making it big and having the power to make all our dreams come true, but having the proof, signed and everything... it was solid, more real.

I should have known that nothing in life is that easy, though.

The guys got thrown into the entertainment industry overnight and their lives became chaotic. Messages between us were happening less and less, calls became almost nonexistent.

But they would always apologize and tell me it was because of their crazy new schedule. I tried not to let it get to me, to be the supportive best friend I'd always been.

But after a few more months, it felt like they were forgetting about me. It hurt because how could they do that to me? I understood their lives were crazy and the label had them working constantly on their music, but we were family, best friends.

And then one day, all communication stopped. I didn't think anything of it because it was the norm at that point. Then the one-year mark hit and they didn't even read the last message I sent, and I started to panic.

I tried calling, texting, practically blowing up their phones. Nothing. Actually, it was worse than nothing, because I'd get one ring in and it would go straight to voicemail. And everyone knows what that means. Blocked.

I went to their socials next, trying to message them, praying that one of them would see it. But I should have known better because they didn't run their social media anymore, their manager, Gianna did.

Not my proudest moment, but I even tried calling the label. Nothing. I knew that it was a far stretch, but I was desperate. I needed to try everything I could.

When reality hit me that they really cut me out of their lives, it destroyed me. I never cried so much in my life. It was to the point I became physically sick.

Zane said he loved me. But it was all lies. Who does something like this to someone they love?

And then I went numb for a little bit. Became detached from the world. Heavily depressed to the point I didn't care about anything.

I went to school, came home, did my work, and slept. I became a mindless zombie.

For the past year, I lost myself. No longer laughed, hardly smiled. I avoided people, wanting to engage as little as possible. My grades were fine, but I knew my teachers noticed the change, and I saw the pity in their eyes.

That mindset changed last month. It was a Monday and I was out getting groceries, like I do every Monday, when I ran into this little old lady on my way home.

She was sitting on a bench in the park I cut through, trying to pick up the contents of her bag that broke open.

Something inside me told me I better not dare walk by her without helping, so I did. I bent down and helped her pick everything up.

She was so grateful and started to talk to me. I didn't have the heart to be rude and excuse myself, so I sat and listened.

Her name was Margret, and she was eighty-nine. The sweetest little thing, but, man, could she talk your ear off. She told me all about her life's story, and something about it stuck with me.

She had best friends she hoped would become her pack one day. They all went off to war. She wrote to them all the time, and they wrote back. For years, she was told that when they got back, they would give her the world.

Then the letters stopped. She contacted the proper people, making sure they didn't lose their lives on the front lines. When she was told that all of them were alive and well, she held out hope for a little bit longer.

But after some time, she realized that all the plans they made weren"t going to become a reality.

Even though it hurt her for a long time, she knew she had to move on. That you're only given one life to live and shouldn't waste it on things you have no control over. She wouldn't let those things ruin your life.

She moved on, found a loving pack, and lived a happy life.

Five years after she bonded with her pack, she found out through friends that her ex-friends, the pack she thought would be hers, ended up meeting their scent match overseas and started a life there.

She was happy she didn't sit and wait. She would have lost out on an amazing life with a pack who loved her dearly to this day.

So because she told me her story, I told her mine. By the time I was done, she told me to grow a pair and not to let my life be dragged down by stupid boys.

I went home that night and thought for hours. The idea that maybe they ended up finding their omega crossed my mind, and it fucking hurt like hell.

But then I remembered what Margret said, that I owed it to myself to at least try and move on.

I'm young, and people evolve. Life changes. People grow apart, and that's just life.

They cut me out of their lives, and I shouldn"t have to sit around and waste mine over it.

So the plan is still to leave, to get out of this house and start my life. I have no idea where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do, but I know I have to try.

"Jade!" Karen's crude voice has me inwardly wincing. I hate that woman"s voice. It's like nails on a chalkboard. "It's five, and I don't see dinner on the table."

This woman will be the death of me.

"Jade! Where the fuck is my beer?!" Charles shouts.

Unless her husband beats her to it.

He's most likely screaming from all the way in the living room where he's sitting in his worn down recliner.

Sighing heavily, I put the bookmark in my book and place it on my bedside table before throwing my feet over the side of the bed. Grabbing my hoodie—it's really Zane's hoodie, but I refuse to acknowledge that fact—I throw it on and head down to the kitchen.

"It's rude to make us wait when we're expecting to eat at a certain time," Karen huffs when she steps into the room, arms crossed as she glares at me like I've committed some grave offense.

"It was cooking," I tell her, slipping on the oven mitts. I grab the lasagna from the oven and place it on the stove top. "If I turned the temperature up to cook it faster, it would have burned."

"Then you should have started sooner!"

With my back turned, I grab the spatula and start dishing out the food into bowls.

"I would have, but by the time I got home from school, it was already four. Then I needed to prep and cook everything before putting it in the oven for the cheese to melt."

"If you didn't walk home, you would be here faster." She snatches a bowl from my hand, shooting me another glare. "Bring your father his food."

I almost gag at the use of that word. That man is no father of mine. I don't even know why she started referring to him as such. I've been living with this family for ten years, and never once did they call themselves my mom or dad. If anything, they made sure I knew damn well that they didn't want me as their child. I was here for the money only. And the free child labor.

Shuddering, I grab a fork and one of the bowls. Just as I thought, Charles is sitting in his chair, the TV on with some hockey game playing. "Where's my beer?" he grunts as I hand him the bowl of food.

"I'll go get it," I tell him, turning to leave. He reaches out, snatching my wrist in his clammy hand. The skin burns where he touches, and I try not to let the churning feeling in my stomach win. Would it be too much if I burned the skin he touched?

My eyes snap over to his, body going on alert. He's never really tried anything with me, only leering at me with the occasional wandering eyes. His eyes roam over my body, and another wave of nausea hits me. He gives me one of his pervy side smiles. "Red hair sure does look pretty on you, Jade."

Doing my best to conceal my reaction, I snatch my hand back from him with a little force and turn, heading back into the kitchen.

I step into the room and take a moment to close my eyes and breathe. Two more weeks. Fourteen more days. That"s it. Then I'm free. Anything is better than this, even living on the streets.

Bypassing the fridge, I head right for the sink. Turning it to the hot water, I press three pumps of soap into my hand and scrub the skin he touched. God only knows where his hands have been. I don't even want to think about it.

Afterward, I grab a beer bottle from the fridge and head back into the living room.

Luck is on my side because he's distracted by his team scoring a goal, so I place the bottle on the side table next to his chair and slip out of the room.

Grabbing my food, I race upstairs before either of them can ask me to do anything else. I'm sure they will eventually, but at least I can eat my meal in peace.

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I make sure to lock it. I pass the bed and head right for the open window.

It's a nice night, a comfortable cool mixed with summer heat. I still come out here every night to watch the sunset.

Looking to my right, my heart does this little stutter as an image of the brown-haired, hazel-eyed boy flashes into my mind.

Blinking, I look away and take a bite of my food.

Two more weeks. Two more weeks, and I'm free.

THE WEEK WAS HELL.It's like Karen and Charles knew that this was the last week they would have me to do all their stupid dirty work, meaning they worked me to the bone. I didn't even get a chance to participate in the graduation events. Had to miss prom altogether. It made me despise them more than I already do, and I didn't know that was even possible.

It's not that I planned on going to prom, I didn't have a date or money for a dress. It's just the fact that the choice was taken from me that fills me with resentment.

Prom is something people say all kids should experience in their high school years. I might have missed out on my prom, but when the guys had theirs, they all took me as their date. It was a night I'd never forget.

They even all pitched in to get me a dress. But I had to sneak out of the house and get ready in the school bathroom because Karen said I wasn't allowed to go.

I got caught when we all came home, but it was worth the verbal lashing and the extra chores.

"Jade Love," my principal calls my name. Dressed in my black cap and gown, I walk across the stage. My teachers give me bright, proud smiles, and I try to give one back, but the smile doesn't reach my eyes.

As I turn my attention to the hundreds of people in the crowd, the realization that they aren't here to see me hits me hard. A lump rises in my throat as the back of my eyes sting.

They said they would be here, sitting in the crowd. Griffin promised he would be the loudest one, cheering me on.

But there's no one here, no one cheering for me.

I'm still alone in this world.

THE NEXT FEW DAYS AREthe same as any other day. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. I count down the days, hours, minutes until I'm eighteen. Tomorrow. Tomorrow and I'm out of here, free from their toxic controlling ways.

The only money I have to my name was what the guys sent me years ago when they first started working before they got their deal with Boom Voice Records.

Each of them sent me a few hundred, and I managed to keep it hidden under a loose floorboard in my room. I didn't even have a bank account to put it in. Karen never saw the point in it because she didn't think I'd need to use one.

That"s one of the first things I need to do when I get a place of my own, open a bank account. Thankfully, the state required me to get an ID at sixteen through the foster care system. It should be enough to get me far away from here. I'm still not sure if I want to move somewhere else in Nevada or to one of the surrounding states. I'm considering California, just not LA. Anywhere but LA.

After I'm done begrudgingly cleaning the bathroom—when it sure as fuck didn't need it since I did it yesterday—I head downstairs to put away the cleaning supplies.

"We need to keep her around longer. At least until she presents." Charles' voice has me coming to a halt.

"How the hell do we do that?" Karen hisses. "You damn well know that girl is out of here tomorrow. She has her bags packed and everything."

"I don't know, but we need to think of a way. If she ends up being an omega, we're three hundred thousand dollars richer! We can't let an opportunity like this go by!" My eyes widen, my breathing coming in short, shallow pants as paralyzing fear grips me.

"Charles," she says in a frantic tone. "If we get caught, we go to jail. Is it really worth it?"

"We're not going to get caught," he snorts out a laugh. "Who's going to know? If someone comes asking about her, we tell them she left the moment she turned eighteen. But let"s be real, Karen, the likelihood of that is really fucking slim. She has no one. No one will miss her. No one will come looking."

What the fuck is going on? Are they seriously talking about fucking selling me?! Like I'm not even a human being. What the fuck is wrong with these people? I knew they weren"t right in the head, but to go as low as human trafficking?

"If she ends up being a beta, I'm sure we could still get something for her. Not as much as if she was an omega, but I could ask," Charles says as casually as if he"s talking about the damn weather.

The bottle in my hand slips, clattering to the floor.

"Shit," Karen hisses. "Shut up. Not another word."

Taking a shuddering breath, I will my legs to work and head the rest of the way down to the kitchen. With each step, it takes everything in me not to collapse to the ground.

I manage to put everything away and make it back to my room. Locking the door behind me, I sit on my bed, freaking the fuck out.

My plan was always to leave tomorrow, but now I'm not sure I should even wait that long. As soon as they go to bed, I'm out of here.

Grabbing the money from the floorboards, I shove it into the backpack that carries all my worldly possessions—which is hardly anything at all—and double-check that I have my ID. After placing it by the window, I lay down on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

I need to get away from these fucked up monsters before they get a chance to sell me. Sell me. Fucking sell me! Again, what the fuck is wrong with these people? How the hell did the state even let these evil people take care of kids?

My mind races, thinking of where I'm going to go, finally forcing my hand to make a choice. I'm flying to San Francisco. That"s where I'm going to get my fresh start. Taking a bus would take too long, and I don't want to risk them finding me.

As the time ticks by, I feel my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

I have to stay awake. I can't risk falling asleep.

But maybe just a nap. So that I'm not tired when I leave. I'll need to be alert for when I make my grand escape. It's still only six, and they won't be going to sleep for hours, but the door is locked. If they get in, I'll just jump out the window and run like my ass is on fire.

Yeah, just a nap.