20. Elena

I wakeup next to Logan—Lorcán. Fuck, that's going to take some getting used to.

Despite the sadness and anger still festering in me, I didn't move away from him at all during the night. Not when his scent is still so comforting to me.

I hate that his scent has that effect on me. I hate what I know about Cillian and Finn but have yet to accept it. I hate Declan for sticking a needle in my neck and shoving me in that room.

But most of all, I'm trying to grapple with how I feel about my father.

I won't act like I'm a good person. I'm more than aware of the things my family has done, and I've been complicit in their wrongdoing. I'm fine if that makes me a bad person, too, but my pápa was always such a good dad, and now I feel like my whole life has been a lie.

I almost wish the expectations he had for me were clearer, that he didn't placate me into thinking I'd have some normal chosen life. At least then, I could have been prepared.

This feeling of being deceived and blindsided is what hurts me more than anything. It feels like my whole life is a fucking lie.

I inhale Lorcán's rich cedarwood scent and try to clear my mind.

Despite all the vitriol I threw his way last night, he still took care of me. He was still the respectful caretaker I've always known him to be. It hits me in the gut that this man I've depended on for so many years has been lying to me too, and what's worse, is he truly might be the only person in the entire world who cares what happens to me.

I don't forgive him; I don't know how long that will take or if I even can, but he did pledge his allegiance to me, against his brothers nonetheless.

The brothers that I hate so fucking much right now, even though deep down I know what they are to me.

They're my fucking scent matches.

It's why I was so drawn to Cillian that first night, why I gave into Finn so easily once I went off my suppressants. I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to admit it to myself for multiple reasons.

A scent match feels like just another way for the universe to control my life. Maybe if the circumstances were different, maybe if my father raised me differently, I wouldn't feel this averse to the idea.

But now that I'm trapped in this fucking house with their scents permeating through the walls, along with not having had any suppressants in multiple days, the cold, hard truth smacks me in the face.

My scent matches kidnapped me and are keeping me captive.

I don't know how to feel about their treatment of me or the fact that these are the men my pápa signed me over to.

I'm sure as hell not feeling forgiving or in the mood to be pleasant, that's for damn sure. But could I truly run away from my destined matches, no matter how horrible they are? There's nothing waiting for me outside of these walls besides a brother who loathes my existence and a sex club I could never step foot in again.

"Are you hungry?" Lorcán's deep voice rumbles, and I nod my head.

Now that he's awake, I quickly remove my body from his. His scent is still thickly wrapped around me as I rest my head against his bed frame and look over at him.

"What would work with your stomach? Do you want your suppressants?"

"Yes," I answer plainly, I need my wits about me. "Maybe just some toast with jam, some fruit," I say, and he nods his head.

He looks like he wants to touch me but holds himself back.

"I'm going to make things right between us, Elena."

I don't respond, and instead, I turn my face to look at the wall rather than him. With a heavy sigh, he leaves the room, and I'm alone once again.

I curl up into his sheets, embedding his scent into my skin as I think about how hopeless my situation feels. With Cillian and Finn being my scent matches, I guess it didn't matter what my father's plans were for me; I was never destined to have a choice.

Isn't that the fucking bitch of it all?

But is it too much to ask for my pre-destined mates to treat me better than some sub-human prisoner? I want to cry, thinking about the fact that my scent matches refused me clean clothes and left me alone for days on end. I rub my face, hating everything about my life right now.

There's no use in crying over it anymore, but I need to figure out what I truly want. Do I want to put my trust in Lorcán and run away? Or do I want to leave them all behind despite the implications? And then there is the most daunting of all my choices: do I stay and figure out how to make this work?

I groan as Lorcán enters the room with a tray of food. My pill is on the side next to the water and apple juice. I nibble on some toast, testing my stomach before swallowing the pill and taking more small bites. My stomach clenches, but I manage to get all the toast down and a few strawberries.

"You can go anywhere you want within the house," Lorcán says softly.

"We both know that's not true," I counter.

"Your life doesn't need to be any different from how it was with your pápa."

My eyes narrow when he mentions my dad, and he sighs, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"I respected Matteo. He trusted me with you and was happy to have me as his future son-in-law. I promised him I'd take care of you, and I plan on keeping that promise."

"Even if it means being disloyal to your brothers?" I retort, but he doesn't flinch.

"You'd leave Cillian? You won't even hear him out?" is his immediate response.

I blink at him, and he sighs, shaking his head like he's holding something back.

"We both know the safest place for you is in this house. No matter how you feel about the four of us right now. We all just want to keep you safe."

"That's not all you want," I whisper.

"It's not. I've wanted you for a long time, Elena."

"You never acted on it," I snark, remembering all the times I wished he would make a move, that he would kiss me or ask for more, but he never did.

"I wasn't supposed to. It was only permitted if you made the first move," he shrugs.

"That's pretty square for a fucking gangster," I sass, and he rolls his eyes.

He plops down on the bed and sighs, looking at the ceiling.

"You really ran away to the High Roller?"

I glare at him, and he just stares at me. "That's really what you want to talk about right now?"

"I should have gone there and gotten you myself. I should've?—"

"Just shut up, Lorcán."

"Cillian wants to see you," he sighs.

"Well, then, he can hobble up the stairs to speak with me."

"Anthony shot him."

"I know."

"Shot at me, too."

"What do you want me to say, Lorcán? You and I both know he didn't do it out of the love in his heart for me. I will not apologize for his actions, nor am I going to apologize for running. You're all big boys. You know the risk of this life, just as I do."

He turns and blinks at me. The reality of the sweet Omega that was wrapped in steel wool in my father's house is dead, and I think that realization is hitting him.

"Being around him might make you feel better."

I wonder if he knows that his brothers are my scent matches; the thought pisses me off.

"Jealous, Lorcán?" I seethe, and he's apparently had enough of me being a bitch.

"I'll be downstairs in the office. Stay in here or go to your room, I don't care," he dismisses me.

Guilt churns in my stomach over the dig. But I don't apologize, he hurt me first. So why doesn't hurting him back make me feel any better?

I spend all day watching reruns of the Omega Matchmaker in Lorcán's bed, mostly because I refuse to go back to ‘my room'.

Not that the room isn't beautiful and comfortable, it's just from being trapped in there for days on end and the principle of it all.

"At least you are dressed," Maeve's voice says from the door frame.

She walks in and places a tray of food on the table.

"Promise not to throw it against the wall or throw it up?" she asks.

"Can't make any promises," I reply to the surly woman.

She sighs and shakes her head. "You truly are what they deserve," she comments, and I swallow.

"What does that mean?" I question defensively.

"The amount of stress all those boys have caused me in their lives. This is the universe paying them back."

Honestly, that's fair enough.

"Why do you work for them, then?"

"Declan is my son. The rest feel like my kin as well."

"Your son is an asshole," I tell her, and she smiles.

"So was his dá."

"Was?" I ask.

"Only had to get married once to never want to do it again. He treated me well enough and gave me Declan. We never wanted for nothing. But it wasn't worth it."

"Wow, you're a walking endorsement for wanting to stay here with my kidnappers."

"Don't be so dramatic, girl. You could do much worse. You know your father or brother could have sent you to a worse family. They don't hit, they have money, and at least two of them will actually love you. You can't ask for much more than that in this life," she scolds me.

I look at her, realizing she and Declan have the same clear blue eyes.

"Why? Why can't I ask for more?"

She sighs, adjusting her apron.

"My dá was one of the top men over in Ireland. I was given a choice: marry Patrick or work the streets. Yours made sure to set you up in a life where you would be protected and cared for. What more is it you want, éan beag? The false American dream of a white picket fence and two and a half children? This isn't the land of the free like they make you believe, stupid girl. What's so wrong with a mansion in the desert and men who would kill for you?"

Maeve makes it clear that the question is rhetorical as she leaves the room. The food on the tray is a simple soup, crackers, and a side of sourdough bread.

I eat it with no complaints, my stomach not resisting for a moment. I turn Maeve's words around in my head. Am I searching for some false dream? Is this the best life has to offer me? Is she even someone I can trust? She's Declan's mother, after all.