17. All’s Fair in Love and Bullshit

Chapter Seventeen

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND BULLSHIT

Indy

“ I don’t think this is a very good idea,” I say as Nash helps me out of his truck. “I actually think this is a terrible idea.”

“It’ll be fine.” He pauses, watching me take a few steps before he closes the door. “It’s definitely going to be terrible, but it’ll be fine.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.”

Nash gives me one of his rare, adorably shy smiles. “I don’t usually like going along with Clayton’s ideas, mainly because we end up in some kind of trouble, but I think he got it right this time.”

That’s the only reason I’m even doing this.

That, and as stupid as it sounds, I really want to see Bramley again. I haven’t said that out loud, and I don’t really plan on announcing it any time soon, but it’s true.

He was horrible, and he validated all of my thoughts in regards to his disdain for me. He even managed to give life to my fear of being asked to leave the security and comfort I’ve found in not only his home, but Obsidian Falls as a whole.

Bramley was everything I expected him to be, he wanted nothing to do with me, and his anger was almost enough to make me tuck tail and leave.

I didn’t, though, because it wasn’t. I’ve had much worse than that growly alpha.

While I believe wholeheartedly that Bram is probably a pretty ornery, aggressive man a good majority of the time, the anger he displayed the other night wasn’t directed at me. I don’t know that for sure, especially since he kicked me out in the middle of it, but I got the impression that he was mad at himself.

He probably still hates me, but at least he isn’t angry with me.

Well, he wasn’t. I’m sure that’ll change the second Nash and I walk into the butcher shop.

Ugh. “This is such a bad idea, Nash.”

He looks away quickly and I hear a quiet, sharp inhale followed by him clearing his throat. “Deep down, he is a good guy.”

Nash does that whenever I say his name, and it makes me smile every time.

“Bram has a good heart, he just…” He scrubs a hand over his beard and then motions for us to start walking. “He wouldn’t have brought you here if…” Nash blows out a breath as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “It is really hard convincing someone who doesn’t know him that he’s not as bad as he seems. I honestly don’t think I’ve had to before.”

I giggle a little, then sigh. “You and Clayton wouldn’t love him if he was all bad. I just don’t know what to make of him yet.”

“Now that is something I’m familiar with. No one knows what the hell to make of Bramley.”

“I don’t understand him at all.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Nash moves closer, stepping out of the path of an older couple going the opposite direction, and when he does, his hand brushes the back of mine. “Sorry.”

I force myself to keep breathing normally, the accidental touch making it hitch, and it is something I instantly want more of. “It’s okay.”

It is, but it isn’t because it also has me thinking about the conversation Clay tried to have with me yesterday. The one I shut down faster than he expected, and in a way that would have had my mother scolding me for sure.

He wanted to talk about what my plan is for when I go into heat.

And I absolutely did not want to talk about that at all.

I’ve thought about it. A lot. To the point that I’ve given myself so much anxiety I felt sick, but that is something else I don’t need to expose Clay or Nash to.

My anxiety has gotten better and worse since living here; the worse is not pretty, and I’ve been content with only having it hit when I’m alone.

That’s how it was at the ranch.

It was mostly under control because I was so used to how things were. I had a relatively predictable though unpleasant routine, and I didn’t have any real issues until my mother died. Being away from the morbid normalcy of the ranch has given me this strange level of freedom I don’t think I’ll ever get used to while also gifting me with a newfound paranoia that comes and goes without warning.

One of the things that triggers it? The idea of going into heat out here.

Not outside on the sidewalk or anything, but not at the ranch. Outside of it. Away from it.

I’ve never gone into heat naturally, nor have I been without a way to handle it when it happens.

Clayton was being thoughtful and kind by asking about it, even if he caught Nash and I off guard with the conversation. He assumed, correctly, that I’ll probably have to start planning for that sooner rather than later based on how long I’ve been here, but I had no idea how to respond when he asked what they needed to do to help me prepare and when we needed to start doing that.

But I don’t know.

I snapped at Clay because I don’t fucking know, then I ran back to my nest and didn’t come out until breakfast this morning.

It was rude and very misplaced, and I was worried I’d made a mess of things between us.

Nope.

Not at all.

As a matter of fact, they both told me I had nothing to apologize for when I tried, then Nash apologized for making me uncomfortable or anything else I might have felt, and then it was business as usual as he likes to say.

Except, I have a new problem.

I looked up Stockholm Syndrome, and while I don’t think it entirely applies to this situation, these men are definitely not abusive, but someone could try to say I’m a hostage here. Even if that is incredibly inaccurate. Still, I suppose I understand why Mona said what she did. I’ve found myself not only wanting to be with Nash and Clay as frequently as possible but I’m attracted to them. And after being forced—accidentally since it came from a place of kindness—to think about going into heat in a new place with nothing but a bunch of strangers around, my thoughts have wandered into a very unknown territory that I have no clue how to deal with.

Needless to say, the slightest, most insignificant contact, like Nash’s hand brushing against mine, is soliciting many things I have no business thinking or feeling.

Like, what if I just stayed? In Obsidian Falls, at their house. What if I could convince them to keep me?

I’ve been more anxious than ever but I could get past that. Eventually, with more time and things to occupy me.. Because I’ve also been happy. Some of the things my mother talked about, the little things that seem insignificant but actually hold so much meaning, I’ve got to experience some of that over the last few weeks, and happy is the only word I can think of to describe how they’ve made me feel.

But those are the more innocent thoughts or feelings I’ve had lately.

The real problematic things are more along the lines of could they love me the way they love each other? Or wondering what it would be like to interact as freely as they do with each other. Leaning against them when we’re sitting in the bedroom, a hand on my thigh, an arm around my shoulders. I wonder what it would be like to genuinely hug one of them, to be held by them, and that leads my thoughts into the scarier part of foreign territory.

I’ve seen Clay and Nash kiss.

Nothing wild or unbridled, but I’ve seen it, and it makes me want that.

Foster, he kissed. There were a few alphas over the years who did, even one who had it worked into his contract, but it was never the way I’ve witnessed between Nash and Clayton.

They love each other.

That’s the difference.

Being in love and being allowed to express it freely and openly. It isn’t forced, it’s not something that has to happen or else they’ll be punished. They kiss simply because they’re in love, and I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything so badly before.

Love and affection.

I want those things, and not just from anyone, but from them.

Adding that to my growing fear of going into heat at any moment and, of course, it brought the conversation my mother had with me about sex racing to the front of my mind. I’m attracted to them, I’m drawn to them, and I’m starting to believe what my mom said because of them. The real world is nothing like the ranch. Not all alphas are bad, neither are all men. Relationships—love and sex—it can all be beautiful with the right people, and in the right scenarios.

I keep telling myself that Nash and Clayton, even Bramley, they’re the first men I’ve had any contact with outside of the ranch, the first ones to ever show me any form of kindness or concern, so my feelings aren’t real. My attraction is because of that, and it’s also why I want them to keep me, but if these men aren’t like the ones I’ve met before, there have to be more out there. More men, more people who are good and kind, and I shouldn’t settle for Obsidian Falls just because my luck temporarily changed.

I can’t seem to convince myself that leaving is a good idea, though, no matter how hard I might try.

Which, truth be told, isn’t very hard at all because I don’t want to leave.

I want to stay, I want them to want me to stay, and those feelings have somehow morphed into wanting to see Bramley again despite the fact that he hates me.

All of my thoughts and feelings about these three men kind of scream Stockholm Syndrome, especially the one who rescued me and then basically threw me out of his house. And true to definition, I don’t really care because staying with them feels like it’s what I’m supposed to do.

There is so much more wrong with me than I originally thought.

“Well, look at that.” Nash grabs my hand as he stops, every inch of my body tensing over the brief touch before it sends heat racing up my arm. He quickly lets go but presses his palm to the small of my back and flannel jacket or not, I swear it’s like we’re skin to skin. “What the hell is that shithead doing with Arrow?”

Following his line of sight, I frown when I see Arrow getting into a huge truck with a nice-looking man. One who actually?—

“Brothers,” Nash grunts with a nod. “Zeke’s younger by a couple years but those Ambrose genes are strong as fuck. They stand out something fierce.”

He’s not kidding.

I’ve only clearly seen Bramley once, and despite that, I would have definitely known that man was his brother, no questions asked. Same as I can see his connection to Mona.

It’s funny that Nash knew what I was thinking, I just hope it stops at my curiosity over Zeke because I’m not ready for him to know that Arrow and I came from the same place.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for that.

It doesn’t change that I know him, though.

We didn’t all know each other, it wasn’t like an omega club or something, but those of us who were paraded around in front of Harden’s richest clients, we saw more than most. We were able to get a better idea of what went on everywhere, and it was a way to know we weren’t alone.

They kept males and females separated. Made sure that we were as isolated as possible, not just from the others in our stables, but omegas everywhere on the property. But when there were events at the main house, we’d get to mingle a little, help each other get ready, and make sure we were all presentable, and Arrow and I were almost always at the same parties.

We weren’t allowed to talk to each other, not outside of prepping to go to the dining room, but when you see someone in the same shitty situation as often as you are, it’s hard not to form some sort of connection. Words aren’t always needed for that.

I’m so glad he got out.

“Indy?”

Blinking, I slowly shift my stare until I’m looking up into a pair of worried, grass-green eyes. “Sorry.”

Nash shakes his head and gives me a soft smile. “Nothing to apologize for, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” I say as we start walking again. “Just surprised by how much Zeke looks like his brother.”

“Right.”

I don’t miss the skepticism in his tone, but Nash doesn’t push, and I don’t elaborate. There’s no reason for either right now, and I’m already nervous enough about the random and pointless trip to the butcher shop, I don’t need to make things worse by diving into those conversations.

“Clayton should already be there.” Nash’s hand returns to the small of my back as the sidewalk begins to go uphill. Oh, I hope we never get to that shop. “I’m not sure how he convinced Bram to let us help him clean up, but he did, and that’s what we’re going to do when we get there. Not that cleaning is anyone’s idea of a good time…”

Smiling to myself, I look down at our boots, the ones that match, and notice our footsteps are in sync. “I don’t mind.”

Which is the truth.

Cleaning up the butcher shop, helping put it back together. That actually sounds like fun to me, but I’m the last one who should be weighing in at all. Before I got here, my idea of a good time was writing my name in the dirt on the floor of my stall. So, I jumped at the opportunity to do that part of this, and it was a good way to get us in without raising any red flags.

Like the huge one that will be flapping in the wind the second I walk in.

“You will,” Nash grunts. “Clay didn’t say anything about you.”

“Isn’t that the point?” That was my understanding of things, anyway.

They offer to help, Bram accepts, the three of us show up and given the state of things, the big crabby alpha can’t turn down the extra help, and the time spent together is supposed to help Bramley warm up to me.

It’s not a terrible idea, even if I think it is a terrible idea.

And my thought is validated the second we walk into Ambrose Butcher Shop.

“Knock it off, Clayton.”

I freeze as the door swings shut behind us, my eyes widening as they move between Nash and the doorway to the back.

“Oh, come on, Bramley, honey, just one little?—“

“I’m gonna wring your neck.”

“Yes, please, daddy. You know I like it like that.”

Nash and I make eye contact as I hand him my coat, an annoyed look on his handsome face, but as soon as Clay starts cackling, I start to giggle.

I cover my mouth, trying to calm myself down, but I can’t. Not while a slow smile spreads across Nash’s pretty lips, not while Clayton keeps laughing and egging Bramley on. I get even sillier the more frustrated he sounds, as the alpha in the back continues to make empty threats at his beta, right up until I realize the alpha staring at me isn’t laughing at all.

“Sorry,” I snort, embarrassed not a strong enough word to describe how I’m feeling. “It was?—“

“You have a great laugh.”

My brows raise and my cheeks flame. “What?”

Nash nods as he takes a step toward me, slowly lifting his hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “Your smile, it’s gorgeous, but your laugh? I’m not sure I’ve heard anything so beautiful.”

Wow.

I look up and meet his gaze, the green of his eyes a shade darker than usual, and I know without having to ask, this is the kind of thing my mother was talking about.

“We should go back and make sure Clay isn’t dead.”

“Mhm,” I mumble, nodding absently as his fingers gently brush along the side of my neck. “Sure.”

He chuckles a bit, then takes a step back and holds out his hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

As if I’ve done it my entire life, I slip my hand into his, entwining our fingers before Nash leads me into the back of the shop.

Where I immediately see Clayton poking Bramley in the ass with the handle of a broom.

“Give me that,” he grunts as he swipes at the long piece of wood. “I’m gonna turn it into a necklace for you.”

The beta quickly spins away, losing his balance slightly as he comes face to face with Nash and I. “No necklaces unless they’re five-finger.” Clay winks at me, smiling brightly when I barely stifle my giggle. “No gold or silver for this guy.”

“What the fuck is this?”

Clay cringes and Nash’s grip tightens as Bramley sees us, barking his question through that black and white mask he was wearing the other night.

I had no idea how big he is.

Not really. Seeing him from a distance, or when he was laying in a bed, didn’t really show his size but now that we’re standing a few feet away from each other, I know for a fact that Bram is the biggest alpha I’ve ever seen. A position Nash held until right this second.

“This,” Clayton says as he gives us his back. “Is Indy. You know, our omega you saved then tried to kick out of our house like a dickhead.” Then, before anyone can say anything, he grabs Nash’s free hand, tosses the broom, and starts speed-walking them away from me. “We have to go get the buffer!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nash asks as my fingers slip through his. “What buffer?”

Clay tugs him toward the doorway we just came through. “For the floor, silly. I want it to shine when we’re through.”

“But, what about?—“

“I’ll give you a blowjob in the truck, let's go.”

I can feel the blush spread from my cheeks down my neck as Nash looks over his shoulder at me, shrugging while he silently apologizes.

Then they’re gone.

This was not part of the plan.

At least, it wasn’t part of the plan they told me about.

Had Clayton or Nash told me they were going to abandon me with the asshole who hates me, I might not have agreed so quickly. It’s that damn morbid curiosity that would have made me consider it, and it’s what’s keeping me here right now because I could easily run after them.

I don’t, though.

I stand stock still, staring at the path those men took, my breathing growing heavier by the second while my palms begin to sweat.

The tension in the room is palpable, it’s so thick I feel like I could reach out and touch it, and even though I can feel Bramley’s eyes on me, burning a hole into the back of my head, I’m not afraid.

Should I be?

Maybe, but if he was going to hurt me, if Bram was going to do more than throw me out or yell at me, Nash and Clay wouldn’t have left me here with him.

Not to mention, he doesn’t scare me.

His size, his demeanor, his overall charming personality. None of that is scary. Not even the dangerous energy I get from all three of them. It’s strongest from Bramley, most intense from him, but I’m not afraid. If anything, I get a little bit of a thrill, the mysterious danger that surrounds my rescuers, something that has me more enthralled than shaking in my boots.

And that’s what frightens me.

A loud thud has me jumping, quickly turning around to see Bram shove a busted table out of his way before he lumbers over to a giant hole in the wall.

Wow, this place really is a mess.

In an oddly specific sort of way.

All of the large pieces of machinery, different things I’m guessing one needs to run a butcher shop, are in pristine order on giant shelves. None of the knives are out of place. The big bowls and barrel-looking things are perfectly fine. It seems to be the furniture and the walls that took the brunt of his tantrum.

Which is rather impressive since these tables are not made of wood, and the wall to my right is brick. He must have used the tables to make the dents in the cement. Either that, or his fists are made of steel.

Maybe he used his thick skull.

At least, Nash says it’s thick, and from what I’ve seen, Bram is bullheaded. So it seems like that would do the most damage.

Biting my lip to hide my smile, I look around the room and try to figure out where to begin.

Most of the floor, where I’m standing, is free of anything big that would need to be moved, but it’s covered in white dust and gray chunks, so I guess that’s my starting point.

I grab the broom Clayton dropped then get to work.

They made us clean out the empty stalls at the ranch.

After an omega left for one reason or another, those of us in the neighboring stalls had to go in, sweep the floors, and throw away anything left behind.

I had to clean out my mother’s things when she died. I had to go into that stall, scrub her blood off the floor, and sweep up clumps of her hair and broken teeth. They made me bag up all of her things, what little she had, and take them to the incinerator. I had to do that, put the last pieces of my mother into the fire and watch until there was nothing left.

Just like the way they dispose of defective omegas, that entire process was over the top, and it was a warning that I didn’t need but was given all the same.

“What are you doing?”

I jump at the deep, gravely voice, at the words barked at me from across the room, and look up with wide eyes. “W-what?”

“What. Are. You doing?” Bram slows the question down, those brilliant blue eyes narrowed on my face. He’s abandoned whatever he was doing with the table in favor of staring at me—again—in the most analytical way anyone has ever looked at me.

“Sweeping?” I straighten up on the last stroke of the bristles in my immediate area, my first pile already rather large. I look down at it and then glance around the room. “I don’t see a dustpan, though.”

My eyes connect with his again, and for a split second, I swear I see a flicker of something pass over them, something I can’t put a name to. It feels familiar, though, and the way it makes my stomach flutter is strange. Strange because it still feels like this man is mine.

That’s what I wanted to see, why I was mostly okay with coming here. I needed to see Bramley again because I needed to know if what happened the other night was because he was strapped down to that bed and I had some sort of reaction to that, or if it was more.

Can confirm.

It was more.

Even with a mask covering half of his face, seeing him in the light of the shop, he’s beautiful. In a menacing kind of way, but he is. I don’t need to see more of him to know that, as I only needed one more face-to-face to know Bram is mine.

All three of them are mine, and what I just saw pass over his expression confirms that he feels it, too.

My gaze drops as the fingers on Bramley’s left hand twitch, flexing all the way before he balls his hand into a fist at his side. Right above the dustpan sitting on the floor at his feet.

Why is he behaving this way?

Clearly, he knew the dustpan was there, all he had to do was bend down and pick it up, or hell, he could have just pointed, but he couldn’t even let himself do that. The same way he isn’t letting himself have anything to do with me. And that pisses me off.

Fine.

“May I have that, please?”

His brow furrows, and he stares for a few beats, but the alpha says nothing.

I’m not sure what outcome the only other men in my life were hoping for by doing this, but Bram doesn’t really strike me as someone who’s into chatting about the few topics I’m familiar with, nor is he going to go on sharing stories about his childhood. How the two of us are going to get to know each other in any capacity, or the big beast is going to miraculously warm up to me, I have no idea.

“The dustpan right next to your big ass boot. May I have it?”

Bramley’s left eyebrow lifts, but still, he says nothing.

I’m starting to see why Nash is always so annoyed by this big oaf.

“Fine,” I grunt as I lean the broom against the counter and take a few steps toward him. “You had plenty of words for me the other night, but you can’t say shit to me now.”

Bending to pick up the cleaning supply, I flinch when Bramley’s big ass boot sends it skidding across the floor toward the complete opposite side of the room, then shoot to my feet and scowl in his face.

Well, I scowl into his chest, but still.

“Was that necessary?”

Both brows raise as he takes one step toward me, something clearly meant to intimidate me, but I don’t back down. I’ve never stood up for myself before, never even had the chance, really, and something about Bram is making me not only want to do that, but smack him around a little bit in the process.

He’s mine, he knows he’s mine just like I know I’m his, and he still insists on acting like an ass.

“Mona was right,” I huff as I turn and make my way to the dustpan. “You are acting like a big baby.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me?”

That got his attention.

“Ever since I’ve been here, she’s talked about you like you shit gold or something.” Well, that’s new for me. Can’t say I’ve ever talked like this to anyone before. “Except when it comes to me. Mona said you’re acting like a baby, and I can absolutely see it.” I bend to grab the dustpan but don’t get the chance.

Instead, I’m spun around and shoved against the wall, Bram staring down at me through narrowed eyes, both of my wrists pinned above my head in one huge hand while the other points a finger in my face.

“Leave Nan out of this.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. “Why? Because she’s right, and you don’t want to hear it?”

He steps a little closer as my heart starts to pound against my ribs. “Because she’s my grandmother, and I said to leave her out of it.”

“Out of what, exactly?” I wiggle around, trying to loosen his hold so I can stand taller, but it’s no use. He isn’t hurting me, but I couldn’t get Bramley to let go of me without taking a cheap shot, and I won’t do that to him.

Even if a part of me wants to.

Bram continues to stare, his chest heaving, my breaths matching his without even trying. He’s angry, not any more than normal since I think this man has been walking around in a perpetual state of pissed off for a long time, but there’s something else there. Something fueling the way he keeps staring at me as if I’m some intricate puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

Curiosity? Intrigue, maybe?

Whatever it is, I don’t mind it so much because angry or not, I like Bram’s eyes on me, and I wasn’t sure I’d feel that way about anyone after living at the ranch.

He doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat.

“Are you going to answer me?” My voice wavers a bit as he steps close enough to share air, his spicy scent so strong I can feel it, its warmth radiating from his chest to mine before it spreads through me like wildfire.

And lands directly in my pussy because not only can I smell myself, Bramley’s pupils dilate to the point of almost filling his iris the second my perfume hits him.

What the hell is that?

I squeeze my thighs together, desperately trying to stop something I didn’t even mean to start, my cheeks burning with embarrassment when I feel my slick.

As if this impromptu visit wasn’t awkward enough, I’m naturally, accidentally, turned on for the first time in my entire life by an alpha I‘m positive would sooner take me back to that ravine and leave me there than entertain anything that’s happening right now.

Bramley leans toward me, his breath hot on my neck before he inhales deeply enough to make my back arch the tiniest bit. “A dangerous game, this one.”

I nod absentmindedly as my eyes drift close, as I feel every word against my skin.

Do I know what the hell he’s talking about? No, but I also don’t care. Not with my body doing stupid things and his scent close enough to taste.

“Save it for Nash, Indy.” My eyes pop open at that, the bite in his tone sharp and hard to ignore as Bramley lifts his head, staring once again before he lets go of my wrists and starts backing away. “It’s clear that he’s the one you want, the one you need. Take them both, for all I care. They’ve made their choice.”

Blinking away the lust, my jaw drops slightly over how stupid this man really is.

“What are you talking about?”

Bram shrugs, and I can tell he’s smirking like an asshole behind his mask. “Clayton, Nash. You can have them. That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Have you lost your mind?” I shake my head as I push off the wall. “Those two are so in love with you it’s almost scary. They’d never leave you, no matter how much you might deserve it, and I’d never take them away.”

He turns around, going back to the counter, fiddling with something on it, but I didn’t miss the slight change in his facade.

That’s exactly what this is, it’s bullshit.

Bram is no more jealous of my time spent with Nash and Clayton than they are over each other.

“They’re in love with you, little omega, and I’m sure there’s none left for me.”

“You’re so full of shit,” I grunt as I pick up the dustpan I no longer want to use. “You act like you’re put out because they’ve been spending time with me, but that’s a load of bull.”

He glances at me over his shoulder then goes back to whatever the hell he’s doing. “You think you know me? Think you know all about my relationships, my feelings? Enlighten me.”

“Okay.” I cross my arms against my chest and hope this newfound attitude I have doesn’t go anywhere for a while. “You are looking for any possible excuse you can come up with for not spending time with me.”

“And why would I want to spend time with you?”

Taking a deep breath, I let the truth fly. “Because I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

Bram freezes but says nothing. So I keep going.

“You’re afraid, though. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I can sense the fear. I felt it when you rescued me, the way it shot through you once you realized I wasn’t dead.” That’s news to me, I didn’t remember it until right now, but I’m going to roll with it since it seems true on his end as well. “When you called for me the other night, when you tried to get rid of me? That came from a place of fear. Until now, I thought you hated me. For taking up Nash and Clayton’s time, for getting close to Mona. Hell, I thought you hated me for using your spare bedroom. I came up with a thousand reasons that someone I’d never met, someone who saved me then disappeared, could hate a perfect stranger, but I know now that’s not true.”

I take a step toward him but stop when the reality I’m making him face sinks in for me, too.

“You don’t hate me, but you don’t want me.” I blink a few times as tears try to form, refusing to even let them try. “Whatever it is you’re afraid of, you’ve convinced yourself you don’t want me, or need me, and you’ve settled on letting all of us go because of it.”

“Smart,” Bram grunts. “Don’t have a clue how you know all that, but it’s impressive. Got part of it wrong, though.”

He slowly turns to face me, and I swallow hard to keep my emotions in check. “What’s that?”

“The part about hate,” he says, his voice low and sharp, steady. “I hate that you’re here. In my town, in my fucking house. I hate that you’ve weaseled your way into my fucking family, that you’ve somehow bonded with my fucking pack.” He throws the tool that was in his hand, his stare icy while he spits his venom. “I hate that I crave your goddamn scent, that I can’t seem to get you out of my head, and it’s making me act like a fucking moron when I damn well know better. I hate that I keep picturing you with my alpha and my beta, and how that makes me feel. What that makes me want. There’s a lot of hate here, Indy, so I’d say that was dead fucking wrong.”

“You don’t know what that word truly means.” For some reason, one unknown to me, instead of breaking my heart that this man doesn’t seem to want me to be a part of his life the way I’m supposed to be, it makes me mad. “You have no idea what kind of weight that word holds.”

“No?” He scoffs. “I think?—“

“Hate is having every move you make scheduled and monitored by monsters. It’s being told you have one purpose and one alone, and if you can’t deliver, you’re worth nothing.” The dustpan falls from my hand as I bring them in front of me. “Hate is having the only person you loved erased from your life as if they were never there at all. It’s waking up every single day to a life you never asked for, and praying for a death that never comes. You don’t know hate, Bramley Ambrose, and I hope you never have to.”

He stands quietly for a few moments, looking at me, analyzing my words right along with my face, and just when I think I might have gotten through to him, he proves me wrong.

“For someone who thinks they know everything about me based on two encounters, you don’t know shit.” He shakes his head then chuckles, dark and hollow. “Your monsters have nothing on the devil, Indigo, there is nothing you can say that’s going to change how I feel. I want nothing to do with you, and if I lose my pack in the process, so be it. Now, run back to them before I say something else you’ll regret.”

My jaw drops as Bram turns, dumbfounded by the way this bastard can lie through his teeth without batting an eye, and watch him open up the cooler door only to disappear inside in a cloud of cold air.

I have no idea what the hell just happened between us but it was not what I was expecting when I agreed to come down here.

Now I’m mad as hell, I’m still perfuming like a dumbass, and I need to start ripping some band aids off of my own wounds so maybe all four of us can heal.

I know what they told him about me and until right now, I wasn’t ready to deal with it.

Bram wants to be pissed because he thinks I’ve bonded with his pack? Fine. I’ll give him something to be pissed about, and if we’re all connected the way I think we are, I hope he feels every goddamn thing that’s about to happen because it’s the only way he’s going to get his head out of his ass.