14. Vincent

14

VINCENT

I have a newfound hatred for tinted windows. My mate is in the sleek black car ahead of me, but I haven't been able to get more than her little outline in the passenger seat. Also, fuck private garages. What I would have given to see her get in her daddy's car.

Is it stalking if she's my scent match?

I've been in Baltimore for like a week and a half, and I have yet to lay eyes on my omega. I've clocked Paul Arison's car from the information Beckett handed over and managed to figure out his patterns.

Finally, fucking finally , Amaya has left the high-rise she's been living in since leaving the rehabilitation center.

I park myself outside of the obnoxious building each day at six in the morning and stay for most of the day. Leaving my post for food and to sleep is far from ideal, but I need to be in tip-top shape to watch out for my girl. And that means following her to their destination in the heart of tall buildings and people in fancy suits.

To say my ripped jeans, black helmet, and loud Yamaha r1 bike stand out would be a vast understatement. I stick out like a criminal at a playground. Bald head, tattoos up my neck. I'm not doing myself any favors. Even if someone were to see beyond the bad-boy vibes, I have a chip on my shoulder big enough to warn anyone away.

But I don't mind standing out because she's more likely to notice me.

Plus, I don't have much beyond my black clothing. I may have a trust fund waiting for me to dive into, but that's just it; I'm waiting. Living in a decent hotel for the time being doesn't really allow me to stock up on a new wardrobe. If I'm going to buy anything right now, it will be for my mate.

The rumble of the engine between my thighs slows to a deep thrum as I trail Paul Arison's car up to a sleek building made of steel and glass. It's beautiful, but it reminds me of my life before the academy. A time I would rather forget.

Honestly, I'd like to forget everything beyond the moment I caught the scent of Amaya.

I watch as Mr. Arison steps out of his car and tosses his keys to a boy in a vest. Of course the lawyer uses valet. My judgment burns up in a cloud of ash when a delectable pale leg attached to a pair of subtle nude heels graces the sidewalk with its glory.

There she is. My mate.

Beckett's photo of her that he showed me does not do her fucking justice.

Her hair is so damn long, almost to her tiny waist. A waist that's hugged by a light purple dress. I'm too far to see anything beyond her cute outfit, gorgeous caramel brown hair, and body language that makes me want to run to her.

Her shoulders are hunched, and she looks a little wobbly as she ignores her dad's outstretched elbow. I narrow my eyes, wondering what the hell that's about. It's then I really realize I don't know what we're doing here, or what this place is.

The valet boy stiffens, having noticed me lurking a bit behind Paul's vehicle. I pay him no mind. I'm here to watch over my mate, not to worry about freaking some kid out.

He needs to toughen up.

Once my girl is through the doors, I peel out, park my motorcycle at a meter across the road and narrow my eyes on the building, looking for a sign.

"Shit," I grunt when nothing presents itself.

From what I can tell, it's one of those big ass places that holds more than one business. So I wait with my eyes glued to the revolving doors and passing over countless business men and women.

What are we doing here, little mate?

An hour and a mother fucking half.

That's how long Amaya has been in this goddamn building of who-knows-what. My brain has well and truly lost its shit.

Thoughts of what could be happening in there have my nerves jittering like an addict. The need to throttle her dad for bringing her here when she was clearly uncomfortable as fuck has been rising by the second.

What is Paul making her do? I swear to hell if she comes out worse than when she went in, I'm going to have to act sooner. I told myself I wouldn't approach her until she's settled. Actually, Beckett told me that, but I'm choosing to listen.

Seeing her today and knowing she's been struggling only solidifies that she needs some time to adapt before I throw myself at her feet. I'd imagine someone offering to worship at your feet would be super overwhelming, especially on top of everything she's been through.

An internal growl makes me tense, my alpha picking up that something is wrong before my less primal side notices. Hopping off my bike, I run across the street to get a better view of the front doors. I don't have time to start my bike up and fight traffic to get back to my previous spot.

Then Amaya's dad is stepping through the doors with a deep frown etched into his features. Where he was far more lax with the valet boy, his bark slams into the poor kid who jumps and runs to get his car. I'm about to approach my future father-in-law when Amaya steps out from behind him.

What I see sets off my inner alpha; she will meet me far sooner than planned, it seems. I'm too far to see her bloodshot eyes, but the tears stained with mascara rushing down her cheeks make that internal growl vibrate my throat, jaw, and teeth.

Their car comes to a screeching halt in front of them, and Amaya all but dives into it. Like she's running from a fucking monster.

What the hell happened in there?!

Fuck giving her space. The next chance I get, she will never be alone again.