She’s going to be a handful. The kind I can’t wait to get my hands full of. My cock twitches at the thought, and I don’t even bother feeling guilty about it.
We caught ourselves one hell of a prize with this omega. A prize I fully intend to unwrap.
The others shoot me a look. They can read my mind. Fuck ‘em. It’s not my fault, my dick does most of the thinking.
I’ll have to break it off with Pam. Not that we were officially anything. Just a hookup that went on too long. But who wants a beta when there’s an omega with a mouth like Blue’s? Pam’s going to lose her shit, but that’s a problem for future Elias.
I’m about to head to my room to take care of my little problem when a muffled sob breaks the silence.
The moaning, the cursing, all of it just stops. What comes through instead is raw, broken, and awful. The kind of crying that doesn’t come from a stubbed toe or one bad day. This is the sound of someone who’s been holding it together for a very long time and just ran out of rope.
“Shit,” Archer mutters, his stoic facade cracking. He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward the bedroom. “We should unchain her.”
“Not happening,” Darius replies. “That’s an order.”
I swallow hard. Archer is right. We shouldn’t have chained her in the first place. But Darius and his hard head…
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be grateful. Happy to have a roof over her head, food in her belly, and a pack to belong to.
That’s what omegas want, right? To be claimed. To be safe. Quiet, submissive, and gentle.
But this one. This one’s feral. And omegas don’t cry unless something really, truly terrible has been done to them.
Silas hasn’t moved, but something in his posture has changed. His hands aren’t flat on his knees anymore. They’re fists. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping under the scar.
Darius stands by the counter, his back to us. He hasn’t said a word, but his knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the countertop.
None of us knows what to do with this. We’re alphas. We fight things. We fix things. We don’t stand around listening to a girl cry and feel helpless about it.
But that’s exactly what we’re doing.
“Maybe we should—” Archer starts, but the water shuts off. We all hold our breath.
“Son of a bitch!” Blue’s voice comes from the bathroom, rough but back to anger. The stomping of her feet on the tile tells me she’s pulled herself together. Or at least shoved it all back down where she keeps it.
Rustling. The sound of her rummaging through the clothes I left on the bed.
“Fucking alphas and their fucking hospitality,” she grumbles.
More shuffling. Sounds like she’s going through her backpack before that hits the ground, too. Then the bed creaks as she climbs in. Despite all the attitude, I hear a small gasp.
“Goddamn, these blankets are soft,” she mutters, sounding almost offended by it.
Then another sound. Quieter this time. The sound of someone who hasn’t slept in a bed in three years and whose body is finally, against all protest, giving in to comfort.
I grin, imagining the scowl on her face as she burrows into the bedding. My amusement fades when I hear her voice again.
Softer.
“It’s okay, Charly. We won’t be here long.”
Charly?
My brow furrows. I glance at the others and see my confusion reflected in their faces.
“Rocky, stop worrying. I’ve got this under control.”
Rocky?